Chapter 4: Five-Star Fraud

I woke up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the salty air already filling my room. I stretched, grabbed my phone, and saw it was already 8 am. "Stefan's up early for once," I mumbled, picturing him already hitting the breakfast buffet. I threw on a simple white linen shirt and some light blue swim trunks, planning to lounge by the pool after a quick croissant run.

As I headed down to the resort's lounge area, I spotted a commotion by the juice bar. It was Stefan, looking all confused as this… incredibly beautiful guy talked to him. This guy was all dolled up, perfect makeup, hair styled like a K-Pop idol. He even had a faint, sweet scent around him, like a bouquet of lilies. I swear my heart did a little flip, he was stunning! But why was he talking to Stefan?

Then it hit me. Stefan, in his usual 'I-woke-up-like-this' look of a plain white shirt and black shorts, looked exactly like the resort staff. And this beautiful creature was probably a guest, completely oblivious. I had to intervene before things got even more awkward.

My jaw practically hit the floor. Stefan, the little troll, was playing along! This gorgeous guy probably thought he'd landed in some weird French resort where the staff dressed like off-duty lifeguards and spoke like they were in a period drama. "Yes, sire~ good morning~" Stefan chirped, his voice dripping with faux sweetness. He even added a little bow, his hand sweeping across his chest in a way that was both ridiculous and… oddly charming?

"What can I do for you~?" Stefan purred, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. I could practically see the thought bubble over his head: 'Let's see how far I can take this.' I knew I should intervene, save this poor, beautiful soul from Stefan's bizarre sense of humor. But a part of me, the part that secretly lived for drama, just couldn't resist watching the scene unfold. I hid behind a conveniently placed palm tree, peeking through the fronds like it was an episode of some reality TV show.

"We at Jardin aim to please," Stefan announced, puffing out his chest like he owned the place. "Best seafood, best massage, best sauna~ You name it, we have it~" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and I had to stifle a laugh. This was too good. The poor guy was probably wondering what kind of establishment he'd stumbled into. He did not sign up for this level of extra, especially not at 8 am! He probably just wanted a strawberry smoothie, not a side of cringe with his morning hydration. I peeked at the beautiful stranger, bracing myself for his reaction. Would he be weirded out? Amused? Maybe even a little charmed by Stefan's ridiculousness?

The beautiful stranger tilted his head, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Oh really?" he drawled, his voice surprisingly deep and melodious. "A man of many talents, I see. Perhaps you could tempt me with your personal recommendations? I'm feeling adventurous." He leaned closer to Stefan, their shoulders almost brushing. My eyebrows shot up. Was he flirting? With Stefan? Who was dressed like a lost boy scout and quoting brochures from 1995?

I gripped the palm tree, my knuckles turning white. A strange mix of amusement and…jealousy? bubbled in my stomach. Why was I feeling possessive over my idiot brother? And why did this random, albeit gorgeous, stranger have to be so damn charming? This little charade had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

"We have luxury yacht charters," Stefan declared, his voice smooth as butter. "Or our most famous spa massage," he added, throwing in a wink that would have made even our mother blush. I nearly choked on my own spit. Was he seriously trying to sell this guy an overpriced massage? Stefan, who gave the world's most bone-crushing backrubs, was recommending a spa treatment? This was comedic gold.

I peeked again, my heart pounding a strange rhythm against my ribs. The stranger was beautiful – his eyes sparkled with amusement, his smile a perfect blend of mischief and genuine curiosity. Maybe Stefan was onto something, maybe this guy had a thing for awkward allure and terrible sales pitches. Or maybe, just maybe, he saw right through Stefan's act and was playing along. The thought sent a thrill through me.

This was turning into a breakfast show I couldn't tear my eyes away from.

The stranger chuckled, a low rumble that sent a surge of excitement through me, even from behind my leafy cover. "A massage, you say?" he mused, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I am feeling a bit knotted from my travels. Tell you what," he paused, leaning even closer so that Stefan had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact, "Why don't you personally show me this famous spa of yours? I have a feeling you give excellent tours."

I felt my own jaw drop. Was this guy serious? He was flirting with Stefan! Stefan, who probably couldn't point out the spa on a map, let alone give a decent tour. And yet, a part of me, a part I didn't even recognize, was burning with a strange mix of envy and…excitement? It was ridiculous, I knew. Stefan was clueless, this whole situation was absurd, and yet I couldn't tear my eyes away. What would Stefan do? And what was this strange cocktail of emotions bubbling inside me?

Stefan, never one to turn down a challenge, actually hesitated. Had his stomach finally gotten the better of his adventurous spirit? The gorgeous stranger had just invited him on a personal tour, practically begging for a chance to spend more time with him, and Stefan was distracted by a piece of bread?

Then it clicked. Stefan hadn't eaten yet. Knowing him, he probably bolted out of bed, too excited to explore the resort, and completely bypassed breakfast. He was probably starving.

"I would love to,"" Stefan began, his voice raspy, and I swear I saw his stomach rumble. "But I need morning fuel." His eyes, however, were laser-focused on the stranger’s plate, which held a half-eaten croissant and a generously buttered piece of garlic bread.

Without waiting for a response, Stefan just reached out and snagged the garlic bread. He took a huge bite, completely unfazed by the fact that he was basically stealing food from a guest, and a ridiculously attractive one at that. I winced, expecting the stranger to be completely put off, maybe even a little grossed out.

Instead, he threw back his head and laughed, a sound as bright and captivating as the morning sun. This guy was full of surprises!

Stefan, mouth still full of garlic bread, just grinned and nodded at the stranger’s laughter. Crumbs clung to his cheeks, and I swear I saw a smear of butter on his chin. It was a wonder this guy hadn't run for the hills yet. But instead, he seemed more charmed than disgusted. This stranger had the patience of a saint.

Stefan, never one for social graces, finally finished his stolen breakfast. He wiped his hands on a tissue he grabbed from the guest's table and then, as if suddenly remembering his self-imposed mission, turned to the stranger.

"Let’s go…?" he prompted, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. It was then that I realized he didn’t even know this guy’s name. I mean, I didn’t either, but at least I wasn’t the one dragging him off to a spa I’d never set foot in.

"What’s your name anyway?" Stefan added, thankfully remembering a crucial detail in this hilarious charade.

This whole situation was absurd, and yet a tiny part of me was… envious? Of what, I didn't know. This stranger was obviously enamored by Stefan’s unintentioal charm. And me? I was hiding behind a palm tree, feeling like a loser for even caring.

The guy chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the air around us. "You can call me Thierry," he said, flashing a smile that could have melted glaciers. Thierry. It was a perfectly French name, charming and elegant, just like him. Stefan, however, seemed completely oblivious to the effect Thierry had on, well, everyone within a five-meter radius. He just shrugged, accepting the name as casually as if Thierry were just some dude he'd met at the supermarket, and not a walking Adonis with a voice like melted chocolate.

"Thierry, huh?" Stefan repeated, tilting his head like a curious puppy. "Cool name. Let's go then, I guess."

I wanted to scream. Stefan was about to escort the most beautiful man I'd ever seen to the spa, and he was acting like he was showing him the way to the restroom! I considered making my presence known, swooping in with my impeccable knowledge of the resort (thanks to Dad's insistence on family tours every time we visited). But before I could make a move, they were already walking away, Stefan's hand casually brushing against Thierry's back as he gestured toward…

I watched in disbelief as Stefan, steered Thierry in the completely wrong direction. He was leading him towards the staff quarters, not the luxurious spa Dad had bragged about designing himself. My brother, the master of misdirection, was about to give the most beautiful man in existence a behind-the-scenes tour of the linen closet!

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, Stefan finally swallowed his pride (it probably helped that Thierry was chuckling beside him, not even remotely fazed by the detour) and asked a passing staff member for directions. I had to give him some credit; he managed to maintain an air of confidence even while asking for help.

Finally, with a dramatic flourish and a final "Ta-da!" from Stefan, they arrived at the spa. I watched from a distance as Thierry’s eyes widened, taking in the tranquil atmosphere, the gentle scent of lavender and eucalyptus, the plush robes hanging on the wall. It was a far cry from the chaotic breakfast buffet, and for a moment, I forgot all about my earlier amusement and envy. Maybe, just maybe, Stefan wasn’t messing up as badly as I thought.

Stefan, ever the opportunist, gave Thierry a once-over, his keen eyes scanning the man's designer clothes and the expensive watch peeking out from beneath his cuff. It took Stefan about two seconds to decide that this guy was loaded. And if there was one thing Stefan loved more than a good prank, it was a good prank that could potentially net him a fat tip. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he approached the spa attendant, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"We offer a luxurious deep tissue massage with caviar," Stefan announced, returning to Thierry with a flourish, as if he were unveiling the crown jewels. "It's our most exclusive treatment, and it's only available to our most discerning clients."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Of course, Stefan would try to upsell the most expensive thing on the menu, even if he didn't have a clue what it actually entailed. But to my surprise, Thierry didn't seem fazed. In fact, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look even more handsome.

"That sounds perfect," Thierry said, his voice as smooth as silk. "I'll take it."

Stefan, with his usual air of unearned confidence, led Thierry to a vacant massage table tucked away in a private corner of the spa. He even had the audacity to give the spa attendant an exaggerated wink as they walked away, a silent pact forged between two con artists—one seasoned professional, the other a clueless amateur. I watched it all unfold, shaking my head in disbelief. My little brother was a piece of work, that’s for sure. But there was a certain charm to his chaotic energy, a charm that even Thierry, with his refined air and expensive taste, seemed to find irresistible.

Stefan, despite his complete lack of professional spa training, somehow managed to pull it off. Maybe it was those years spent meditating in a Tibetan monastery, or maybe it was just his natural ability to bullshit his way through any situation, but he gave Thierry a surprisingly decent massage.

I peeked through a gap in the curtains, watching as Stefan kneaded Thierry's shoulders, his brow furrowed in concentration. For someone who usually treated massages like a wrestling match, he was being surprisingly gentle. Thierry, for his part, seemed to be in absolute bliss, his eyes closed, his face relaxed for the first time since I'd laid eyes on him.

An hour flew by, and by the time Stefan emerged from the private massage room, looking ridiculously pleased with himself, Thierry looked like a new man.

"That was…" Thierry paused, searching for the right words, "Invigorating. Thank you." He flashed Stefan another one of those smiles, and I swear even my heart skipped a beat.

I quickly ducked behind a potted palm before Stefan could spot me spying. This was too weird. I needed a strong coffee and a distraction, preferably one that didn't involve my brother giving a millionaire massages he was clearly unqualified to give.

I peeked back through the leaves of the potted palm, my jaw dropping as I watched Stefan…

I nearly choked on my own spit! Stefan, never one to miss an opportunity, decided to lay it on thick. He cleared his throat dramatically, his voice echoing slightly in the tranquil spa.

"We aim to please," he announced, puffing out his chest like he was the spa manager and not a runaway monk who’d wandered in off the beach. Then came the kicker.

Stefan rub his thumb and forefinger together in a universal gesture that screamed "Tip, please!" He had the audacity to ask for a tip after giving a massage he was clearly unqualified to give! I almost choked on my own laughter.

Thierry didn't bat an eye. Instead, he chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash that would make a banker blush. He peeled off a few bills – were those hundreds? – and casually slipped them into Stefan's hand.

"I'll be sure to request you personally next time," Thierry said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

I wanted to scream, "He's a fraud! He learned that massage from YouTube videos!" But I couldn't blow Stefan's cover, no matter how ridiculous it was. This was turning into the most bizarre family vacation ever. I needed a drink, and it wasn't even noon yet.

"Sacha, darling! There you are!" Mom's voice rang out from across the spa, her tone as bright and cheerful as the tropical flowers printed on her sundress. "Have you seen Stefan? Your father wants to take us all out on the yacht this afternoon, and you know how he hates to be kept waiting."

I cringed. Leave it to Dad to interrupt Stefan's budding career as a fraudulent masseur with a family outing. I just hoped Stefan wouldn't try to charge him for his services.

"I'll find him, Mom," I called back, emerging from my hiding spot just in time to see Thierry lean in and whisper something in Stefan's ear. Whatever he said, it made Stefan laugh, a deep, genuine laugh that I hadn't heard in ages. And for a moment, just a moment, I forgot all about the ridiculousness of the situation and felt a pang of something akin to happiness for my clueless younger brother. He might have been a complete mess, but he certainly knew how to make friends in high places. Even if those friends were unsuspecting spa-goers with a penchant for questionable massages.

I watched, completely gobsmacked, as Stefan, with a completely straight face, gestured for the spa attendant to hand Thierry the bill. The bill! For a "luxurious caviar deep tissue massage" that Stefan had completely made up! It was too much. Even I, who had learned the art of deception from the master himself – Dad – couldn't help but be impressed by my brother's audacity.

The spa attendant, bless her soul, didn't even flinch. She probably dealt with enough eccentric rich people to not question a thing. She gracefully presented Thierry with a sleek black folder, the bill tucked discreetly inside. Thierry, still radiating post-massage bliss, didn't even blink. He pulled out a black credit card – I swear it practically gleamed under the spa's soft lighting – and handed it over. This guy was living in a whole other tax bracket.

Just then, Mom and Dad appeared, their entrance as subtle as a brass band in a library.

"Stefan, darling!" Mom chirped, her designer sunglasses perched precariously on top of her perfectly coiffed hair. "There you are! Your father's been waiting impatiently by the yacht. Apparently, the champagne needs to be chilled to precisely eleven degrees, or it's simply not drinkable!"

Dad, looking as dapper as ever in his crisp linen shirt and white pants, just rolled his eyes. "Come on, kids," he said, his voice surprisingly loud in the tranquil spa. "Let's get this show on the road."

Stefan, ever the picture of innocence, grinned at Thierry. "Well, duty calls," he said, pocketing his ill-gotten gains. "Enjoy the rest of your stay at Jardin de la Mer. And don't forget to ask for me personally next time you need a massage." He winked – that damn wink! – and then sauntered after our parents, leaving Thierry speechless for the first time since they’d met.

I couldn't take it anymore. I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the spa like a flock of startled pigeons. This had to be the most ridiculous, absurd, and strangely endearing thing Stefan had ever pulled. And as I followed my family out of the spa, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for my chaotic, unpredictable, and completely clueless little brother. He was one of a kind, that's for sure. And for once, I was starting to think that might not be such a bad thing after all.