Chapter 62 Salt and Silence
The water was the only thing that felt honest. It didn't care about the gold hardware on my white bikini or the fact that my parents were drowning in debt to keep me afloat in this world. It was simply cool, clear, and vast. I waded in until the turquoise waves lapped at my waist, the fine white sand shifting beneath my toes like silk.
A few yards away, the Beach Club was a blur of neon drinks and shrill laughter, but out here, the sound of the Atlantic swallowed the "Elite" noise. I felt the sun on my shoulders, a warmth that felt like a spotlight I wasn't ready for, especially in a suit that felt less like clothing and more like a dare.
Nate swam out past the break, his movements fluid and powerful. He didn't splash or show off; he moved with the same calculated efficiency he used in the classroom, cutting through the water as if he owned the tide itself. When he circled back toward me, he didn't stop until he was standing just a foot away.
The water droplets on his tanned skin caught the sun, glistening like tiny diamonds against the hard, defined muscle of his chest and shoulders. His hair was slicked back, dripping, making the sharp angles of his face look even more severe—and more striking. For a moment, my brain stalled. I found myself tracking a single drop of water as it rolled down the hollow of his throat and disappeared into the surf.
He’s hot, a traitorous voice in the back of my mind whispered. Actually, devastatingly hot.
I felt a sudden, sharp heat in my cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. I immediately scolded myself, the internal reprimand stinging like a slap. Stop it, Mila. He’s a Salvatore. He’s the reason you’re in this mess. Don't let a little saltwater and good lighting turn you into one of those girls at the club.
"You're surprisingly good at this," he said, his voice low enough to be lost to the wind.
"At what? Standing in the ocean?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fact that my heart was currently doing a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"At holding your ground," Nate replied, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that made the water around us feel warmer. "I watched you back there with the Cole twins. Most people would have crumbled under that much redirected spite. You didn't even blink."
"I'm from Queens, Nate. I’ve dealt with worse than mean girls in Missoni wraps. They’re just sharks in better packaging. At least real sharks don't pretend they're happy to see you."
Nate reached out, his hand moving beneath the surface of the water. I felt his fingers graze my hip—a light, almost accidental touch that sent a jolt through me more intense than the cold tide. My skin hummed where he touched me, a dangerous, electric pull that I knew I should ignore.
"You're out of your element, Mila. I know that. But you have a way of making this element look like it was made for you."
I looked away, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. I wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that I could actually belong in this blue-and-white paradise—but I knew the difference between being a guest and being a part of the landscape. "Don't get used to it. The white suit goes back in the suitcase on Sunday."
"We'll see," he murmured, his gaze lingering on me with a quiet, protective weight.
Near a cluster of jagged limestone rocks that marked the edge of the private estate, I watched as Eliza and Gavin were locked in their own private orbit. The water there was shallower, barely reaching their knees, but the tension between them was deep enough to drown in.
"You look ridiculous," Gavin said, leaning against a rock with a crooked, mocking grin. He was nursing a drink in a plastic cup, though he hadn't taken a sip in ten minutes. "That green silk? You look like you're trying out for a role in a Bond movie. It’s very... not Brooklyn."
Eliza crossed her arms, the emerald fabric of her cover-up clinging to her skin. "And you look like a cliché, Gavin. The brooding heir who drinks in the sun because he’s too bored to actually enjoy his life. Is this the part where you tell me how hard it is to be beautiful and rich? Because I left my violin in New York."
Gavin chuckled, a dry, hollow sound that seemed to catch in his throat. "Actually, I was going to ask if you brought any of that 'no-nonsense' attitude in your suitcase, or if you left it at the cafe with the burnt espresso. I've missed the way you look at me like I'm a particularly annoying stain on the rug."
"I brought enough to know when I'm being played," Eliza snapped, stepping closer until she was directly in his space, her eyes flashing. "You act like you hate this place as much as I do, but then you stand there and let your friends treat people like garbage. Which is it, Gavin? Are you one of them, or are you just a coward who's afraid to stand alone?"
Gavin’s smile faltered. For a split second, the mask of the arrogant Hollis heir slipped, revealing a flash of raw, unfiltered longing that made Eliza catch her breath. He reached out as if to touch the damp hair at her shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly. "Eliza, I—"
"Gavin! Oh my god, there you are!"
The moment shattered like glass on marble. A tall blonde in a sheer sarong waved from the boardwalk, her voice high and demanding. Gavin’s face instantly smoothed back into a mask of boredom, the vulnerability disappearing behind a wall of practiced indifference.
"Duty calls," Gavin said, his voice suddenly light and flippant. He flashed Eliza a wink that didn't reach his eyes. "Go find a seashell or something, Brooklyn. I have a social calendar to maintain, and apparently, I'm late for a toast."
He turned and waded toward the shore, tossing a flirtatious comment toward the blonde that made her giggle and hook her arm through his. Eliza stood frozen in the surf, her face flushed with a mixture of anger and a hurt she refused to name.
"Heartless," she whispered to the empty air, her voice shaking. "Just another heartless heir."
She turned and marched back toward the stone stairs of the estate, her head held high, refusing to look back. She didn't see Gavin stop ten yards away. She didn't see him turn around as the blonde pulled on his arm, the flirtatious smile vanished, replaced by a look of such profound conflict and regret that it seemed to age him a decade.
He watched her until she disappeared into the greenery of the Salvatore cliffs, his hand tightening around his drink until the plastic cracked.