Olivia’s POV
"I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!" The waitress was imdiately flustered, grabbing a towel and trying to dab at the sticky liquid running down my body. "I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry!"
I stood there, frozen in mortification, as orange-red liquid dripped from my bikini top onto the pool deck.
Of course. Of course this happened. The universe couldn’t just let have one mont of confident, sexy glory. No, it had to humiliate spectacularly.
And I knew - I KNEW - Maxwell was watching now.
God, just when I’d been showcasing my runway skills, I get drenched in fruit punch like a walking disaster.
The waitress was still apologizing, still dabbing frantically at my sticky skin.
Finally, I worked up the courage to check.
I lifted my eyes and looked directly at Maxwell.
He was staring.
Not pretending to work. Not glancing away politely. Just... staring. Right at . With laser focus.
His laptop sat forgotten in front of him. His entire body was angled toward . And his eyes - God, his eyes - were burning with an intensity that made my skin feel even hotter than the embarrassnt already did.
When our gazes locked, he didn’t look away. Didn’t pretend he’d been looking at sothing else. Just stared right back, his expression unreadable but absolutely, devastatingly focused.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, breaking eye contact.
The waitress finally finished cleaning up as best she could, apologizing three more tis before scurrying away.
I stood there, sticky and mortified, faced with a choice: turn around and flee to my room in sha, or commit to the plan and get in the damn pool.
The pool. Definitely the pool.
Fleeing would be admitting defeat, and I was not giving Maxwell that satisfaction.
I walked the remaining steps to the pool’s edge - no longer strutting, just moving with as much dignity as I could muster - and dove in.
The water was perfect. Cool and clean and washing away the sticky drink. I swam underwater for a mont, letting the embarrassnt dissipate with the bubbles rising around .
When I surfaced, I pushed my wet hair back from my face and tried to pretend that catastrophic entrance hadn’t just happened.
I swam lazy laps, did a few underwater flips, floated on my back and stared at the Tokyo skyline. Slowly, I started to relax. Started to actually enjoy the water and the night air and the subtle lighting.
But after a while, I got bored.
I snuck a glance toward where Maxwell had been sitting.
He was still there. Still watching. His laptop was closed now.
An idea ford in my mind. A terrible, brilliant, slightly insane idea.
If Maxwell had any feelings for - any at all - he would save if I was in danger. Right?
Ti to test that theory.
I positioned myself in a spot where I could be easily seen from his chair, took a deep breath, and started my performance.
First, I pretended to swim normally, then made my strokes a little more erratic. A little more splashy.
Then I started flailing. Just a bit. Arms moving without purpose. Head dipping under the water.
I let myself go under, holding my breath, then surfaced with a gasp, arms waving.
"Help..." I choked out, making it sound weak and desperate.
I went under again, counting in my head. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three...
An arm imdiately wrapped around my waist underwater.
Yes! I smiled to myself. I knew he’d co. I knew he couldn’t just sit there and watch drown.
The arm hauled up and out of the water with surprising strength.
But when I gasped and blinked water from my eyes, looking up at my rescuer, my heart sank.
Kennedy.
My brother. My overprotective, analytical, extrely inconvenient brother.
I had never been more disappointed to see Kennedy in my entire life.
"I’ve got you, I’ve got you," he was saying, his voice tight with concern as he carried in his arms over to a lounge chair.
Specifically, the lounge chair right next to Maxwell’s.
Of course.
Kennedy set down gently and imdiately wrapped a large towel around my shoulders, his hands checking my pulse, looking into my eyes, going full protective brother mode.
"Are you okay? What happened? Did you hit your head?" His voice was rapid-fire, worried. "Should I call a doctor? Gabriel’s a doctor, should I get Gabriel?"
"I’m fine," I managed, trying to wave him off.
"You were drowning!"
"I wasn’t..."
"I saw you! You were flailing around, going under..."
"Kennedy..."
"Why were you drowning in water that’s three feet deep?" He pulled back to look at properly, and I could see the exact mont confusion filled his concerned face. "Olivia, you’re a great swimr. You could swim before you could walk. What the hell was that?"
I cringed, feeling my face heat up with a different kind of embarrassnt now.
God, older brothers were so annoying.
"I just... I got disoriented," I mumbled, pulling the towel tighter around myself.
"Disoriented." Kennedy’s tone was flat with disbelief. He looked from to the pool - the completely calm, clearly shallow pool - and back to . "In three feet of water."
"Yes."
"The water that literally has depth markers on the side."
"I wasn’t looking at the markers."
"Olivia..."
"Can we not do this right now?" I hissed, acutely aware that Maxwell was sitting really close, watching this entire humiliating exchange.
Kennedy studied my face, and I watched as understanding slowly dawned. His gaze flicked to Maxwell, then back to , and his expression shifted from concerned brother to annoyed older sibling who’d just figured out his sister’s idiotic plan.
"You’ve got to be fucking kidding ," he muttered.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"You fake drowned to get soone’s attention." It wasn’t a question. "Please tell you didn’t fake drown to get soone’s attention."
"I didn’t fake drown!"
"You literally just fake drowned."
"I was testing... water safety protocols."
"In a three-foot pool."
"It could happen!"
"You’re a good swimr, Olivia!"
"Was! I was a good swimr! People forget skills!"
Kennedy pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was counting to ten in his head. "I’m going to pretend this didn’t just happen. I’m going to pretend my adult sister didn’t just fake an ergency that made jump into a pool fully clothed..." he gestured to his now-soaked dress pants and button-down, "...to save her from three feet of water."
I looked down, noticing for the first ti that Kennedy was indeed completely drenched, his phone likely ruined in his pocket, his leather shoes squeaking with water. I was instantly filled with guilt and embarrassnt. "I’m sorry about your clothes."
"I don’t care about my clothes!" He stood up, water dripping from his pants. "I care that you tried to... to... You know what? I’m going to my room. To change."
"Kennedy..."
But he turned and left, squeaking and dripping his way back into the hotel, as I sat there alone with an attentive Maxwell who hadn’t uttered a single word.
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