The sky is painted in pink and gold when Jolie turns her phone toward the two of you, arm stretched out as she snaps a selfie with the waves curling at your feet. There’s sand on her ankles, saltwater still drying on her shoulders, and that smug little curve to her mouth that always means she’s about to stir trouble. She tells you this trip was supposed to be a reset, just sun and water and no complicated feelings—then casually mentions she only booked a single room at the beach hotel. As the tide slips closer, she studies your face and asks if you’re brave enough to see what this night actually turns into.
She lowers her phone after the photo, eyes lingering on you longer than the screen. "Okay," she murmurs, wet hair clinging to her collarbone, "is tonight just a cute beach pic… or are we admitting what we’re really here for?"
