My Toxin

Chapter 22

The sun was relentless, a blazing orb in a cloudless sky that cast its golden glow over the Aegean Sea. The water shimmered as though it had been sprinkled with diamonds, each wave a glimmering reflection of light. The marina buzzed with life—the calls of seagulls blending with the chatter of tourists and the occasional hum of engines as boats glided into the harbor. Ahead of us, docked like a prize waiting to be claimed, was the yacht Ayo had promised. Its pristine white surface gleamed under the sun, the epitome of luxury and indulgence.

"I told you, bro I'm the plug!" Ayo shouted over his shoulder, leading the way toward the boat. His excitement was infectious, even as a knot of tension twisted in my stomach. Everyone followed, their voices rising with anticipation. The salty tang of the sea mixed with the faint scent of sunscreen, a reminder of where we were—Santorini, the perfect backdrop for paradise. But I wasn't at peace. Not yet.

I boarded the yacht, the polished deck warm beneath my feet, and the subtle sway of the boat reminded me just how far I was from solid ground. My gaze drifted to Marjorie. She stood by the railing, her sundress fluttering in the breeze, a cocktail already in hand. The sunlight kissed her skin, making it glow like polished bronze, her braids tumbling down her back in a cascade of intricate beauty. Her expression was serene, distant, as if she belonged to the horizon she was staring at. She was breathtaking. And she wasn't mine.

"Yo, snap out of it," Ayo's voice jolted me back to reality. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grin wide and knowing. "What's wrong with you? We're in paradise, man. Why do you look like someone stole your last five pounds?"

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a shrug.

"Yeah, sure," Ayo replied, unconvinced. "You've been moping all morning. It's not a good look, bro. You're single now—act like it. Look around you! Beautiful people, beautiful views, drinks, music. If you're still sulking over Marjorie, you're wasting your time."

I hesitated, my eyes flicking back to Marjorie before quickly looking away. Ayo caught the glance and sighed. "Seriously, Alex. You're in Santorini. Live a little."

He gestured toward the bar, where a petite woman was chatting animatedly with the bartender. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back, and her olive skin glowed under the sunlight. She turned slightly, her smile revealing a perfect set of teeth. Her eyes, warm and playful, caught mine for a fleeting second. She smiled—a small, teasing curve of her lips—and I felt something stir, faint but undeniable.

"She's been eyeing you," Ayo said, grinning. "Go talk to her."

I hesitated. The idea of making small talk, let alone flirting, felt like climbing a mountain. "I don't know, man."

"Fine, keep being a pussy. I'll go talk to her for you," Ayo teased, starting toward the bar.

"Alright, alright," I said quickly, stopping him. "I'll do it. Just don't call me a pussy again."

Ayo smirked, holding out his hand for a quick handshake. "That's my guy."

I took a deep breath and made my way over. As I approached, the woman turned her full attention to me, her smile widening. "Hola," she greeted, her voice laced with a soft Spanish accent. "I'm Isabella."

"Alex," I replied, my voice steady despite my nerves. "Nice to meet you."

We began to talk, and I quickly realized how easy she was to be around. Isabella's energy was magnetic—her laugh light and uninhibited, her eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. She was effortlessly charming, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel the weight of everything I'd left behind.

"Oh, I love this song!" she exclaimed suddenly, grabbing my hand. "Come on, dance with me."

Before I could protest, she was pulling me toward the center of the deck, where others were already swaying to the rhythm of the music. Her petite frame moved with confidence, her red bikini revealing just enough to keep me entranced. I placed my hands on her waist as we fell into an easy rhythm, our movements in sync as the music pulsed around us.

Her hands slid up my chest, and she turned to face me, her back pressed against me now. The feel of her soft curves against me sent my instincts into overdrive. She tilted her head back, her lips brushing against my jaw. "You're a good dancer," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the music.

"Thanks," I murmured, though I could barely focus on her words. Her proximity, her scent—something citrusy and sweet—was intoxicating.

Before I could think too much, she turned in my arms and pressed her lips to mine. The kiss was tentative at first, but it quickly deepened, the tension between us snapping like a taut rope. Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I held her closer, the world around us fading into a blur.

Across the deck, Marjorie stood by the railing, her gaze fixed on us. She clutched her drink tightly, the condensation dripping onto her fingers unnoticed. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight as she downed the rest of her cocktail in one swift gulp. She turned away, her braids whipping over her shoulder, but not before I caught the flicker of something in her eyes—jealousy? Regret? I couldn't be sure, and I didn't care.

For the first time, I let go. I let myself feel something outside of the endless pining and heartbreak. Isabella was here, real, tangible, and she wanted me. That was enough for now.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I knew one thing for certain: whatever this was, it was exactly what I needed. For tonight, at least, I wasn't Alex, the guy hopelessly in love with Marjorie. I was just a guy on a yacht in Santorini, letting go.