Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Why not?” he asks, eyebrows raising in surprise.
I puff out an exhale and sag back in my seat. “They’re overprotective to say the least. The plan was for me to spend my summer with my grandmother in France. But I pulled the plug a few days before my trip and came here instead.”
“Were they always overprotective or did it get worse after Winnie?”
I mull over his question for a moment, surprised I hadn’t thought it through so deeply before now. “I think our family’s company has always demanded their protectiveness to a certain extent. We’ve always traveled with a bodyguard, lived in a gated community, socialized in tight-knit circles. I don’t know.” I rub my forehead. “It’s hard to put myself in their shoes because I’m not a parent. I don’t know how terrifying it must be to let your child loose out in the world and let the world loose on your child.”
“But…”
I smile softly. “But I have spent a lot of my life trying to make my parents happy, especially in the years after Winnie. I worry that even though I’ve grown up, in their eyes and in our small coastal community I’ll only ever be a child, someone for my mom to scold and my dad to tease, and it can be a little stifling to be Isabel De Vere, the heir. Sometimes I just want to be Isabel.”
“Or even just Elle,” he teases.
I chuckle. “Yes, here, I’ve taken it one step further.”
“So what would you do if you did it all your way?”
I smile as my eyebrows nearly hit my hairline. “My way? I guess I’d come to Ibiza, get a job in a nightclub, jump off a cliff…” He laughs and I allow myself the pleasure of looking at him for a moment before shaking my head. “Honestly, I probably wouldn’t go back to work for De Vere Diamonds.”
Maybe just… not go back, period.
I don’t say that part out loud, not to Cristiano. He’d assume it has something to do with him. I can imagine his eyes widening in fear, him flagging down our waiter. Check, please!
This newfound tug toward freedom isn’t because of him, though. I’ve been here on Ibiza for a month, and my time away from California has given me clarity. It’s been so peaceful to be away from all the places that hold memories of Winnie. I didn’t realize how much the reminders of her were holding me hostage.
If I do somehow decide to postpone my return to the States, it will be hard to disappoint my parents and upend my life, but the more I consider the option, the more it feels right. Lita has always been a nomad, picking up and moving whenever the mood strikes her, and maybe that same adventurous spirit lives in me. Maybe I’ve never allowed myself to hope for a life outside of California because I’ve always put my family’s needs before my own.
I know it will break my parents’ heart if I move away, my father’s especially. He was so proud on my first day at De Vere Diamonds. He paraded me around the office, introducing me to anyone with a pulse: the janitor, the security team, the IT guy in the basement. But at the end of this summer, can I really go back to living my old life just to make them happy?
Honestly… it’s silly to consider otherwise. I know I will.
Cristiano doesn’t push for more conversation. We sit quietly, sipping our sangría and watching a group of children trying to build a sandcastle on the beach. Soon after, our waiter comes around with a huge tray laden with local dishes. As he sets them down, Cristiano tells me the name of everything.
“Espinacas con garbanzos, boquerones en vinagre, calamares fritos, pa amb tomàquet—”
“This is too much!” I laugh.
The waiter sets down two more dishes and looks at me with a twinkle in his eye. Whatever he says in Spanish I don’t understand, despite how much I’ve learned in recent weeks. I look to Cristiano as he walks away.
“I only ordered the espinacas, the calamares, and the fish,” he tells me. “The last few dishes are on the house, apparently. For you, he says. He called you beautiful.”
My jaw drops. “Did he?” I lean back in my seat to try to see where the waiter walked off to. “Call him back—I didn’t get a good look at him. Maybe he’ll be my next Spanish lover.”
I expect Cristiano to laugh, but instead he flinches before picking up his sangría. I swear, for a moment I see pain in his expression. Sadness. Tenderness.
I immediately regret the joke. I’d hate if Cristiano thought I wasn’t happy to be here with him. It’s the exact opposite. I don’t want him to know my true feelings, the terrifying depth of them. My joke was a deflection, pure and simple. See? I’m not attached. You don’t have to worry about a thing.