I don't say anything. I can’t find the words. But I reach my hand back for his hand and he threads his fingers through mine. His thumb brushes across my knuckles.
He knows what I’m feeling. I know he’s feeling all of it too.
Rusty pulls the Jeep up to a cottage at the furthest edge of the property. It’s private and perfect, set apart from the others.And moored in front of the cottage a short distance offshore is a larger sailboat I recognize on sight.
TheIcarus.
"You brought the yacht?" The surprise escapes before I can stop it.Icaruslives in Miami, at the condo that's become ours. I didn't expect to see her here.
"I told you we'd sail while we were here." Nick's voice is easy, but there's something enigmatic in his expression. A flicker behind his eyes, quickly smoothed. "I had her brought down for us."
The pieces don't quite fit. The Keys. TheIcarus. The way he keeps looking at me like he's holding a secret between his teeth. I tilt my head at him. “What’s going on with you?”
“Going on?” His brows rise, a terrible imitation of innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”
TheIcarusrocks gently at the dock, patient and waiting. The place where he proposed. Where I said yes with my whole heart and meant it. Our symbol. Our story.
Whatever he's creating, it starts here.
Rusty helps with our bags, then shows us into the cottage. It’s lovely, with an open-air design, shuttered windows that let in the sea breeze, and a bed draped in white gauze. The patio overlooks the water andIcarus.I can’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be right now.
"Anything you need, you've got my number." Rusty's already backing toward the door, reading the room with the same easy instinct he's shown all afternoon. "I'll check in tomorrow. You two enjoy your evening."
"Go ahead and shower," Nick says, setting our bags inside the bedroom. "I'm going to handle a few calls, then I'm all yours."
I don't argue. The travel and the heat have left a film on my skin, and the thought of warm water is too tempting to resist.
The bathroom is all white tile and sea glass accents, the shower open and generous. I stand under the spray longer than necessary, letting the water sluice away the last remnants of New York—the constant low-grade vigilance, the endless decisions, the weight of everyone's expectations pressing down on my shoulders.
When I finally emerge, wrapped in the plush robe hanging on the bathroom door, I find the cottage blessedly quiet. Nick's voice carries faintly from somewhere outside, still on the phone.
I should probably get dressed. Eventually, I’ll need to put on actual clothes and be a functional human being. But not yet.
Instead, I wander out to the small terrace at the back of the cottage, drawn by the view of the water. A pair of cushioned chairs sit angled toward each other, a small table between them. I sink into one, tucking my feet beneath me, and let myself just... breathe.
It’s freeing to know that no one knows we're here. Not the press, not our business colleagues, not anyone except a handful of people we trust completely. For the next few days, we're just Nick and Avery, not the billionaire CEO and his artist fiancée. Not the subjects of speculation and scrutiny.
Just us.
A pleasant contentment unfurls in my chest. I feel a bone-deep gratitude that this man, so complicated and controlling and capable of breathtaking tenderness, chose me. That he keeps choosing me. That he’s building a future with me, with our child. This life we're shaping together feels like an impossible, incredible dream, but it’s real.
I close my eyes and let the breeze move over my skin, salt-laced and gentle.
"Now that's a sight I could get used to."
Nick's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I open my eyes to find him standing in the terrace doorway, barefoot, wearing onlylinen pants that hang low on his hips. No shirt. Just miles of tanned skin and lean muscle, the sun catching the edges of his collarbone and the slope of his shoulders.
Heat licks through me, immediate and visceral, stirring my desire. My pulse picks up, responding to him the way it always does, the way it has since the first time I saw him in our building elevator and felt the ground shift beneath me.
His gaze travels over me slowly. Appreciatively. I see him taking in the robe that's come loose at the neck, the way my legs are tucked beneath me, my damp hair falling over one shoulder. When his eyes meet mine again, there's heat there. Hunger barely leashed.
I reach out toward him, wanting him close. Just… wanting him. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." He moves toward me with predatory grace, all controlled power and absolute focus. "You looked peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you."
"I'm not disturbed."
"No?" He stops in front of my chair, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. His hand lifts, fingers trailing along my jaw, down the side of my neck, following the line of my collarbone where my robe has fallen open. "What are you, then?"
