Between the Flags.

Nobody's POV

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The restaurant glowed golden with chandeliers and low candles, the kind of place that made laughter feel softer, food taste richer. Their round table was set for five—Eli graceful in her flowing dress, Alba already teasing Mariam about her Ibiza story, Alexia seated close beside Isra.

The moment Isra sat down, her knee brushed Alexia’s. Neither of them moved away.

“Order whatever you like, hijas,” Eli said warmly, scanning her menu. “Tonight, we celebrate.”

Isra murmured her thanks, though her attention was far from the page in front of her. Under the dark green dress, Alexia’s hand slid lightly onto her knee. Isra blinked hard, forcing herself to look at Alba as she was speaking, nodding politely while her pulse jumped.

Mariam’s voice rose over the clatter of plates. “—and then we ended up with three scooters, no keys, and a very angry local—”

Isra nearly choked on her water as Alexia’s thumb traced higher, circling the inside of her thigh. She tilted her head just enough to murmur, “Behave.”

Alexia didn’t even glance at her. She only hummed softly, gaze fixed on Mariam like she hadn’t just made Isra squeeze her napkin in her fist.

Alba leaned forward suddenly, grinning. “So, Ale. How was it? Having Isa just turn up at your doorstep, hmm?”

Isra turned toward Alexia, desperate for her to move her hand, but Alexia only smirked and gave her thigh another squeeze. “Unexpected,” she said smoothly. “But the best kind of surprise.”

Eli clasped her hands, eyes warm. “You’ve both been glowing since she arrived.”

Isra felt her cheeks heat, and when she shifted, her foot slid against Alexia’s ankle under the table—slow, deliberate. She felt Alexia stiffen, then turn her head, whispering low, her breath hot against Isra’s ear.

“You didn’t wear that dress just for them, cariño.”

Isra fought a smile, whispering back, “Maybe I did.” She pressed her heel up along Alexia’s calf until Alexia bit her lip hard enough that Alba frowned suspiciously.

“What?” Alexia asked quickly, face innocent.

“Nothing,” Alba muttered, though her grin was far too knowing.

The waiter arrived then, setting down bread and pouring more wine, breaking the tension only for a moment. But beneath the linen, Isra and Alexia’s hands and legs remained tangled, their touches everything but innocent while the family carried on their chatter.

Isra thought, if Ale keeps this up, I won’t make it to dessert.

Isra let Alexia’s hand linger a moment longer before gently sliding it off her thigh under the table. Alexia raised a brow in question, but Isra only gave a small, wicked smile.

As the family kept talking—Mariam now detailing her scooter misadventure with wild hand gestures—Isra leaned back casually, resting her arm across the back of Alexia’s chair. To anyone else it looked like nothing, but her fingertips barely brushed the line of Alexia’s shoulder blade, then traced slow circles at the base of her neck. She felt Alexia shiver beside her.

Isra’s lips curved. My turn.

She let her hand dip lower, tracing a line down Alexia’s spine so lightly Alexia almost jolted. Alexia’s eyes flicked to her, sharp, warning. Isra only tipped her head, feigning innocence as if she hadn’t just made Alexia grip her wine glass tighter.