Strings and Schemes

Chapter 29

Then, he leans in.

The kiss starts slow, languid, like we have all the time in the world. His fingers brush against my cheek, tilting my chin up as he deepens it, his free hand resting on my hip. I shift closer, my fingers curling into his shirt.

I smile into the kiss, relaxing. How did life go from so complicated, feeling so alone, to the opposite so quickly?

It's perfect.

As soon as I feel the ease of perfect settle in, I hear the click-click-click of a camera.

Zayn stiffens. My stomach drops.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, pulling away, scanning the area.

I follow his gaze, heart pounding, and spot two men with cameras hidden behind the rocks.

Paparazzi.

They've found us.

Zayn exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. He reaches for my hand, gripping it tightly.

"We should go," he says, already standing up, shielding me from view.

I don't argue. I grab the blanket, stuffing things into the basket as quickly as I can, my hands shaking slightly.

Zayn curses under his breath. "I should have fucking known this would happen."

"We were careful," I insist, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's not your fault."

He doesn't look convinced.

I grab his arm. "Zayn."

Finally, his gaze meets mine, and I see the frustration, the protectiveness, the worry warring in his expression.

"I don't care if they saw us," I say, voice firm. "I care if you're okay."

His expression softens, just slightly. He nods once, but his grip on my hand never loosens.

We start making our way back, but I can already feel it. The shift. The way everything is about to change.

he ride back to our rental is tense.

Zayn barely speaks, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly as he drives through the winding roads of Milos. The golden glow of the sunset has turned into the deep blue of night, but I can still see the way his jaw tenses, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes every time the headlights catch his face.

I don't push him to talk. Not yet.

Instead, I reach across the small space between us and place my hand on his thigh. Just a simple touch. A reminder. His fingers twitch for a second before he exhales sharply, his grip loosening on the wheel ever so slightly.

By the time we pull up to the rental, the tension is practically coiled in the air around us. The warm breeze does nothing to ease the weight sitting between us.

Zayn kills the engine, but he doesn't move.

Neither do I.

Finally, he shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fucking hell." His voice is rough, thick with frustration.

I swallow. "Do you think they got clear shots?"

He huffs a bitter laugh, leaning back against the headrest. "Babe, they could probably count your eyelashes."

I bite my lip. It's not like I didn't know this could happen. I knew. We both did. We'd been careful, so fucking careful, and yet...

Zayn's hand suddenly finds mine, squeezing it. His touch is warm, grounding, even as his eyes flick to mine with something he's not saying.