You arrive mid-afternoon — sunlight bouncing off whitewashed stone, olive trees lining the driveway, the soft hum of cicadas in the background. Xavier’s hand is warm over yours as you both step out of the sleek, black car. The villa looms ahead like something out of a movie — all arched windows, rustic elegance, and the kind of subtle wealth that whispers, not shouts.

You glance at him. “This is… extra.”

He grins, pulling his sunglasses down just enough to flash those dark eyes at you. “You haven’t even seen the champagne fountain yet.”

You're barely through the courtyard when the front door bursts open.

“Mi amor!” Maria sweeps you into a hug before you can even register what’s happening. “Look at you. Gorgeous. You must be exhausted. Come in, come in — we have air conditioning and lemon tarts.”

Behind her, Alejandro stands — a silver-haired, stoic kind of man who shakes your hand firmly and nods once in approval. Classic power posture. You're about to panic when he says, “Welcome. We're glad you’re here,” in a voice that makes your spine straighten.

And then chaos.

Children spill out of the house like it’s a royal family reunion with no rules. His older brother’s kids — loud, curious, chaotic — immediately start dragging Xavier away by the wrist. “Tío! Did you bring your drone?” one yells. “Uncle Xav, race me down the hill again!” another demands.

Xavier looks at you helplessly as he’s swept off, mouthing, “Save me.”

You’re trying not to laugh when a girl with curtain bangs and a baby-pink slip dress bounds over. “You must be her,” she beams. “I’m Isabella. I’ve been stalking your Instagram for like three weeks.” She gestures to the tall, quiet guy next to her. “This is Chris, my boyfriend-slash-handler for the week.”

Chris offers you a polite smile and a slightly overwhelmed nod. “I’m mostly here to carry bags and pour wine.”

You’re barely unpacked when Maria gently taps on your door. “We’re doing the welcome dinner outside. Come down whenever you’re ready — and wear something flowy. It’s humid.”

—

The dinner is held on the stone terrace overlooking the ocean, strung with lights that flicker on as the sun dips into gold. The long table is set for thirty. Linen napkins, handwritten place cards, waiters in uniform. Casual.

You’re seated between Xavier and Isabella. Xavier rests a hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb lazily tracing circles on your skin.

“You okay?” he leans in and murmurs, lips brushing your ear.

You nod, even though your heart's still hammering from the introductions. “Your family is insane.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “You haven’t even seen them drunk yet.”

Isabella clinks a spoon against her glass and stands up, already tipsy. “Okay. I would like to make a toast—”

Everyone groans.

“Shut up,” she waves them off. “I would like to toast to love, obviously, and to my parents who are way too obsessed with each other. And to her—” she points directly at you, “—for dealing with my brother.”

Laughter rises from all corners of the table.

Xavier lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles like he’s not surrounded by thirty people.

“I like you here,” he says quietly, just for you.

You glance at the table. Maria is already watching the two of you like she sees the whole story written on your faces.