Chapter Six

C-06: A Visit to the Parisi's Beach House

I couldn’t hold back the happy squeal that escaped my lips as the jet ski surged forward, skimming across the waves. The wind whipped through my hair, tangling it into a hopeless mess—but I couldn’t care less.

“See? Told you it’s fun!” Isagani laughed, glancing over his shoulder to check on me.

I nodded enthusiastically, my grin stretching ear to ear. True to his promise, he had taken me jet skiing—and even volunteered to drive. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion.

“Hold on tight!” he shouted just before twisting the throttle again.

I barely had time to brace myself before we picked up speed, slicing through the water. I instinctively tightened my grip around him, the heat of his back warming my arms, the rush of the ride mingling with a sudden burst of butterflies in my stomach.

Adrenaline and something else—something softer—buzzed through me.

By the time we steered back toward the shore, the sun was sitting high, its rays sharp against my skin. We glided to a stop near the dock, both laughing as we jumped off and sloshed toward land.

Lunch was being prepared at the beachside hut, and the smell alone had my stomach grumbling. As I lined up to return the gear I’d rented, I glanced up—and there he was.

Isagani stood a few feet away, talking animatedly with some locals. One of the ladies beside him was holding up a phone. From the way she angled it, I could tell they were asking him for a picture.

He posed with ease, flashing the same charming smile I had seen him wear a hundred times—but it still made my heart flutter. With his laid-back charisma and that dimple of his, he might as well be a celebrity.

I looked down at the camera in my hands.

Should I?

I bit my lip. I should at least be half as brave as those tourists. I sighed, tightening my grip on the camera.

“Hey… oh, it’s you!” a voice called out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turned and found a familiar face approaching me—the leader from yesterday’s island-hopping tour.

“You joined the activity yesterday, right?” he asked, his voice bright and familiar.

“Yes,” I nodded, smiling. “I did.”

He glanced toward the shore, where Isagani stood talking to some locals. “Jetskiing with Sir Isagani today?”

“Yeah,” I replied, following his gaze.

He raised a brow, then added with a light chuckle, “For a moment there, I really thought you were with Sir Thomas.”

“Oh—no.” I shook my head a little too quickly. “We’re just… acquaintances.”

He chuckled at that, arms crossing over his chest. “I’ve known those two since they were kids. Watched them grow up, actually.”

My brows lifted slightly. “Really?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with a certain nostalgia. “Back then, you couldn’t separate those boys from their surfboards. Every summer, they’d compete like their lives depended on it.”

He pointed toward an old poster hanging from a wooden hut nearby—it was an ad for an annual surfing competition.

“Isagani used to compete?” I asked, imagining him out on the waves, tanned and carefree. My cheeks warmed at the thought.

The tour leader laughed. “Oh, he did alright. But the one to beat was always Sir Thomas.”

My smile faltered just a bit. “Thomas?”

“Yup. That kid was made for the water. Had the best form, the guts, the timing. Everyone said he’d go pro someday. Island life suited him more than anyone.”

I glanced back at the beach where Isagani still stood. I could imagine him surfing through the waves given his outgoing nature. But Thomas? I don't think so. Sure he's got good physique, but I never took him as the type to be anywhere close to Isagani.

“If it weren’t for… well, the incident,” he said, voice trailing off, “he might’ve stayed here for good.”

I looked at him, brows furrowed, about to ask what he meant—

“Nilo!” a sharp voice called from behind him.

We both turned to see a middle-aged woman walking briskly toward us, hands on her hips. She looked to be around his age, maybe slightly younger, but the authority in her tone said she wasn’t used to being questioned.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” she scolded. “Yet here you are again, chatting with tourists!”

I let out a soft chuckle, catching the sheepish defeat in Manong Nilo’s eyes.

“Sorry, Manang,” I offered with a small smile. “I was enjoying talking with him.”

Her gaze shifted toward me, assessing—quiet, observant. I felt a bit awkward under her scrutiny, like she was trying to place where she’d seen me before.

From my peripheral vision, I saw someone jogging over.

“Manang Adoracion. Manong Nilo,” Isagani greeted warmly, a slight grin on his face.

“Sir Isagani,” the woman acknowledged with a nod.

“What brings you to this side of the island, Manang?” he asked.

“Oh, I was looking for this old man,” she said, casting Nilo a scolding glare. “I asked him to fetch me some fresh gata for my maja blanca, but he’s been taking his sweet time.”

Isagani laughed. “That sounds delicious, Manang.”

He turned to me. “Reya, these are Manang Adoracion and Manong Nilo. They take care of that beach house over there.” He pointed toward an elegant structure nestled a bit further from the main resort—white wood, wide glass panels, modern with touches of western charm.

“Manang Adoracion makes the best maja blanca on the island,” he added with a grin.

“You don’t need to flatter me, Sir,” she said, laughing. “But if you’re free later, come by for merienda.”

She looked at me and smiled warmly. “You too, Miss Reya. Please join us.”

“I’d love to, Manang,” I replied, genuinely touched.

“Well then, we’ll see you later,” she said, already grabbing Nilo by the arm.

“Dora, I still have to go to the market for the gata,” he protested.

“Exactly! So move those slow legs. Pronto!” she shot back, dragging him off like a woman on a mission.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. They were like a comedy duo—grumpy but full of heart.

“Is that your family’s beach house?” I asked, gesturing toward the beautiful home.

“No,” Isagani said, “it’s owned by the Parisis—Thomas’ parents.”

I blinked. That just confirmed my guess that he came from a well off family. After all, since the first time we met, he had been talking about 'paying' for things.

He seemed to catch the shift in my expression, and quickly pivoted. “Anyway, aren’t you famished? Lunch?”

I nodded, falling in step beside him. As we walked, I glanced back one last time at the beach house. Something about it tugged at me—a strange feeling I couldn’t quite explain.

Just then, I caught a glimpse of Manang and Manong walking toward the road. I watched as Manang suddenly paused and turned to glance back at me. Her eyes widened slightly, and her mouth moved with a sudden realization.

“It’s her! She’s the one in the picture!” I read her lips.

My steps slowed.

What picture?

After lunch, I went back to my hotel room to freshen up and rest for a bit. I made sure to charge my camera this time—lesson learned from yesterday’s mishap.

When it was time to head out again, I slipped into a simple yellow floral maxi dress with light puffed sleeves. I tied my hair into a neat fishtail braid and stepped into my heeled platform sandals. To shield myself from the sun, I grabbed a wide shawl on my way out.

To my surprise, Isagani was already waiting in the hotel lobby.

He had changed into a fresh outfit, looking clean and effortless. As I neared him, I caught a soft whiff of his perfume—something light and woodsy, subtle yet comforting.

“Were you waiting for me?” I asked, a little unsure.

“Actually, I had to meet someone—” he began, casually.

My heart sank just a little, but then he laughed.

“Kidding. Yes, I was.”

My cheeks burned. “Making fun of me now?”

He shrugged with a grin. “Well, that’s how life should be. We should have as much fun as we can.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Anyway,” he said, tilting his head toward the exit, “shall we head out? I’m pretty sure Manang and Manong are already waiting for us.”

“Sure,” I replied, leading the way to the door.

Just as I reached for the handle, he was quicker. He pulled it open for me, then glanced sideways.

“By the way… you look pretty today.”

I froze, just for a second.

Then he stepped ahead, not waiting for a reaction, as if it was something he said all the time.

Meanwhile, I stood there like a stunned tomato, clutching my shawl as if it were some kind of emotional armor.

Here’s a refined and emotionally layered version of your scene with smoother transitions, richer dialogue, and clearer pacing—all while maintaining your tone and voice:

---

**Chapter Six (Continued)**

Good grief. Why does he say things like that so easily?

The walk to the beach house was mostly quiet. From time to time, we passed locals who greeted Isagani with familiarity.

"You sure know a lot of people," I said, casting him a glance.

He chuckled. “You’d be surprised—most of them were Thomas’s friends first.”

“Really?” I asked, eyebrows rising.

He nodded. “Before he became all stoic and mysterious, he was the life of the party. Social butterfly. Don’t tell him I said that.”

I chuckled. As if Thomas and I were close enough for me to be spilling stories about him.

Soon, we arrived at the beach house’s gate. The way Isagani smoothly unlatched and pushed it open told me everything—I could tell he was no stranger to this place.

“Manang Adoracion! We’re here for merienda!” he called out, motioning for me to follow him in.

The front yard was clean and well-kept. A pile of swept-up dead leaves sat neatly in the corner, proof that someone had just tidied up. The house itself was slightly elevated, and we climbed a short flight of stairs to reach the wide front door.

“Sir Isagani? Is that you?” a voice called out as he pushed the door open.

“Of course! I brought Reya with me,” he answered.

The moment we stepped inside, I was floored.

The interiors were stunning—elegant wood floors, a massive patterned rug, shelves lined with books and old memorabilia. To the side, the living room boasted potted plants and a cozy L-shaped sofa. A bonsai rested proudly on the center table, and sunlight poured in through huge windows, casting a golden glow across everything.

But what stole my breath was the chandelier—made of shells and crystals, it sparkled softly against the high ceiling.

Scratch that. He’s not just rich—he’s *rich-rich*.

My eyes drifted toward the staircase, where several framed artworks lined the wall. On a nearby side table were photos—children, probably Thomas and Isagani in their younger years.

Then—

“Do you hate me that much?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

That baritone voice could only belong to one person.

I turned, slowly, and sure enough—there he was. Thomas.

But not the Thomas I had gotten used to. Gone was the perfectly groomed, sharply dressed man. He wore a soft gray sweatshirt and casual trousers. His hair was relaxed, and glasses now sat comfortably on his nose. He looked… softer. Almost approachable.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was just looking around.”

Suddenly, I realized we were alone.

“He’s in the kitchen,” he said, answering the question I hadn’t voiced. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away.

I figured I might as well follow.

The kitchen was just as beautiful as the rest of the house—sleek counters, soft lighting, and a homey warmth. Isagani stood by the island, carefully plating maja blanca onto small ceramic plates.

“You good, bud?” he greeted Thomas, not looking up.

“Never better,” Thomas replied shortly, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

Isagani turned to me and smiled. “Here, try this.” He handed me a plate. “Don’t be shy to ask for seconds.”

“Thanks,” I said softly as he led me to the dining table.

Just as I was about to take a bite, the back door creaked open and Manang Adoracion entered.

“Nilo needs a hand,” she said, eyeing the two men.

“Oh… Miss Reya! Glad you could join us,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Isagani told me, then followed Thomas out the back.

“The pleasure’s mine, Manang. Thank you for inviting me.” I smiled before taking my first bite.

It was heavenly. The soft coconut cream, the crunch of nuts, the gentle sweetness—it melted on my tongue.

“This is delicious!” I exclaimed.

Manang laughed. “That’s my lola’s recipe. A family secret. The señoritos love it.”

As she began preparing vegetables for dinner, she glanced at me curiously. “Do you have plans tonight, Miss Reya?”

“None at the moment,” I replied.

“Well, stay for dinner then.” She grinned. “We’re having Tinolang Manok.”

My mouth watered. “I’d love to.”

“Then can I take advantage and ask you to help pick out the malunggay leaves?” she teased.

“Absolutely.” I smiled, rolling up my sleeves.

As we worked side by side, she told stories about the island, her younger years, and her pride in the beach house. She reminded me so much of my late lola—warm, sharp, and full of stories.

Then her tone shifted.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking…” she said, more carefully this time, “but… are you aware of the pictures?”

My hands paused. “Pictures?”

She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a phone, tapping the screen. “These.”

I leaned in—and my jaw dropped.

There I was. And Thomas.

The image had clearly been taken from afar, but not far enough to miss the scene of me dragging him into the hotel elevator.

What really knocked the wind out of me was the headline:

“Thomas Parisi and Lover Intimate Moments LEAKED!”