Sofia's POV
Okay. First of all… why is this island so freaking pretty??
Like—hello?? Sparkling turquoise water, sand so soft it's basically nature's memory foam, and palm trees doing that slow, dramatic sway like they're auditioning for a music video. The sky is offensively blue. Honestly, it feels rude.
Somebody hand me a flowy white dress so I can run in slow motion with my arms out while a sad piano plays in the background.
Anyway. Khalid said he was "going for a walk."
A WALK.
On an island. With suspiciously perfect weather. Wearing sunglasses.
Do you know what that means?
It means he's up to something. And I am not about to miss it.
So, obviously, I did the normal, rational thing:
…I followed him.
Don't judge me. My husband is mysterious, probably loaded, maybe a mafia boss (jury's still out), and I'm just supposed to sit inside drinking mango juice like a tame little wife? Absolutely not.
I grabbed my oversized sunhat—because no professional stalker operates without one—and slid my sandals on like I was preparing for a secret mission. Tiptoeing down a sandy path turned out to be way less glamorous than I imagined. You can't actually "tiptoe" in sand; you just kind of… waddle. Which means I looked less like a mysterious shadow and more like a penguin with social anxiety.
He walked ahead, hands in his pockets, casual but… not. There's something about the way Khalid moves, like he's listening to music only he can hear. He stopped near the shore, looking out at the ocean like one of those men in perfume commercials—the kind where waves crash dramatically, and you half-expect him to whisper something in Italian.
The wind, clearly his accomplice, messed with his shirt just enough to cling to all the wrong-right places. And I swear to God, this island is working for him.
From behind my palm tree, I debated. Should I keep spying or just walk up like a normal wife?
Spoiler: I kept spying.
And then—
"Sofia."
I froze. Oh no.
OH NO.
He didn't even turn around. Just said my name in that low, quiet way that makes me feel like I've been caught stealing diamonds from a billionaire's safe.
I stepped out from behind the tree, casually pretending I'd been "just looking for seashells" (yes, that was my brain's best idea under pressure).
His eyebrow went up. "This beach doesn't have seashells."
Busted.
"Well," I said, straightening, "maybe I have special seashell vision. You wouldn't understand."
His lips twitched. Oh no. That was the micro-smirk—the one that says he's about to ruin me without lifting a single finger.
"Special seashell vision?"
"Yes." I folded my arms. "It's a genetic gift. Runs in the family."
He started walking toward me—slowly. Like a shark in an expensive shirt.
And me? I backed up, because apparently, my survival instincts are set to nervous squirrel mode.
"What are you really doing here, Sofia?" His voice was soft. Too soft. Dangerous-soft.
I gulped. "Um… enjoying the weather?"
"And spying on me?"
"Excuse me, I call it marital concern. Totally different thing."
We stopped a few steps apart. The sunlight caught his sunglasses just right, reflecting my ridiculous big hat, my flushed face, and—fantastic—sand stuck to my ankle like a desperate accessory.
Without warning, he reached up and tilted my hat back so he could see my eyes.
"You're terrible at sneaking around," he murmured.
My brain? Gone. My ability to speak? Deleted.
Because up close, I could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the smile lines that only showed when he wasn't being Khalid the Mystery Man, and—unfairly—the smell of his stupidly perfect cologne mixed with the salt of the ocean.
The waves behind him rolled in dramatically, like they'd been hired to make this moment look more cinematic. He took another step closer, the heat of his body mingling with the sun's.
"Next time you want to follow me," he said, voice low enough to curl around my spine, "just walk beside me."
My heart decided to turn into a full-on drum solo. I opened my mouth to say something clever—anything—but before I could, a seagull screamed overhead like it was announcing our almost-kiss to the entire island.
We both glanced up. The bird flew away, smug. Moment? Officially ruined.
Thanks, nature.
Khalid's chuckle was quiet but way too satisfied, like he'd won a game I didn't know we were playing.
"Come on," he said, turning toward the water. "Let's have lunch on the beach."
And because I'm weak… I followed him.
Not because of the food, obviously.
…Okay, maybe 50% because of the food.
The other 50%?
Let's just say I have marital concern.
---
The sun was high, the sand warm under my feet, and Khalid walked ahead like he owned the entire ocean.
(Which, honestly, wouldn't surprise me at this point.)
We stopped where the waves kissed the shore, and to my surprise, someone had already set up a whole lunch spread. I'm talking woven mat, colorful cushions, a low wooden table, a basket of food, and—because of course—fresh coconuts with straws sticking out.
"Did you… plan this?" I asked, suspicious.
Khalid slid his sunglasses off and placed them on the table. "Maybe."
That was all he said. Maybe.
Sir, you can't just throw out mysterious one-word answers when there's literal grilled seafood waiting for me.
I sat down on the mat, sinking into the cushions like my spine had been waiting for this moment its entire life. The smell of grilled fish and garlic butter wrapped around me like a hug. I reached for a piece, but Khalid's hand moved faster, spearing it with a fork and holding it just out of reach.
"Hey!" I said, narrowing my eyes.
"Say please."
"What am I, five?"
His brow arched. "Please?"
I groaned dramatically. "Fine. Please, oh generous seafood lord, may I have a bite?"
A corner of his mouth lifted before he handed it over. I took the bite—and okay, fine—it was delicious enough to temporarily forgive him for making me beg.
We ate like that for a while—me trying to focus on the food, him occasionally smirking like he knew I was sneaking glances. And maybe I was. A little. It's not my fault he looks like that while drinking from a coconut.
After a while, the conversation shifted to random things—like how I can't stand the sound of people chewing loudly, or how he once got into a fight with a seagull over a sandwich when he was a kid. (Apparently, the bird won.)
The breeze picked up, tugging strands of my hair loose from my hat. Khalid reached out—without hesitation—and tucked them behind my ear. My heart did that annoying skip thing again.
"You're quiet," he said, studying me.
"Just… enjoying the weather," I replied, echoing my earlier excuse.
He gave a low chuckle, clearly remembering. Then he leaned back on his elbows, tilting his head toward the horizon where the sun was already dipping lower. The sky was bleeding into shades of gold and pink, and for a second, everything felt too… peaceful.
Which, knowing my life, meant chaos was probably lurking.
"Do you always follow people when you're curious?" he asked lazily.
"Only suspicious husbands," I said, sipping my drink.
"And what did you find out?"
"That you have secret beach lunches and a talent for being annoyingly calm while I overthink everything."
He smirked. "Maybe next time, you'll just ask."
"Where's the fun in that?" I shot back.
He didn't answer, but his eyes softened just a fraction, like he was letting me win without actually saying so.
The waves kept rolling, the food kept disappearing, and I found myself laughing more than I had in days. And maybe—just maybe—I wasn't only here for the food anymore.