Selene's POV
The sun was a blazing orb beginning its slow descent into the ocean, painting the sky in brilliant streaks of orange and pink. The beach was a whirlwind of activity; the pre-party energy was palpable, a thrumming anticipation in the salt-tinged air. Selene had thrown herself into the day's activities with a determined fervor, trying to outrun the thoughts that had plagued her since the library. She'd swam in the cold surf until her limbs were heavy, played a raucous game of volleyball she barely focused on, and let Eliza slather her with sunscreen she'd barely felt.
But as the afternoon wore on, a deep, parching thirst set in. The salt and sun had left her throat dry.
"I need a drink," she announced to Eliza, her voice raspy.
Eliza grinned, pointing toward a bustling thatch-roofed structure further down the beach. "Tiki bar it is. They make a mean mai tai."
They weaved through groups of people spreading out blankets and lighting citronella candles. The tiki bar was crowded, a happy, noisy mess of people ordering colorful cocktails. As they got closer to the counter, Selene's eyes absently scanned the crowd, taking in the vibrant scene.
And then, her world screeched to a halt.
There, at the far end of the bar, was Lyra.
But it was a Lyra she had never seen before. Gone were the soft sweaters and professional slacks. She was wearing a simple, dark blue bikini that highlighted her slender, graceful frame. Her skin was glistening with a light sheen of sunscreen and seawater, and her dark hair was piled messily on top of her head, loose strands curling around her neck. She was laughing at something, her head thrown back, and she looked... free. Beautiful in a way that made Selene's breath catch.
But that wasn't what made Selene's heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vice.
It was the woman with her. A woman with a dancer's build, pretty and slender, with sun-kissed skin and a bright, easy smile. And her arm was wrapped possessively, intimately, around Lyra's bare waist. Her fingers were splayed against Lyra's sun-warmed skin, a touch that seemed so natural, so unquestioned.
Lyra was leaning into the touch, her body language relaxed and open in a way it never was with Selene. She said something to the woman, who laughed and pressed a kiss to Lyra's temple.
A wave of hot, sickening jealousy crashed over Selene so violently she felt dizzy. Her mouth went dry, the thirst forgotten. Who is she? The question screamed in her mind. What is she to Lyra that she can touch her so easily? She thought of her own fumbling attempts, the accidental kiss, the way Lyra flinched from vulnerability. Yet here she was, allowing this stranger to hold her, to kiss her, in the middle of a crowded beach. The comparison was brutal. This woman was everything Selene wasn't: confident, assured, and clearly welcomed into Lyra's space in a way Selene could only dream of.
"Hey. Hey, Selene? To earth?" Eliza's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. She was frowning, following Selene's stricken gaze. Her expression shifted from confusion to understanding, then to protective annoyance. "Oh. Them. Come on," she said, her voice low and firm. She put a hand on Selene's arm, trying to turn her away. "Let's get out of here. We can find another bar. You don't need to see this."
For a moment, Selene was tempted. The pain was acute, a sharp sting of rejection. But looking away felt like admitting defeat. It felt like letting Lyra and this beautiful, unknown woman; win.
She shook her head, pulling her arm gently from Eliza's grasp. Her jaw set with a newfound, stubborn resolve. "No," she said, her voice tighter than she intended.
"Selene, seriously, it's not worth it"
"No," Selene repeated, stronger this time. She forced her eyes away from the painful scene and looked at Eliza, a hard, brittle smile touching her lips. "Why would we leave? It'll be a waste of a good party. We're already here."
She turned her back squarely on Lyra and the mysterious woman, focusing on the bartender with an intensity she didn't feel.
"Two mai tais. Extra strong," she ordered, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music. The decision was made. If Lyra could move on so easily, so could she. She would drink, she would dance, and she would pretend the sight of another woman's hands on Lyra didn't feel like a shard of glass in her heart. She would have fun, even if it killed her.