“Always is,” she shot back. “But maybe this right here is the moment he’s telling you to rest and trust him… even if it’s just for five days.”
I inhaled slowly, letting her words settle over me.
Before I could respond, Kyrin’s voice floated from the doorway. “She’s right, you know.”
Both of us turned.
Kyrin was leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, that calm little half-smile on his face.
“You think I don’t notice?” he said, walking into the room. “You do everything for me, Jo… and I mean everything. You work yourself to the bone, you make sure I’m straight, you even brought me to freakin’ Mexico.”
He nudged my shoulder gently.
“I’m good because of you. Like I always tell you… you’re the best sister in the world. And if you can’t relax here, when can you?”
My throat tightened, but that time it wasn’t from stress.
“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Iamokay,” he assured me. “So breathe. Enjoy this. You earned it.”
For the first time since we landed, I actually smiled.
Then Lainey’s smirk returned like it had never left. “Now that that’s settled…” she said, clapping her hands once, “where the hell is my bikini?!”
Four hours later, after an afternoon of splashing around in the pool, laughing harder than we had in months, and rinsing off under hot showers that felt like rain, we were all dressed and lounging in my room.
A knock sounded at the door.
A man in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks stepped in, his accent rich and warm. “Señorita Ajori… Señor Alejandro requests your presence for dinner. All of you, please.”
I glanced at Lainey. “Well… that didn’t sound optional.”
We followed him through a long hallway lined with oil paintings and soft golden lighting. When we stepped into the dining room, I was taken aback by the décor. It looked like a royal banquet.
The table stretched long enough to seat twenty people comfortably, draped in an ivory linen cloth that looked too expensive to even breathe on wrong. Crystal goblets sparkled beneath a chandelier the size of a small car. Platters of food covered nearly every inch of the table. Roasted lamb glistened under a honey glaze. Garlic butter shrimp rested on a silver tray beside grilled lobster tails. Bowls of bright mango and pineapple were arranged like art pieces. A massive dish of saffron rice steamed beside grilled vegetables, fresh tortillas, and slow-cooked carne asada. There were trays of roasted chicken, plates of ceviche, warm bread baskets, and small crystal bowls filled with sauces and spices.
And that was just what I could see.
Silver domes covered several other dishes waiting to be revealed.
Kyrin’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning.
“Girl,” Lainey muttered, “I’m about to eat like somebody’s rich auntie at Thanksgiving.”
But none of us moved toward the table. It all looked too perfect… too expensive, like touching the wrong fork might get us escorted out. So we sat quietly, unsure of the rules.
A moment later, Marcos stepped into the room.
He was dressed in all black, carrying the same calm authority he always had.
Right behind him came a slightly older Mexican man. His face was weathered in a way that told you he’d lived through things most people only heard about in stories. Yet there was still charm in his smile, and the sharp suit he wore fit him like it had been stitched directly onto him.
Then came the third man. He didn’t rush; he walked in slowly, as if he knew the room would wait for him. His skin carried the deep bronze of someone who spent time in the sun. The dark shirt he wore was unbuttoned just enough to reveal ink curling along his chest. But it was his eyes that caught me. They landed on me like he was studying me and undressing me all in the same breath.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me—that was Dom.
The same man whose voice had once crackled through a speaker and made my pulse stumble. And now here he was in the flesh.