“You don’t have to entertain them,” I say. “I had plans to take them to the park.”
“Swimming is better. It’s hot out.”
“Still. You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.”
The way he says it makes my skin heat.
Twenty minutes later, I’m poolside watching Luca teach Alexei to float. He’s shirtless, water streaming down his chest and abs. His hands support Alexei’s back while he talks him through breathing and balance.
Mila splashes nearby with her floaties, completely absorbed in her own game.
I’m supposed to be reading. The book is open in my lap. I haven’t turned a page in fifteen minutes.
Luca glances over. Catches me staring again. The corner of his mouth lifts.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Mama, watch!” Alexei shouts.
I drag my attention back to my son. He’s floating on his own now, Luca’s hands hovering close but not touching.
“That’s amazing, baby!”
Alexei beams. Luca guides him back to standing. Says something I can’t hear that makes Alexei laugh.
Then Luca pulls himself out of the pool in one smooth motion. Water sheets off his body. He walks toward me, grabs his towel from the chair beside mine, and dries his face.
This close, I can see water droplets caught in his chest hair. Can see the way his shorts hang low on his hips. Can smell chlorine and sun-warmed skin.
“You should come in,” he says. “Water’s perfect.”
“I’m fine here.”
“Are you?” His eyes drop to the book in my lap. Still open to the same page. “Looks like you’re having trouble concentrating.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Tired.” He drapes the towel around his neck. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Heat floods my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long. Then he dives back into the pool, surfacing near the twins.
I close the book and press my thighs together.
This is definitely a problem.
Dinner is worse.
We eat outside on the terrace. The twins chatter about swimming and floating and the game Luca invented with dive rings. I push food around my plate and try not to stare at the way his forearms flex when he cuts Mila’s chicken.
“Mama’s not eating,” Alexei observes.
“I’m eating.”
