Isla’s POV
The invitation arrived the morning after the charity game, when the air still smelled faintly of sea salt and dried flowers from the bracelets the children had tied around my wrist. The villa manager knocked gently on the door of the sitting room where I sat reading news about the kiss that no longer felt real. She wore a bright silk scarf and a smile that carried the excitement of a whole community. Malia stood beside her holding a folded garment made of deep blue fabric, embroidered with shells and bright threads. They told us the island was hosting a festival tonight. A gathering of music, drums, dancing, and stories under the moon. The kind of celebration that has lived for centuries here, passed through generations like a precious heartbeat. They said we were invited as ho
