Franco gently brushed her long hair back, gathering the loose strands that had fallen over her shoulders and tucking them behind her head. His hand slid down and closed around her wrist with an easy grip. “Let’s talk after dinner,” he said.
Seriously? He was pulling this again.
She rolled her eyes, grumbling, “Forget it. I wasn’t that desperate to know anyway.” She jerked her arm, trying to free herself, but it was pointless. Franco didn’t even need to try—he was just that much stronger. She couldn’t get away.
A barely-there smile flickered in his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he said. “But you still have to eat.”
He glanced over, noticing how the wind had already messed up her hair again. Her wrist was bare. She hadn’t even brought a hair tie.
Franco looked around, then reached down and plucked a little flower by the path, its pale purple petals delicate, stem thin but surprisingly strong.
He moved in closer, and the second he loosened his grip, she tried to dart away like a spooked rabbit.
“The whole island belongs to me. Where do you think you’re going to run?” Franco’s voice was lazy, almost amused.
“Anywhere but near you!” She jabbed back. “Maybe I’ll just go float in the ocean.”
He smiled. “Thinking about a swim?”
It was classic Franco, twisting her words until she felt like she was fighting smoke. Petty shot him a glare. “You’re impossible.”
She made another break for it, but Franco just matched her steps and caught up without effort.
“Come here.” He reeled her back in with one arm.
“You could have a kilometer head start and you’d still lose,” he said, like it was an easy fact. “I’ll always catch you.”
As she tried to rip herself free, a gust of sea breeze whipped her hair around her face. She tried to push it away, but Franco’s long fingers were faster, smoothing her hair back gently.

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