Romans de Seraphina Kendall

~Mia~I could not sleep.The sheets were too hot, the fan too loud, my skin still buzzing from the way Ethan had looked at me on the rooftop earlier. Every time I closed my eyes I saw his stare, dark and hungry, like he wanted to eat me alive. My body ached in places that had nothing to do with the beach volleyball and everything to do with him.At four in the morning I gave up.I pulled on the same oversized T-shirt and cotton shorts I had worn to bed, no bra, just the thin fabric brushing my nipples every time I moved. Bare feet on the cool tile, I crept downstairs to the kitchen. The house was silent except for the distant crash of waves. I opened the wine fridge, grabbed the half-empty bottle of rosé from earlier, and poured myself a big glass. Maybe this would knock me out.I turned around and nearly dropped the glass.Ethan was already there.He sat at the kitchen island in nothing but gray sweatpants, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass in his hand. His h

~Ethan~I should have stayed home tonight.Not the beach house. Home home. Back in the city where the walls are thick and the distance between me and Mia is measured in miles instead of inches. But no. I’m here, crammed into a pirate themed beach bar that smells like regret and fried seafood, watching her sip a piña colada like she doesn’t know she’s unraveling me thread by thread.She’s been avoiding my eyes all day. Ever since the paddleboard incident this morning when she ate shit in the most spectacular way possible. Arms flailing, legs kicking, face first into the Gulf like she was trying to drown the board before it drowned her. I laughed until my ribs hurt. She called me an asshole. I called her graceful. We’ve been sniping at each other ever since.Now we’re at the bar. Her thigh is pressed against mine under the counter because the stools are too damn close and neither of us is moving. I can feel the heat of her skin through my board shorts. It’s distracting as hell.“You gon

~Mia~The next day we decided we needed to “do something touristy” before Noah declared the whole trip a bust. His idea of touristy was renting two jet skis and a paddleboard nobody asked for, then hitting up a beach bar that looked like it had been built by pirates who gave up halfway through. The place had string lights tangled in palm trees, mismatched bar stools, and a bartender who called everyone “chief” whether they liked it or not.We piled in around sunset. The air smelled like fried conch and spilled beer. Music thumped from speakers half-buried in the sand. Jax immediately challenged Noah to a game of beer pong against some locals who looked like they’d been playing since birth. Lena dragged them both to the table while she filmed everything for her stories. I hung back at the bar, nursing a piña colada that was more rum than anything else, trying to pretend I wasn’t hyper-aware of Ethan standing two feet away ordering a beer.He slid onto the stool next to me without askin

~Mia~ The first full day hit like a fever dream. We woke up to sun already blasting through every window. No curtains in this place, apparently Aaron believed in “living in the light” or whatever rich-people philosophy came with owning half the coastline. My head throbbed faintly from the rose we killed on the rooftop deck at 2 a.m., and my mouth tasted like regret and pineapple chunks. Downstairs was chaos in the best way. Jax was shirtless, flipping pancakes on the massive gas range like he was auditioning for a cooking show, while Lena filmed him for content. Noah wandered out in board shorts and bedhead, yawning so wide I could see his tonsils. Ethan was already up, because of course he was, leaning against the island with a mug of black coffee, scrolling his phone, looking annoyingly awake and annoyingly good in nothing but low-slung gray sweats and a faded black tee. “Morning, trouble,” he said without looking up. I flipped him off on my way to the fridge. “Don’t start.” H

~Mia~ “This place is… insane,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. The front door had barely clicked shut behind us, and already I felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s life. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living area like glass arms hugging the view. Beyond them, the ocean stretched forever—turquoise bleeding into deeper blue, waves folding over themselves in slow, lazy rolls. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall even though we were in Florida in August and no one in their right mind would light a fire. The furniture was all clean lines and expensive neutrals: cream linen sofas, teak coffee tables, abstract art that probably cost more than my tuition this semester. It smelled faintly of cedar and salt air, like money had its own perfume. I dropped my duffel bag right there in the entryway because my hands suddenly forgot how to function. Noah was already striding through like he owned the place, arms wide. “Told you it was