"Seriously, Ashley? You couldn't tell me One Direction were staying at the hotel? You couldn't tell me we're working with them?" Liz was pacing the room, frustrated, brushing her fingers through her hair like she was about to combust.

"I didn't think it was important, Liz. They're just boys..." I began, and she halted mid-stride, raising a hand.

"They are not just boys, Ashley. Have you seen them? Have you looked at them?" Her tone was deadly serious, and I couldn't help but laugh at her reaction—which, frankly, I did not see coming.

"Liz... Lizzy, come on. They're what—twenty? Twenty-one? They're just kids."

"I don't fucking care how old they are. I wouldn't mind one of them inside me right now—or all of them, one by one... or at the same time. So don't give me that 'they're boys' crap."

"Ewwww, Liz! Get a grip!" I burst out laughing.

"Do you even know how huge they are?" she continued, deadpan.

"I know they're very popular—back home and in the States, I guess."

"No, I mean how huge they are," she said, grabbing a banana from the complimentary fruit basket and pointing at it meaningfully.

"Liiiiiiiiiiiiz."

"Okay, okay. So you don't know..."

"And you do?" I stared at her, half horrified, half amazed.

"Do you know how many times I've watched Harry grab his crotch on Twitter?"

"You watch that? And he does that? Why?"

"...And Niall!" she added dramatically.

"How many are there, anyway? And why do they touch their... their things in public?"

"There were five, now they're four—Zayn left, blah blah—and they do it because they can. Because they've got the goods, and women are crazy for them."

"You mean girls?" I corrected.

"No, babe. I mean women. Sure, there are girls. But grown-ass women, too."

"Jesus, stop. I want to scream."

"I want to scream Liam's name," she said with such sass I actually felt slightly scared.

"Shut up, Liz. Let's get some sleep, you psycho. Then tomorrow we'll go downstairs and book diving lessons, yeah?"

"I won't be able to sleep, but I'll lie down a bit," she muttered, heading toward the bathroom.

"...Lie down on Louis," she added before shutting the door behind her.

I sighed. She was completely insane—but I loved her.

The next morning

"You look right fit, Ash!" Liz beamed as I walked out in my bikini and shorts.

"Those dull office outfits make you look older... You're so beautiful, Ashley. We need to get you out and about. That gym is paying off," she said sincerely—another reason I loved her.

"Thanks, Liz. But don't start with the 'get out there' talk again. I don't want it. I don't need it."

She'd been on my case for months about moving on. I knew she meant well—but I wasn't there yet.

"Okay, I'll shut up... for now. But—"

"Let's go, Liz. Let's show off that new bikini you bought. You look ace, baby," I cut her off smoothly.

Minutes later, we were in the lobby. I adjusted my bandana as we walked toward reception. Liz made a beeline for the pool, flaunting her assets with confidence. She really was stunning.

I asked the girl at the front desk for diving lesson information, but she was completely distracted. Security rushed past us toward the doors—there was some kind of commotion outside. When the receptionist finally noticed me, I had to wave my hand in front of her face.

Startled, she handed me a brochure and pointed to a nearby office where I could make the booking.

As I circled the available times and prices with my pen, I glanced up and caught a glimpse of security ushering in a tall boy. Screams exploded from the front entrance as the doors briefly opened—girls outside, absolutely feral. The boy in question looked entirely unfazed, flashing smiles as he walked through his security bubble.

I pushed my Ray-Bans back up my nose and focused on my brochure.

"Nice bandana," a voice said as he passed.

I looked up briefly, just as the lift doors closed behind him. Couldn't really see his face. Didn't really care. Feeding egos wasn't my thing.

Back by the pool, I dropped onto a lounger next to Liz.

"All good?" she asked, emerging from the water.

"Yep. We're set for ten tomorrow."

"Cool. I'm going to dry off in the sun a bit. I brought my iPad—I want to go over some of the project stuff with you, okay?"

"There's not much to go over, really," I told her, settling in. "It's the same process. We've got the new speech with the U.S. statistics, projector, slides, interview footage. Then we shoot the campaign video with the boys later this week. We're meeting with their team tomorrow at noon."

"So... we're not meeting the band tomorrow?"

"Honestly, I don't know. The director's coming, and someone from Action1D. They'll tell us what they need from our material. We'll go through their script, make adjustments, same drill."

Liz's face fell.

"If they're serious, they'll take this seriously," I added firmly. "We use them. They use us. That's how it works. People are counting on us."

She went quiet. For a beat, the tone shifted.

"You don't know what it's like," I said softly. "To talk to a kid who's been tortured every single day. Or worse—to parents who've lost their child..."

"Action1D is a serious part of what they do, Ash. They do care," she said, gentle but sure.

"I hope so, Liz. I really do."

And with that, I dove into the cool water—partly to cool down, partly to reset.

After an intense beach volleyball match—where Liz and I unapologetically wiped the floor with a group of overconfident guys—we were sweaty, sun-drunk, and ready to head back to the room for a shower and some much-needed room service.

When the food arrived, Liz was already knee-deep in papers, sprawled across the mattress, trying to memorize statistics and reciting entire chunks of our presentation out loud.

"Lizzy, come on. Let's eat. What's gotten into you?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

She was always passionate about our work, but this was something else.

"Ashley... I just want to be prepared," she said, eyes not leaving the page.

I nodded and let it go. No point pushing her. She stayed up long after I drifted off, reading every line of our notes like it was gospel. I slept like a brick. I'd worked with Monet for weeks to get everything ready—no cramming needed on my end.

If I was being honest, what I was really looking forward to was the diving session in the morning. I'd done it a couple of times before and loved it—there's something about being underwater, surrounded by nothing but blue and silence, that feels healing. Jason had always been a passionate diver. I'd stuck to snorkelling back then. But now... now it felt like diving was a way to connect with him. A way to understand what he loved.

I didn't believe in spirits or people watching over you. That was never me. I'm too cynical for that. But I do believe in memory, in honouring what made someone happy. Sometimes, doing what he loved helps me feel a little less far from him.

And there's Anzette, of course. Looking at her is like seeing him again. She's his mirror—same eyes, same stubborn brow. She's my anchor.

By breakfast, Liz looked wrecked.

"God, I stayed up until 3 a.m. last night," she groaned.

I grinned. "You're about to lose your mind."

"Is the instructor fit?" she asked, perking up instantly.

"He is," I chuckled.

"He better be. And tanned. And muscular," she added dramatically.

"We need to find you a man, Liz..." I nudged her playfully in the ribs.

She clutched her side and feigned pain. "Says the woman who hasn't been touched in four years."

"Five," I corrected softly. "Jason was in hospital almost a year."

Her face fell. "Oh..."

"It's okay," I said quickly. "Really." I didn't need pity. I wouldn't sit and wallow in grief, but I also wouldn't pretend what we had was small. Jason and I... we were rare. Big. Untouchable.

We approached the little beachfront hut labeled Splash, and I pulled my sunglasses up over my bandana.

"Good morning," I greeted the dark-skinned man behind the counter.

"Morning. What can I do for you?"

"We booked diving lessons—advanced, not beginner," I said, smiling.

He glanced at his clipboard. "Oh... Mrs. Cameron. Right. See, here's the thing... we were booked out for the day. Last minute."

"What do you mean?" Liz jumped in.

"You were free when I booked yesterday," I added, confused.

"Yeah, I know. But something came up," he muttered, visibly uncomfortable.

"So let me get this straight," I said, calmly but firmly. "We booked first—for two hours—and someone else came along after and booked the whole day? And you just cancelled us?"

"Well... yes." He winced. "Manager's orders. I just do what I'm told."

"You're not serious..." I muttered.

"I am sorry, miss. Truly."

"I don't fucking care," Liz snapped, full fury unleashed. "I want to talk to the manager. Now."

"Lizzy..." I tried to gently nudge her back, sensing she was moments away from climbing over the counter. She could be... a lot.

"No, it's not okay!" she barked. "Someone swoops in, throws money around, and suddenly we're disposable? That's bullshit and you know it."

"I'll complain to the manager later," I said softly. "This guy's just doing his job."

"I am really sorry," he added, sincere.

"I can offer you the jet skis—for an hour. No charge," he said, clearly trying to salvage the situation.

Liz's face brightened instantly.

"Okay. That'll make me feel slightly better," she sniffed, grabbing a life jacket from the pile.

I laughed. "She has a thing for free stuff. Don't ask."

"Thank you for that," I told him as I grabbed a jacket, too.

We headed down the pier, trying to get the buckles done up when I noticed a tall, fit guy in a bright yellow swimsuit strolling toward the hut.

"That explains it," Liz muttered.

"What does?"

"It's not what, Ash. It's who."

I glanced back at her. "Who?"

"Harry," she said, like it was sacred.

"Harry who?"

She blinked at me like I'd committed a crime.
Then, with absolute reverence:

"Harry fucking Styles, Ash. Harry fucking Styles."