Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I look around. This conversation could be dangerous, even here, even with just the two of us. But he sees the worry in my eyes and leans closer, his voice low and sure. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. And when the day comes when it is time, we will both have a way out. I promise you that.”
The relief and joy hit me so fast I feel lightheaded. I’m instantly happy, ecstatic, a bright smile breaking across my face as I lift my glass of wine. We clink our glasses together, the soft ring of crystal cutting through the sound of the waves.
I know now, without any doubt, that I am so completely in love with him. And I’m not going to fight it anymore.
We continue talking as the night deepens around us. He tells me more about his childhood, the streets, the foster homes, the terrible rage that kept him alive. His voice is steady but open in a way I’ve never heard before. I do the same, sharing pieces of my own past that I’ve kept buried for years. The arranged marriage, the loneliness, the quiet rebellions no one ever saw.
By the time our food arrives and the candle burns lower, I can’t believe it. The marriage I once thought was nothing more than a means to an end has ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.
And sitting here with him, the ocean whispering below us, I finally let myself believe it might last.
Chapter Sixty-Three
RICCI
Eventually, it is time to leave the restaurant, but as we step outside, we notice the sky has turned heavy and dark, thick clouds rolling in low over the water. I glance up, feeling the first cool shift in the air, and the breeze has picked up, carrying that sharp, electric promise of a storm. I suspect it might come sooner rather than later.
I look at Viola, ready to suggest we head straight back, but she tilts her head toward the beach below and smiles at me softly.
“I know it’s going to pour soon, but I do want to walk on the beach with you,” she says, voice light but sure. “The evening’s already perfect, so I don’t mind a little rain…”
How could I say no to that?
We go, hand in hand, down the narrow path that winds from the terrace to the sand. The night is lit only by the moon breaking through the clouds and the soft glow of lanterns hung along the villa’s private stretch of beach. The only sounds are the steady crash of the waves rolling in and the soft crunch of sand under our feet. The strong winds carry salt and the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine from the cliffs above.
I revel in how magical she looks in the moonlight.
She has kicked off her shoes with a small, happy laugh, and her green dress moves with her like liquid, the hem brushing her ankles as she walks barefoot beside me. She looks dizzy with wine and happiness. Like a beautiful sprite. I take her shoes in my hands and carry them. The wind lifts her hair, loose tendrils dancing around her face, and every time the breeze presses the dress against her body, I lose my shit a little more. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
I stop, turn her toward me, and kiss her.
She melts into it instantly, her hands sliding up my chest to curl around my neck, her body pressing close. The kiss deepens, slow and hungry, tongues sliding together while the waves crash behind us. We kiss until the world narrows down to nothing but the taste of her lips and the warmth of her skin under my hands. When we finally pull apart, her eyes are dark, lips slightly swollen, and she looks at me like I’m the only thing that exists.
We keep walking, the cool, damp sand shifting under our feet. The moon paints silver streaks across the water, and everything feels peaceful. Perfect. Just her and me and the endless rhythm of the ocean.
Then the drizzle starts.
At first, it’s light, soft drops kissing our skin, making her laugh with the joy of a child, but it quickly grows heavier. I tighten my grip on her hand.
“We should hurry now,” I say, already starting to pull her toward the villa.
She throws her head back and laughs, that bright, free sound I’m becoming addicted to. “Why? I want to stay.”
But I put her shoes back on her feet, and start dragging her along with me, protective instinct kicking in hard. We make it back to the hotel lobby just as the rain really opens up. She is still giggling and slightly breathless by the time we step inside. The warm lights of the lobby wrap around us like a cocoon. I can’t believe how much she makes me feel like a naughty kid, sneaking away from the world, stealing moments on dark beaches, kissing like we’re the only two people alive, running through the rain like children.