Present Day

By the time we're herded back into the tuk-tuks, Tuscany is golden and quiet in that end-of-afternoon way that feels like it's mocking me personally.

Maya is asleep on my shoulder.

Not gently asleep.
Passed out.

Her head lolls forward with every bump in the road, her breath warm against my collarbone, and I just sit there, staring ahead, replaying my life choices like they're bad karaoke lyrics I can't escape.

When we finally stop, I nudge her.

"Maya."

Nothing.

"Maya," I try again, louder.

She jolts upright like she's been electrocuted. "WHAT—what's happening—who's there—did I miss pizza?"

"Calm down, Zorro," I sigh. "We're back at the villa."

"Oh." She blinks slowly. "Great. That's great. I need... a nice time to relax."

I snort. "You need sleep. And water. Possibly an IV."

"Yeah," she says, already leaning back into me. "That too. I might need that too."

With a lot of effort—and some strategic bracing—I help her out of the tuk-tuk. Around us, people are dismounting bikes, laughing, stretching, still glowing from the afternoon. Sofia and Henry step into the center of the chaos, clinking a glass to get everyone's attention.

Henry smiles, all golden retriever energy. "Okay, everyone! Go relax a bit. The villa has spas, every room has a bathtub—"

Sofia grins. "—take some time for yourselves. We'll meet back here in about an hour and a half for dinner."

A collective happy murmur ripples through the group.

I just nod, already steering Maya toward the inside of the villa like I'm escorting a drunk celebrity through paparazzi.

We find the room assignments near the entrance—names neatly listed like this is summer camp and not emotional warfare. Our rooms are close. Bless whoever planned that.

I grab both key cards and guide Maya down the hallway, her feet dragging like she's given up on gravity entirely.

Inside her room, I drop my bag and turn on the bathroom light.

"Okay," I tell her firmly. "You're showering. Hot water. Sobering up. Becoming a functioning human again."

She squints at me. "You're very bossy today."

"I've always been bossy. You're just too drunk to enjoy it."

She collapses onto the bed instead, arms and legs flung out like a fallen starfish.

"Maya."

No response.

I walk over and lightly slap her cheek.

Nothing.

A bit harder. "Maya."

She groans. "If this is how I die, tell my students I loved them."

I sigh, grab her shoulders, and haul her upright. "Get. In. The. Tub."

She laughs weakly. "Do I... do I need to take off my dress?"

"Yes."

She doesn't move.

I wait.

Nothing happens.

"Okay," I mutter. "You know what? Fine."

I turn on the shower, guide her straight into the bathtub—dress, dignity, and all—and let the water run over her.

She squeals. "OH—wow—okay—cold—Maddie—this is abuse!"

"Drink water," I say, handing her a glass. "Breathe. Regret your choices."

She slumps against the tile, hair plastered to her face, blinking up at me. "You're a really good friend."

"I know," I say. "Now sober up. I need you alive. I will not survive three days with Luke without backup."

She smiles faintly, eyes finally clearing just a little. "Yeah... okay. I'll try."

I step back into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed, arms and legs spread wide, staring at the ceiling.

Ten years.
Fake dating.
Luke Parker.

I groan softly into the quiet room.

"This," I whisper to absolutely no one, "is such a mess."

I pull Maya up from the bathtub with more effort than dignity on either of our parts. She's gulping water straight from the glass now, eyes still glassy but at least present.

"Okay," I tell her, bracing her by the shoulders, "Sleeping Beauty. Real sober treatment."

I hand her a full bottle of water from the minibar. She drains almost half of it in one go, gasps for air, then nods like she's just completed a marathon.

"Proud of you," I say.

She grins weakly. "I hate you."

I dry her off, wrap her in a towel, then shove her into one of those aggressively fluffy white hotel robes that feel like a cloud with sleeves. She gets tangled in it immediately and faceplants onto the bed, cheek smashed into a pillow, one arm dangling off the side.

"Okay," I say, pointing at her collapsed body. "I'll get ready really quickly and then I'll come back and take care of... that."

She lifts a thumbs-up without lifting her head.

Good enough.

I leave her there, hoping—praying—that nothing else will happen to her in the next hour, and step back into the hallway. My room is directly across, barely ten steps away.

I make it exactly three.

"Madison."

I freeze.

Of course.

I turn slowly, already past the point of optimism, and find myself staring straight into Victoria's perfectly composed face. Hair flawless. Posture immaculate. Expression politely lethal.

I force a smile. "Hi."

"Hello, Madison," she says smoothly. "How are you?"

I exhale. "Honestly? After seeing you—terrible. Two seconds ago I was great. Truly thriving. Then you appeared."

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms like she's indulging a child. "Still charming, I see."

"So," she continues, tilting her head, "when are you planning to stop this whole façade?"

I know exactly what she means. And for the first time all day, I decide I might actually enjoy this.

I shrug. "I don't know what you want me to say, Victoria. Luke and I are dating. If that's inconvenient for you, I'm really sorry."

Her lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. "Madison, dear. You've always been a good liar. But even for you, this one's a stretch. Luke will get tired of you. Even if this little performance is just fake dating to get to me."

I meet her gaze calmly. "You know, in relationships, even when things get hard, people try. They work for it. So yes—I hope he does that. I believe in him."

Then I add lightly, "And if you think this is all about you... well. I can play along with your delusions."

She steps closer. Too close. I can feel her breath now, her perfume sharp and expensive.

"We're not in high school anymore," she says coldly. "You might want to drop the sarcasm. I don't tolerate bullshit like I used to. I've changed."

I smile sweetly. "Oh, I know we're not in high school. As for changing... I'm not so sure."

I glance upward theatrically, like I'm searching my memory. "Because if I remember correctly, you were always very invested in Luke. Borderline obsessed, actually."

Her jaw tightens.

"And honestly," I continue, unbothered, "chasing after a guy? Being convinced he's secretly still in love with you? That feels very on brand for you."

She snaps.

"You don't know anything," she hisses. "Luke loved me. He cared about me. This—you—is just another one of his tricks to get me back. And he will. Not because I'm jealous. But because he has to fight for me."

I snort before I can stop myself. "Yeah. Sure."

Her eyes flash. "If this were real, wouldn't you be angry? Wouldn't it bother you that Luke and I dated? He told you he never felt anything for me, didn't he? That it would never happen."

She leans in, voice soft and sharp all at once. "Turns out he was lying. To you. Or to himself. Luke was crazy about me."

For a split second—just one—something tightens in my chest.

Then I straighten.

I look at her calmly and say, "Why would I be angry about someone he dated in the past?"

I step closer now, matching her distance, my voice steady.

"That's what you are, Victoria. The past."

I hold her gaze, unblinking.

"He's with me now."

Victoria doesn't stop.

If anything, she gets louder.

She keeps circling the same sentence like it's a hymn she learned by heart—how Luke only ever loved her, how she was the great love of his life, how everything else was just a detour. She says it again and again, each time with more venom, her voice bouncing off the stone walls of the hallway.

I do the one thing that drives her absolutely insane.

I don't react.

"He loves me so just stop whatever you are doing!"

"Are you threatening me right now because I am dating Luke?" I said with a smile, she really is worked up by this I wonder what happened with them.

"Yes I will threaten you if I have too." She said pointing a finger to my face.

"I wonder what made you so god damn desperate?" I asked more to myself than to her and then I tried in my head to answer myself this question.

Sadly, I couldn't. I was very curious.

"He's mine !"

"Oh Victoria " I said already done with her theatrics "cry about it."

I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, face open, bored—like she's ranting about the weather or a bad haircut. I nod once or twice. I even hum, thoughtfully, at one point.

And that's when she really loses it.

"You think this is funny?" she snaps, voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You think this is some kind of joke? Luke loved me. He chose me. You're nothing but a placeholder."

I smile. Soft. Almost kind.

"Is that so?"

Her breath comes faster now. Her face—too much powder, wrong shade, cracked around the edges—starts to shine under the lights. She's practically vibrating.

"I was everything to him," she shouts. "Everything he ever wanted. You're just here because he's bored. Because he wants to hurt me."

Still calm. Still unbothered.

"Wow," I say lightly. "That's a lot of pressure for a guy who's literally down the hall changing his shirt."

She steps closer. Too close.

"He loves me," she repeats, louder. "Me. Only me."

And then—

"Victoria."

Luke's voice cuts through the hallway like a blade.

He appears between us before I even fully register him, tall, solid, one hand already reaching out. He doesn't grab her roughly, doesn't pull—he just places his hands on her arms, steady, grounding.

"That's enough," he says, low and firm.

Victoria barely looks at him.

Her eyes stay locked on mine.

For a split second, a ridiculous thought crosses my mind: maybe she's more in love with me than with him.

The idea is so absurd I actually laugh.

It slips out before I can stop it.

A small laugh. Honest. Amused.

Victoria's head snaps toward me. "Look at her," she says, voice trembling with fury. "Look at her laughing at me. How can you date someone so rude? So cruel? She's making fun of me."

Luke exhales through his nose, patience thinning. "Victoria, calm down."

Then he turns to me.

His eyes meet mine, sharp, tired. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asks quietly. "Maybe you should go."

I blink once.

Then I shrug.

"Sure."

No fight. No protest. No dramatic exit.

I turn, swipe my keycard, and step into my room directly across the hall. Just before the door closes, I catch one last glimpse of Victoria—still shaking, still furious—and Luke standing there, looking like he's holding back a migraine.

I close the door.

And I smile.

Because honestly?

That felt great.

I drop my small bag on the chair, kick off my shoes, and lean back against the door, satisfaction buzzing under my skin.

Petty? Maybe.

Worth it?

Absolutely.