“Ti amo,” I say, a satisfied smile on my lips.
“Ti amo,” he echoes, the smile audible in his voice.
He tightens his hold around my waist.
“I could stay here forever,” I whisper.
“Anch’io,”[LXXIX]he replies, pressing a kiss to my wet temple. “But the water’s cooling. And I want to dry you off, slip under the covers, and fall asleep spooning you.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. A droplet of water falls from his damp hair onto his forehead, clinging to his dark eyelashes.
“That sounds perfect,” I admit.
He smiles, and I know he’s thinking the same.
Hamptons
Alexander
The late-morning sun flashes on the teak deck, bright but chilling, the May wind sharp with the North Atlantic’s bite. I adjust Ethan’s stance, firming his elbow just enough to correct the angle of the rod.
“With these, it isn’t patience that matters,” I tell him, nodding toward the water thirty yards off the stern. “It’s aggression. They hunt by sight. If you stop retrieving, they lose interest. Keep the bait moving. Fast.”
Ethan nods, focused. We get along well; our conversation flows naturally, and he always seems interested in my opinion. I know he watches me carefully, waiting for something to slip.I don’t take it personally, his caution was earned long before I came into his life.
I don’t try to prove myself or rush him. I’m simply here. I will be part of his mother’s life—and, by extension, his and his sister’s—for as long as I live. Time isn’t a pressure point; it’s an ally. Eventually, he’ll see me for who I am, not through the lens of what the past taught him to fear.
Beside him, Alicia grips her rod with nerves and excitement, her ponytail snapping in the breeze.
“And remember what I said about the teeth,” I add, checking the wire leader on her line once more. “Bluefish don’t forgive nylon; they cut through it clean. If you hook one, keep the tension. Give it slack, and they’ll spit the hook or sever the line.”
She nods, eyes fixed on the water.
I glance over my shoulder. Cecilia is lying on one of the cushioned sun loungers, shielded from the worst of the wind. She’s wearing a cream cashmere sweater and oversized sunglasses, her e-reader in one hand. At her feet, Sam is sound asleep, his broad body sprawled across the teak, golden fur soaked in the sun.
I suppress a smile.Traitor. He always chooses her when she’s around. But watching them like that, I can’t fault him. I understand the instinct well. I would make the same choice.
I can feel her attention on us, the faint curve of her mouth betraying her. That sight—her at ease, watching her children move comfortably in my presence—will never get old. No closed deal has ever brought me this much peace.
“Alex!”
Alicia’s voice snaps me back. The tip of her rod bows toward the water, the reel whirring as the line pays out.
“Firm your stance, Alicia,” I say, stepping in beside her. I stay close, ready if she needs support, but I don’t touch the rod,letting her own the moment. “Tip up. Let him run if you have to—don’t lock the drag.”
“It’s so strong!” she laughs, adrenaline high in her voice.
“It’s a blue,” I reply, watching the line cut cleanly through the surface. They fight aggressively. “Ethan, reel yours in. We don’t want crossed lines.”
“Already on it,” Ethan answers.
“Alright,” I continue. “Start bringing him in. Pump the rod up, reel on the way down. No rush. Keep the tension.”
The fight lasts several minutes. When the silver-and-green flash finally breaks the surface beside the hull, we all laugh. I reach for the net and the pliers. With one smooth motion, I bring the fish aboard.
It thrashes violently, nearly nine pounds of muscle and teeth, jaws snapping on the teak. The noise makes Sam lift his head, huff once, then find his place back down, unimpressed.
“My God,” Alicia says, stepping back, eyes wide. “Look at the size of that.”
