𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 | 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.

𝐭𝐰𝐨.

𝐎𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚

The next day, I awoke to the sounds of ruffling and the loud voices of men coming from downstairs. Glorious rays of sunshine broke through my open window, encapsulating everything in my room in its light, causing me to groan and squint my eyes. Don't get me wrong, I love the full time sun we get in Beverly Hills, however, waking up to the intense sun every morning gets, well, intense.

After brushing my teeth and making myself presentable by brushing my hair and whatnot, I mentally prepared myself to walk into the kitchen to grab something to eat. The fridge was positioned near the front of my kitchen and the extension would be happening more at the back, plus it's a large kitchen so I'm hoping I don't really run into any of the construction men.

Even though it was a Saturday, both my parents were working.

Trying to regulate my breaths and slow down my heart rate, I start to make my way towards the kitchen. I could just imagine my mum, being a psychiatrist, trying to diagnose me with some form of anxiety if she saw me now.

When I do reach the kitchen, much to my dismay, am I met staring dead at the faces of three men who were laughing and conversing but had stopped upon my arrival. Two of the men looked to be in their early twenties, and the other in his late twenties. Two were stood situated in front of the counter below where the glasses are kept in the cupboards and the other was standing opposite to them, leaning on the counter.

Awkwardly, I slowly walked to the fridge and pulled out some orange juice as I tried to ignore their eyes on me. Deafening silence captured the area as I tried to remain calm as I went to open the cupboard for a glass, right next to one of the men.

When I do open the cupboard, before I can reach for a glass, a muscular, tanned hand beats me to it.

"You wanted this, sweetheart?" The man next to me smiled a dangerously charming smile and handed me the glass.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." Taking the glass, my breath caught in my throat as I took in the captivating cerulean irises before me. They held a cheeky glint as they scanned my attire of a pink silk tank top and matching shorts up and down. Those brilliant eyes of his were embedded in long, thick, dark lashes underneath thin yet thick brows. The blinding light of the sun through the open windows allowed me to drink in his tanned skin, rosy cheeks and dark pink lips.

"Dear, me, did Francis fail to mention he had such a pretty daughter." The voice of one of the men in front of me stole my attention from the pretty man next to me. It was weird that out of all the men, it was the oldest one who was so openly flirting with me. Especially since I could not look older than eighteen.

"Er, I'm Olivia," I introduced myself after forcing out a nervous laugh. What else was I supposed to do?

"Oliviaaa..." The man who handed me my glass whispered. "Pretty name. And, God, you have some pretty eyes."

"They're just brown..." I gently laughed and shrugged.

"Well, right now, with the way the sun is shining on them, they look like pools of honey."

And then a real smile etched onto my face. In all my seventeen years of living, I'm certain no one has ever romanticised me in the way this man just did, not even my brief holiday romance, Luca from Ancona.

As were were stood looking at each other, I couldn't help but mentally liken his eyes to crystals. So, so blue.

"Alright," the man who hadn't said a word finally spoke, ruffling his dark brown hair, "enough flirting with Francis' daughter."

"We're just making friends," the other man said, "call me Frenchie. Everyone calls me that."

He winked and held out his hand held out his hand for me to shake. Timidly, I shook his hand, taking in how big and smooth they were.

So, he's French. That did make sense as, even though when first talking to him, one could assume he had a normal American accent. However, there were certain words he pronounces differently like "wanted" or "pretty" for example that make you ponder just what sort of accent that was. But, now I know it was an American accent wit shadows of a French one. Splendid.

"That is Adreyn," he pointed to the handsome brunette.

"And that dinosaur over there," he pointed to the older man, "is Darius."

"Dinosaur, right," Darius laughed along with Frenchie and Adreyn, even I giggled a bit, "our break is well over, though. Lets get going."

"You're right," Frenchie said, "see you soon, brown eyes."

And so, the men started to make their way towards the end of the kitchen, leaving me standing with the empty glass still in my hand.