July 6th,
IT HAPPENED, lovers,
Coastal Fling is officially a number-one national bestseller. Thank you for your support. To celebrate, I’m considering breaking more rules this summer.
Kisses from me to you, Zoe Mona
NICO TUCKS me beneath his right arm, away from the busy street. A protective and undeniably panty-melting gesture he does anytime we stroll around the city. As we turn a corner, I spot the charming restaurant. Tonight’s upscale dinner is in a quirky, eighteenth-century townhome with ivy climbing up the walls. I smile at Nico, knowing that I’m in for a treat, as we walk inside.
“I seriously can’t believe you deleted all my dating apps.” “You only know that because you tried to log on again.”
“No,” I sigh. I wasn’t trying to use them, but it was obvious when five apps in a folder with a peach and eggplant emoji somehow vanished from my home page. “My phone suddenly had all this free storage.”
“So, you’re saying I did you a favor?” He stretches out his free arm, pulling open the door for me.
I can’t stay mad at him. Silly apps can be downloaded again, but upsetting Nico and disrupting my princess treatment is not worth it. I don’t want to think about what my life will be like once summer ends and the terms of our agreement expire.
Random hookups, a string of obsessive guys trying to annex me, hiding my other life from my best friend, no more fancy dinners, clothes, or traveling.
No more Nico.
No more daily heartwarming laughter or the full-body yawn he does when he’s the slightest bit tired. I know we’ll still be in each other’s lives, but it’ll never be like this again.
I shake the thought out of my mind. Focus on the present—on us together, right now.
It’s what Nico encourages me to do every day. “I think you did yourself a favor, jealous boy.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He rests his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. My skin pebbles under his touch as he traces a line down my spine.
“That feels so nice.” I look up at him.
His curls are slicked back, the patch of black-dyed strands tucked behind his ear. A dress shirt stretches across his chest, the top two buttons undone. He’s even wearing the new pair of sneakers I bought for him at Harrods yesterday, despite his protests. It was the least I could do after he practically outfitted me with a capsule wardrobe. Nico insisted London’s cooler weather was the perfect excuse for him to swipe his credit card for both of us all afternoon.
“I’m glad you took my advice and chose this dress and not the other one you insisted was more you.” Nico eyes the Merlot-red fabric hugging my body. “I love the whole venomous cobra look, but this suits you just as well.”
“Deep down, I bet you wish I was wearing one of the skimpy bikinis.”
“You in your new heels and a bikini will be my dessert tonight.” Nico winks at me, his hand still possessively glued to my back.
We reach the hostess after fighting through a crowd of people trying to bribe their way into her reservation book.
Fuck, I don’t miss my job at the bar at all.
“Welcome to the Wild Cherry. Do you two have a reservation?”
Nico angles me closer. “Yes, it’s under Zoe Mona.” I whip my head to him. “What did you—”
His expression is neutral, unreadable, and entirely not what I expected. “This way.” The hostess waves us inside with a menu.
Nico grabs my sweaty palm, and pulls me deeper into the restaurant. “Better keep up, Zoe.” His signature grin dances nefariously across his face. “We don’t want to get lost.”
Every neuron in my body shouts, Run! Danger! Run!
I try to yank out of his grasp, but he tightens his fingers around my hand. I stumble toward the table in my four-inch heels. There’s no way I heard him correctly.
Right?
At our table, he pulls my seat out for me, and I slide in. A loud ringing vibrates in my ears.
Nico sits opposite me, the same unrevealing look on his face as he orders us drinks from the waiter. Afterward, Nico glances up at me expectantly.
A long stillness simmers between us.
He’s kidding himself if he thinks I’ll break. I can sit here all night. I’ve done it before on a date with a guy who’d taken a vow of silence. I can do it again.
My leg shakes under the table. Everything’s okay. A situation like this was bound to occur eventually. I’ll play this right, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.
A waiter sets down my drink. I examine it because what the hell else am I supposed to do when Nico’s staring at me like that?
I pick up the absinthe-rinsed coupe filled with cognac, equal parts lemon juice and raspberry syrup, and a splash of rose water topped off with champagne. A pair of pink and red rose petals serve as a garnish. A twist on the classic French 75 I fell in love with during my mixology classes. My barkeeps at the Mademoiselle called it Lily’s French Kiss.
Damn him for knowing me like the back of one of his gorgeous hands.
Nico clears his throat and raises his own tequila on the rocks in a noiseless toast. We sip, set the drinks down, and repeat. Time languidly beats past us as if we’re back in Rio, lounging underneath the sun with nothing better to do.
Fine. Maybe, I can’t keep sitting here.
“You never told me you were into role-playing.” I give him a serpentine smile. “If you’re making up names, what should I call you?”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
Of course.
The pointed toe of my shoe slowly drags up his calf. “Is this your loophole for not being with other people? A little bit of acting?”
The waiter returns to take our order for dinner, but our menus lie untouched. “Are you both ready, or can I give you a couple more minutes?”
“Some more time would be—” I begin.
“A bottle of your nicest champagne to start,” Nico says.
“Likely the 1973 Dom Pérignon Oenothèque Brut,” our server suggests.
“Perfect.” Nico grins at the waiter, who has the sense to understand that’ll be all for now and scampers away from our table. Nico’s body moves in slow motion, his veined hand rolling the glass of tequila between his stained fingers.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
“How does it feel to be on top?” he asks.
My pulse amplifies past the point of what should be humanly possible. “I think you’re confusing me for one of your other hookups. If I
remember correctly, you haven’t had the luxury of seeing me on top of you.” I pull the cloth napkin off the table and settle it in my lap.
“Maybe you’ll have to show me what I’m missing out on.” His brow lifts. “Or are you not up for doing the work?”
Jerk. Gorgeous, smart-ass jerk.
I shrug off the feeling of being pinned to my seat like a shivering gazelle in a lion’s den. “Then what is all this?”
“You tell me.”
Almost ten years I’ve guarded this secret with my life.
Ten years of living an entirely different identity without anyone being the wiser.
Ten fucking years all to go up in flames because of the grinning man sitting in front of me.
Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten.
“Did you hack into my computer?” I’ve been so careful the past few weeks. There’s no way he could have put it together on his own.
“Seriously, Lil?” His brows furrow, and I feel bad about the implication.
The waiter returns with our champagne and fills our glasses to the brim as we watch their mechanical movements in silence.
Here goes nothing. “When did you find out?” I ask.
Nico’s elbows meet the beige tablecloth. “I had my suspicions the first week we were in Brazil.”
Our first week?
That’s a little over a month ago now. The erotica questions on the beach and that post-blow-job dinner must’ve been his attempts to get a confession out of me.
“How?” I gently tip the flute back, savoring every expensive sip.
“Your subtlety could use some improvement.” I fight the torpedo-sized urge to crush his face against the table.
“Hmm.” I shrug. If I say nothing, maybe I’ll wake up from this nightmare.
“Besides, Coastal Fling is obviously about us.”
It’s a crime to chug expensive champagne, but tonight is a worthy exception. I knock back the liquid and pour myself a refill. “It’s not.”
“Right. Outrageous of me to assume a story about a six-foot-tall, curly- haired dude who lives next door to a beachfront mansion wasn’t meant to resemble me.”
“He’s six-foot-two,” I correct him. If Nico’s going to attempt to accuse me of something, he better get his facts straight. “And do you even own a beach house? Sounds like that big ego is misleading you again.”
“Not yet.” He clicks his mouth in disappointment. “Want me to buy you one?”
My eyes trace the ceiling. “Yeah, Nico, I’d love an apology waterfront mansion.”
“Consider it done, but are you really going to sit here and try to convince me the story was inspired by my brother’s eighty-year-old geriatric neighbor?”
“Age-gap romances are s*xy.”
“True. The four months between our birthdays really get me going.” His eyebrows shoot up in amusement. “Then there’s the main character’s name…Nick.”
“Shut up.”
What does he want me to say? I wrote a book about Nico Navarro? Never.
It was a better alternative to sneaking into his room at my best friend’s beach house and jumping his bones.
One bone in particular.
Ugh.
No number of random hookups last summer quenched the thirst I’d felt for him during those sporadic weekend trips.
My eyes narrow on him. Who could blame me? I mean, look at him.
Everyone else is waiting for the chance to pounce.
I can’t admit to any of this. Nico’s ego wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. He’d give this so much more meaning than it actually has. Coastal Fling is simply the work of a depraved woman who spent too many afternoons watching him take his shirt off. Over and over.
“Can you let me celebrate you?” he asks. My arteries constrict as if they’re about to stop working. “I’m sure Avery is dying to take you out when you get back to New York. It’s a huge fucking accomplishment, princesa. Number one on the bestseller list?”
“Avery doesn’t—”
“Wait.” Nico clatters his glass against the table. “You haven’t told anyone about hitting the charts?”
“No,” I whisper, painfully exposed to the lack of emotional leverage I have. “No one knows I write.”
“Not your best friend? Roommate? Family?” My eyes drop to the napkin in my lap. “No.”
“Let me get this straight, you lived with Avery for years, and she never pieced together that you’re Zoe Mona?”
Alcohol stews at the base of my throat, threatening to eject.
“It never came up. I don’t know.” I meet his gaze again. “Ave always had other things going on, and the few attempts I made to confess always seemed like the wrong time. Wait…I don’t owe you an explanation.”
This is exactly why I kept it a secret for so many years. I spent far too long avoiding the inevitable judgment. I can get up and leave right now, dodging the third degree altogether.
“Hey.” Nico’s warm, familiar hand wraps around my fingers, but I shake it away. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m only surprised.”
“Please don’t tell anyone. Not your brother and not Ave.”
“I promise.” He tries for my hand again, and this time I let him catch it. “I would never break your trust. I figured everyone knew and you hid it
from me because of the story. But I hope you know they’d both be nothing but supportive.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” I sigh. “It’s just been too long.” “How long?”
“Can we order some food first and resume the questioning session later?”
Nico ignores my question. “Five years?”
“And you say I’m the impatient one?” I flag down the waiter and pry open the heavy, leather-bound menu, scanning the cursive font detailing each item.
“You are when you want to come.”
“Stop it.” I kick his shin, and Nico winces. The waiter appears, and we place our orders. Then Nico asks, “Seven years?”
Fuck it. “Almost ten,” I correct him.
His hand lands on my thigh beneath the tablecloth, a touch much more comforting than the s*xual connotation it usually has. The gesture briefly silences the nerves exploding beneath my rib cage.
“A decade-long secret. Impressive.”
“It’s not as devious as it sounds,” I say. “Just private information I haven’t shared with anyone.”
“Kind of like what you’re doing with us.”
“A mutual decision,” I remind him. “Any other questions?” “How are you feeling right now?”
My head jerks back slightly. He asked the last thing I expected him to ask, and it’s only adding to the confusing things I’m starting to feel for him.
Maybe I can trust Nico to keep this secret between us.
Maybe.
Relief blooms in my chest. As though the nagging itch of constantly being extra careful, weaving my way out of conversations, or simply hiding a part of myself has been subdued for the first time in a decade.
I feel…okay?
“I’m struggling to process it. Maybe the words that come to mind are
anxious with a sprinkle of impressed?”
He did piece together my entire alter ego in a matter of weeks.
“The last thing I want to do, Lily, is stress you out. Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. I’ll forget the whole thing.” He looks
around the room. “I didn’t realize when I picked this restaurant that it would have a theme to match its name.”
For the first time this evening, I take a moment to glance around the opulent space. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings, each iridescent piece of glass cut into the shape of a cherry. Baroque-style picture frames decorate the gilded wallpaper, each picture a variation of the pitted fruit. Every square inch of this restaurant is covered in little patterns of cherries, even the white cloth napkin in my lap and the earrings our waiter is wearing.
The absurdity of it forces laughter from me.
“There’s my favorite sound.” Nico smiles. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I was having a little bit of fun without realizing the gravity of the situation.”
“I’m not upset with you,” I say, catching my breath.
“Okay, good. I didn’t want any secrets between us. I want to know everything about you simply because you captivate me.”
A blush melts across my skin. “Such a heartbreaker with words like that.”
“I’d gladly break my heart for you.”
I believe he would. The truth is both soul-stirring and petrifying. Nico’s only ever come to me with open arms, speaking a language hummed in my veins better than anyone I’ve ever met.
It’s everything about him.
The damn grin that sings to me like my favorite song, his morning wake-up calls with steaming cups of tea, carrying me to bed when I stay up too late, or when I catch him simply watching me be.
He’s so quickly become a dear friend. Because it’s what we are.
Just friends.
Nico and I. Me and him.
“Lil.” The squeeze of his hand on my thigh jolts me back to the present. “You don’t have to tell me anything tonight, no explanations, and no juicy details. Only know I support you, and I’m proud of you. Let’s celebrate, no strings attached. What do you say?”
His face is creased with a smile so beautiful, it almost makes me want to skip over my place setting and lock my mouth to his.
“Okay.” I lift my champagne glass between us. He mirrors me, peeking at me through the bubbly liquid.
“To Lily ‘Zoe Mona’ Rodin, a bestselling author. Cheers, princesa.” And for the first time, I allow myself to celebrate my win.
