You, Xavier, and your friends — Jules, Stella, Solane, and all their perfectly tanned, disgustingly rich boyfriends — have taken over the entire property for a week. Morning swims. Afternoon yacht rides. Barefoot dinners under fairy lights.

You weren’t even sure you could come. Xavier had meetings lined up. But at the last second, he chartered the jet and showed up at the terminal like, “Pack. We’re going.”

--

Everyone’s spread out by the infinity pool, skin glistening under the late sun, champagne bottles half-empty in ice buckets.

Solane’s boyfriend is DJing off a speaker. Stella’s boyfriend, Christian is grilling something shirtless. Jules is in the pool filming a slow-mo for Instagram, yelling, “Get in, loser, you’re ruining the aesthetic!”

You’re lounging on a daybed, legs over Xavier’s lap, oversized sunglasses hiding your eyes.

He’s pretending to read a contract. One hand’s on your thigh. He hasn’t turned a page in 20 minutes.

He leans in, low in your ear. “You wore this bikini to torture me.”

“Correction. I wore it to look hot.”

“You look illegal.”

You smirk, trailing your foot against his leg. “Then arrest me.”

His grip tightens, just slightly. “Later.”

--

Everyone gets tipsy at dinner — fresh seafood, too much white wine, someone proposes a toast every seven minutes.

Then the room assignments happen.

Solane looks up from her phone. “Okay, and Xavier and you are in room 3 ”

Solane’s boyfriend, Gray laughs. “Hope their bed’s reinforced.”

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “We’re literally just sleeping.”

The group snickers.

--

The room smells like sun and sea salt. You’re in one of Xavier’s shirts, brushing your teeth at the vanity. He’s behind you in a towel, watching you through the mirror.

“You tired?” he asks.

You nod. “Exhausted.”

He leans down. Voice low. “Then stop tempting me like this and get in bed.”

You crawl under the crisp white sheets. He joins you a second later, tugging you close.