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FANCY

♧

IGGY AZALEA , CHARLI XCX

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MY SKIN WAS still burning.

Not from the water—God, I wished it was from the water. The ocean had been freezing, but the heat I felt now had nothing to do with the temperature.

It was him.

Antonio fucking Genovese.

I should've known he was going to pull something. The way he had looked at me in the water, his hands gripping my waist like he owned me, the way his thumb barely—barely—brushed against my skin just to see if I'd react. And I had.

Like an idiot.

Like a girl who didn't know better.

And then he just let go. Walked away like he hadn't just played me in my own game. Like he hadn't just left me floating there, my pulse hammering in my throat while he climbed out like nothing happened.

Smirking.

Like he knew exactly what he'd done to me.

Asshole.

I barely heard Malakai and the girls still laughing behind me as I pulled myself out of the water. My robe clung to me, useless now, my body still shivering—but not from the cold. I ignored the way my breath felt uneven, the way my lips tingled like I could still feel him too close.

"Fuck off, Antonio," I muttered, flipping my braids over my shoulder, forcing my voice to sound bored even though I was anything but.

I turned, ready to stalk off—where, I didn't even know. I just needed space. I needed away.

But he was already walking, towel slung over his shoulder, muscles tense like he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be. Like maybe—maybe—I had fucked with him just as much as he fucked with me.

And I still followed him.

I hated myself for it.

I should've stayed with the others, should've laughed it off, should've ignored whatever the hell had just happened in the water.

But I didn't.

I grabbed a towel and went after him, my heart still pounding, my skin still burning, and one thought replaying in my head over and over again—

I don't know if I hate him more for doing it.

Or for stopping.

I followed him inside, towel wrapped tightly around me, still feeling the weight of his hands on my waist like a ghost of a touch.

I wasn't even sure where I was going—if I was going to say something, if I was going to cuss him out or dare him to do it again. But my feet kept moving, drawn to him like I didn't have a fucking choice in the matter.

He disappeared into the hallway leading to his room, his pace calm, controlled—like he hadn't just pulled whatever the fuck that was back there.

Like he hadn't just left me rattled.

I picked up my speed, reaching him just as he pushed his door open.

"You think that was funny?" I asked, voice low.

He stopped, one hand on the doorframe, head tilting just slightly. "What?"

My fingers curled into my towel. "That little stunt in the water."

He exhaled a short laugh. "Stunt? I didn't do anything, princess."

My breath caught. Not at the nickname—he'd called me that before. But the way he said it now... slow, deliberate, edged with something I wasn't sure I wanted to name.

Liar.

He knew exactly what he did.

I stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to look at him, close enough that the scent of his cologne mixed with the ocean clung to the air between us.

"Then why'd you stop?" I challenged, voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw flexed.

And for the first time tonight, Antonio Genovese didn't have an answer.

For a second—just a second—I thought he might.

I thought he might do something stupid.

Might reach for me again. Might push me back against the door and pick up exactly where he left off in the water.

My pulse spiked, breath catching as his gaze dropped—to my mouth, to the towel still wrapped around my body, to the way my chest rose just a little faster than it should've.

And then—

He smirked.

Like he'd won.

Like he knew.

"Go dry off, princess," he murmured, stepping inside his room. "You'll catch cold."

And then the door shut in my face.

I stood there, heart hammering, body still too warm, hands itching to throw the fucking door open and—

I hated him.

Hated him for stopping.

Hated myself for wanting him not to.

I turned quickly, heading into Val's room where I'd left my phone on the charger.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, unlocking it with a flick of my thumb. If Antonio wanted to act like nothing happened, then fine. Two could play that game.

I scrolled through my contacts, tapping on a familiar name. The phone rang twice before a smooth, amused voice picked up.

"Celine Luciano. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I smirked, already picturing the grin on his face. Perfect.

"Matías," I purred, shifting on the bed. "How've you been, cariño?"

A low chuckle came through the speaker. "Better now that you've called me. What's a girl like you doing in Tulum without telling me first?"

"Oh, you know," I sighed, stretching lazily. "I've been busy. Work, family, husband—" I practically spat the last word.

Matías hummed, his interest clearly piqued. "Husband? Since when do you have a husband?"

"It's complicated."

"Mmm." He let the sound drag out, like he knew exactly what I was doing. He did. That was why I called him.

"You need a distraction then?"

"I was thinking brunch."

"I can do brunch."

"Good." I smiled, twisting a braid between my fingers. "Pick me up in an hour."

"Done."

I hung up without another word, tossing my phone onto the bed and grinning up at the ceiling.

If Antonio wanted to ignore me?

He was about to regret it.

An hour later, I stepped outside, slipping on my sunglasses as the midday sun hit my skin. Matías was already waiting, leaning against a sleek black convertible, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Damn, Luciano," he drawled, running his eyes over me. "You just keep getting finer."

I gave him a slow once-over, taking in the open shirt, tanned skin, and cocky expression that hadn't changed since we were teenagers. Some things never did.

"You say that like you don't look exactly the same." I slid into the passenger seat, feeling the heat from the leather against my thighs. He got in beside me, starting the engine with a smooth purr.

"Still a flirt, huh?"

"I learned from the best," I shot back.

Matías laughed, pulling out onto the road. "So, tell me. This husband of yours—"

"Don't." I exhaled sharply, adjusting my sunglasses. "Just drive."

He gave me a look but didn't push. That was what I liked about Matías—he always knew when to talk and when to shut the hell up.

We sped down the coastal road, wind whipping through my braids, the ocean glistening in the distance. It was beautiful. It should've been peaceful.

But my mind was elsewhere.

Antonio.

He was going to lose his mind.

Matías and I were never officially together, but we were something. That messy, undefined something that hovered between fun and serious, between attraction and attachment.

We met when I was seventeen, back when I used to visit Tulum more often. He was a couple of years older, already deep into his own family's business—nothing as big as the Genovese empire, but still dangerous. We clicked fast, both reckless, both loving the thrill of playing with fire. He took me to clubs I was too young to get into, kissed me against the hood of his car after tequila-fueled nights, and made me feel like the world belonged to us.

But we weren't exclusive.

I didn't want to be, and Matías had enough girls throwing themselves at him that he didn't mind. It worked—until it didn't.

I was the one who left first.

I never told him why. Maybe because I didn't even know the reason myself. I just knew I wasn't meant to stay in Tulum, wrapped up in late-night rides and whispered promises we never planned to keep.

And yet, here I was again, slipping into his car like no time had passed.

I adjusted my top—or what little fabric of it there was. It was black, sheer lace, tied in the front with a flimsy little bow, doing nothing to hide the push-up bra underneath. My denim shorts were short short, the kind that barely covered anything when I sat down, showing off my long legs and the golden glow of my skin.

Matías noticed. His eyes flickered down before he smirked.

"Damn, mami," he whistled. "You always did dress to kill."

I smirked back, tossing my braids over my shoulder.

"I don't dress for you, Matías."

"Maybe not," he said, pulling onto the road, "but your husband? He's gonna lose his fucking mind."

Good.

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ahh I bet y'all thought y'all weren't gonna see vain insane Celine again didn't y'all ?? she's gonna great crazier just so y'all know 😇 y'all really boutta see why she got her name as taipan and ion know why Antonio be playing in his wife face as if he don't know she's insane like sir??

anyways Ty for reading !! How was this chapter ?!

Remember to eat today !!

- zio 🍸