Page 8 of Pack to the Wall

Before she could respond, Gerri appeared at her elbow. "You two should ride together," she announced, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I need to catch up with Ewan and Olivia."

Chrissy shot her a questioning look, but Gerri had already swept away toward the second cart where Olivia and Ewan waited.

Zev held the small passenger door open, his posture rigid. "After you."

Settling into the seat, Chrissy smoothed her dress over her thighs, suddenly self-conscious. She'd grown accustomed to being styled and primped before every public appearance. Here she was makeup-free, in sandals and her simple white sundress.

As Zev slid into the driver's seat with grace, the cart seemed to shrink around his muscular frame. His forearm flexed as he gripped the wheel, the tanned skin a stark contrast to the white linen of his rolled-up sleeve. The scent of him—cedar and sea air and something wild underneath—made her dizzy.

They pulled away from the helipad, following a winding stone path that disappeared into lush vegetation.

"I had no idea there'd be so much jungle between the resort and the water," Chrissy remarked, struck by the vibrant greens and splashes of tropical flowers surrounding them. No concrete, no billboards, and no paparazzi lurking in the bushes. Just life in its most primal, beautiful form.

"The isolation is intentional," Zev explained, steering them around a gentle curve. "We maintain the natural buffer."

"It's so quiet," she murmured. The peaceful silence felt foreign after a year of constant noise—screaming fans, clicking cameras, endless questions, and demands. Even in her Huntington Beach mansion, she couldn't escape the ambient noise of her celebrity.

"It's designed to stay that way," Zev replied, his gaze fixed ahead. "Privacy and tranquility are our priorities."

Chrissy studied his profile, appreciating the strong line of his jaw and the intensity of his focus. "Do you get many indie folk pop stars out here hiding from their handlers?"

"No." His answer was immediate and definitive.

The silence stretched until he added, "You're the first."

Something in his tone made her pulse jump—not dismissal or annoyance, but fascination, as if she were a rare, unexpected discovery.

"How am I doing so far?" she asked. "On a scale from 'problem guest' to 'perfect guest'?"

The question earned her another almost-smile. "You haven't demanded a specific brand of mineral water yet or complained about the humidity affecting your hair. You're exceeding my expectations."

Chrissy laughed, the sound startling her with its authenticity. When was the last time she'd laughed without calculating how it would look on camera?

"You know, this is the longest conversation I've had in a year where someone hasn't immediately asked me for something," she observed, the realization both liberating and depressing. "No 'Chrissy, we need you to record this promo' or 'Can you post this on Instagram' or 'Remember to mention our sponsor in your next interview.'"

Zev gave her an odd, searching look. The intensity in his blue eyes made her wonder if he could see straight into the hollow spaces inside her that fame had carved out.

"Isle Luna exists for people who need to remember who they are," he said finally. "I hope you find the rest and quiet you need here to reset yourself."

The simple sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. There were no ulterior motives lurking beneath his words or hidden agendas. Just a straightforward offer of sanctuary.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I think I'm already starting to."

They rounded a final curve, and the main lodge appeared before them—an architectural marvel of natural woods, soaring ceilings, and walls that seemed to disappear into the surrounding jungle. Every detail blended harmoniously with the environment rather than imposing upon it.

As they pulled to a stop, Chrissy moved to stand, misjudging the small step down from the cart. Her sandal caught, and she pitched forward with a small gasp.

Strong hands caught her, one at her elbow, the other at her waist, steadying her before she'd even registered she was falling. Zev stood beside her, having moved with impossible speed from the driver's side.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard.

His touch burned through the thin cotton of her sundress. Heat radiated from his body, enveloping her in that intoxicating scent. This close, she could see flecks of silver in his blue eyes and the pulse beating at his throat.

"Thanks," Chrissy breathed, unable to look away from his face. "You're really fast."

"Just good reflexes," he replied, letting go of her.

The air between them seemed to thicken and charge with electricity.

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