The lake shimmered like glass under the late afternoon sun, the water warm and still, cradled by trees that rustled gently overhead.
Eliana waded in slow, the coolness kissing her thighs, then her waist. Her bikini clung to her like second skin, her hair braided over one shoulder. She let the water rise to her collarbones and tilted her head back with a sigh. The sounds of laughter echoed from the dock, Elias and Renee playing chicken, Valeria recording from a lounge chair with a glass of wine in one hand and a massive sunhat on her head.
"Ready?" a voice called behind her.
And then he was there.
Nicky.
Stepping into the lake with slow, fluid ease. Hair damp and messy again, this time without product, falling in soft waves across his forehead. He wore plain black swim shorts, and no shirt. Just smooth, golden skin and water droplets trailing down his chest like they had every right.
Eliana's heart thudded against her ribs like it was trying to get out.
"You swim?" he asked casually, glancing at her as he walked deeper.
"I float," she replied, forcing a smile. "Badly."
He chuckled. "Come on, I'll show you."
He came closer. Arms lifted. Gentle hands slipped under hers to guide them out. Just like that. Warm fingers wrapping around her wrists, guiding her backwards as she leaned into the water.
And he didn't know.
He didn't know what it did to her.
He didn't see the way her breath caught. The way she noticed the mole on his collarbone. The fine line of hair from his navel that disappeared into his waistband. The water clinging to his lashes. The way his mouth curved—not teasing, not sharp, just soft.
He didn't notice that she was blushing.
Because why would he?
He was gay.
He treated her like Renee. Like Valeria. Like someone safe to touch.
Eliana floated in his arms, chest rising and falling too fast, trying not to let her body betray her.
"You're doing good," he said, holding her steady. His hand splayed against her back, skin on skin. "See? You just had to relax."
She couldn't.
Not with him this close.
Not with the smell of salt and skin and summer wrapping around her.
"Thanks," she whispered, turning her head slightly so her lips wouldn't be too close to his.
He smiled.
And it wrecked her.
Because it wasn't a smile meant to seduce. It was the kind you gave someone you liked being around. Someone you trusted. Someone who wouldn't break if you leaned a little closer, said something sweet.
She wanted to bottle it. That smile.
Keep it in her chest and take sips from it on bad days.
He let her go, let her float.
They drifted together.
And she watched him with aching eyes—this man with eyes like overcast skies, with hands that touched gently, with a voice that lulled her into softness.
She knew.
She knew.
He wasn't for her.
He would never be for her.
But god… she wanted to stay in the water forever if it meant he'd hold her like that again.
After 2 days of making herself like an idiot, they went back home and she was back again to the job she loves.
The office smelled like fresh coffee and fabric bolts, and Eliana had barely walked in before three models, two interns, and a panicked junior designer had thrown themselves at her with scheduling questions and missing scarf emergencies.
Luca D'Amour's label was fresh off its most successful show season yet. Photos of his fall line were everywhere—from magazine covers to late-night commentary. And behind all the sparkle and drama was Eliana, still glued to her clipboard, managing time like it was a bomb set to explode.
But this morning, she was off.
Still good at her job. Still moving, smiling, answering calls, sliding oat lattes into Luca's hand with goddess-like timing.
But her heart?
Her heart was stupid.
Because she kept remembering Nicky's hand on her back in the lake.
And the way he smiled, not because he wanted her, but because she was safe.
She hated it. Hated how badly she'd crushed on someone who could never return it. Hated how her skin still warmed just thinking about him.
So she buried it.
Hard.
She dove into her work, buried herself in schedules and color palettes and spreadsheet columns. Luca's voice was a whirlwind through the halls—dramatic, divine, and somehow always knowing when someone was slacking.
"Eliana," he drawled mid-morning, heels clicking across the marble floor, silk scarf fluttering like a flag. "Tell me you brought my emergency chocolate."
She held up the gold-wrapped bar. "Always."
"You're a saint. A delicious little planner saint."
She grinned. "And your 2PM fitting is with Isa. She'll be early."
"Of course she will. She's in love with me."
"She's seventeen."
"And obsessed. I'm irresistible. We've discussed this."
Eliana laughed, moving around him as she organized fabric samples by shade. "Also, the Seoul office is sending samples tonight, and Jeremy from PR wants to confirm your quote for the Vogue article."
"Tell him I'm chaotic and in mourning for my creative soul. They'll eat that up."
She rolled her eyes. "And finally, there's a new hire starting today. Assistant to the menswear team."
Luca didn't react.
But she did.
Because the elevator dinged—and in walked tall, sun-kissed, slightly-too-charming Liam.
Assistant menswear coordinator. Transferred from Paris. Broad shoulders, killer jawline, warm honey eyes, and a voice that melted vowels. He smiled at everyone, but his gaze lingered a beat longer on Eliana.
"Hi," he said, sticking out a hand, friendly, open. "Liam."
She took it. "Eliana. Luca's assistant."
"I know," he said. "They warned me you're the one who actually runs this place."
She laughed, just a little too loud. "Only when Luca's not looking."
"I am always looking," Luca murmured from behind her, sipping his coffee like tea. "But go on. Flirt. I'm a safe space."
Eliana flushed.
Liam grinned.
That afternoon flew by in a blur of meetings, fittings, and outfit edits. Eliana found herself bumping into Liam three times. Once in the break room. Once by the printer. And once when they both reached for the same folder and their fingers brushed.
Nothing dramatic.
But it was… nice.
And he smelled good. And looked really good in navy.
And he wasn't someone who would hold her in the water and never want her back.
So she let herself look. Just a little.
That evening, as the office emptied and golden light poured through the windows, Luca curled up dramatically across the velvet couch in his private office.
"We need to leave," he sighed.
Eliana glanced up from her laptop. "Excuse me?"
"I need space. I need chaos. I need a city that doesn't know my name."
"You were just on Vogue."
"I said what I said."
She smiled. "Where?"
"Barcelona."
She blinked. "Barcelona?"
He rolled over dramatically. "It's been calling me. The food. The light. The drama. The fashion. The men."
"And I'm coming because…"
"Because you're my brain and I can't function without you. Plus you need a break. And maybe a little inspiration of your own." He paused. Then gave her a wicked grin. "Besides, wouldn't it be fun to see Liam in linen?"
Her cheeks heated.
"I'm booking our tickets tonight," he said. "Pack something sheer and irresponsible."
And just like that…
New city.
New possibilities.
And maybe… a chance to start over again.