Chapter Eleven: Catching Feelings by Rosaline Saul

The sun’s golden rays warmed the cobblestones of Ibiza’s winding streets, casting long shadows that danced with the rhythm of the island’s waking pulse. Christopher strolled through the market square. The early morning air was still cool against his skin. His steps were measured, but his mind raced with thoughts of Isabel. Her presence lingered in his thoughts like a melody he could not shake. It was an unfamiliar sensation. It was unnerving yet irresistible.

He told himself he was simply curious about her, nothing more but even as he walked, his gaze instinctively sought her out. The idea of seeing her again was a quiet hope he barely allowed himself to acknowledge.

The sound of light laughter drew his attention. It came from a small café nestled at the corner of the square. He slowed, scanning the tables and then his eyes landed on her.

Isabel.

A soft breeze tousled her hair as sunlight danced across her features. She looked... radiant. For a fleeting moment, Christopher allowed himself to savour the sight of her, a strange warmth unfurling in his chest.

Then he saw him.

A man was sitting across from her.

The man’s casual posture, his confident smirk, the way he leaned in closer than necessary ignited a spark of something raw and unfamiliar in Christopher’s chest.

Jealousy.

The realization hit him like a sudden gust of wind.

Jealousy?

It was absurd.

He was Cupid, a god whose existence revolved around fostering love, not claiming it for himself. Yet, as he watched the man’s hand brush against Isabel’s, a sharp pang twisted in his chest.

He turned away, leaning against a nearby lamppost as he tried to steady himself. He was not supposed to feel this way. Not about her, not about anyone. The gods’ laws were clear. His heart was to remain untouched, uninvolved. Forever.

The knot in his chest tightened as he stole another glance. Isabel’s body language was guarded. He noticed the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped her coffee cup, but the man’s words seemed to flow effortlessly, his charm undeterred. It was as if he didn’t even notice her discomfort or worse, he ignored it.

Christopher’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides. He knew the man’s type. The smugness in his expression, the calculated ease in his movements, the way he leaned in too close, too fast. This man had hurt her before. Christopher could sense it in the guarded look Isabel wore like armour. He could feel the lingering imprint of pain she carried, like echoes of a storm that had not yet fully passed.

“Get a grip,” Christopher muttered under his breath, forcing himself to look away. He had no right to feel this protective, this possessive. Isabel was not his to guard. He was not even supposed to stand here spying on her. Even as he tried to convince himself to walk away in the opposite direction of the café, his feet betrayed him. He moved closer, weaving through the pedestrians in the square until he was standing in the shadow of a nearby awning. From this vantage point, he could see them more clearly... and hear their conversation.

The man reached across the table, his fingers brushing Isabel’s hand. She recoiled slightly, her discomfort subtle but undeniable. 

Christopher’s jaw tightened. He should not interfere. He knew that. This was not his fight but the thought of this man’s manipulative charm sinking its claws into her made his stomach churn. Was he a stranger to her? Was he someone plying his charms?

Isabel’s voice carried over the ambient noise of the square. “I’m not doing this again, Jason.” Her tone was firm, though tinged with a shakiness that betrayed her vulnerability.

Jason. The name struck him, sharp and clear. She did know him. Was this man the reason for her sadness?

Christopher’s chest tightened. The way Jason spoke—smooth, calculated—was a tactic he had seen countless times before. He wanted to step in, to shield Isabel from whatever trap Jason was laying, but he hesitated. This was not his place.

Or was it?

His mind spiralled with conflicting thoughts. He had spent centuries orchestrating love for others, ensuring their connections bloomed and thrived. But this. This was different. The emotions swirling within him were foreign, chaotic, and entirely unwelcome. What right did he have to feel this way? To want to protect her, to want… more?

Jason’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’ll see, Izzy. You’ll remember what we had. We’re meant to be.”

Isabel stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the cobblestones. Her voice was steady, resolute. “No, Jason. We’re not.”

Christopher felt a flicker of pride, an irrational sense of relief as she walked away from the table. Jason called after her, his voice laced with frustration, but she did not stop.

As she passed by the awning, Isabel did not see Christopher in the shadows. Her pace was brisk, her head held high, but he caught the tremble in her hands, the lingering tension in her stride.

Christopher stayed rooted to the spot, his emotions warring within him. He should be relieved that she stood her ground, proud that she walked away. Instead, he felt hollow, his own helplessness gnawing at him.

She did not need him. She had proven that but as he watched her disappear into the crowd, the ache in his chest deepened.

Christopher felt the unbearable weight of being Cupid, destined to guide love but never claim it for himself.

Continue Chapter 12/?

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