“You’re late,” he said quietly, not looking up as she approached the terrace.

The sea stretched out behind him in infinite blue, glittering under the Italian sun. He sat alone with a white espresso cup in one hand, the other resting over the soft linen tablecloth. His camouflage shirt was rolled at the sleeves, cap pulled low, sunglasses hiding his eyes—but she knew he saw her the second she stepped outside.

“Room 308, not 203,” he added with a barely-there smirk. “Rookie mistake.”

It was her third day in Puglia and her first international business trip with him. Technically, it was a week-long work getaway to meet with Italian designers, scout packaging for the next Pleasing fragrance, and attend one very exclusive gala.

But ever since she boarded the plane, nothing had felt strictly professional. Not the late-night wine they shared on the balcony of the hotel. Not the way his eyes lingered when she talked about her past. Not the silence he let stretch when he didn’t want the conversation to end.

“Sit,” he finally said, tapping the chair beside him without lifting his gaze from the water. “We’ve got a few hours before I’m expected to charm a room full of billionaires. And you…”

He paused—then tilted his head just slightly toward her. “You might as well enjoy pretending you’re just on vacation a little longer.”

The air hung heavy between them, rich with sunlight, sea salt… and something else. Something neither of them had dared name. Not yet.