When he’s closer, his eyes narrow playfully. “You were supposed to tell me when you planned to fly back.”
“I know, but—”
My explanation is cut off when Cristiano gets me within reach. His arms snake around my back and he tugs me against him.Home.His lips find my cheek, the side of my mouth, and then, finally—we kiss. My heart lifts me until I’m on the tips of my toes.
I feel a sob trying to break free as he cradles my face, kissing my tears, reassuring me in the sweetest Spanish. “Are you here to stay? Estoy desesperado. Please, Isabel.”
All I can do is nod; I’m too choked with emotion.
He kisses me again, harder so that I almost tip backward, and then he hauls me up into his arms, spinning me. I can feel his happiness bursting out of him. He laughs and kisses me. He cups my cheeks, pulls back, looks at me, then kisses me again. My lips feel bee-stung by the time we finally make it inside his house.
He keeps his hand around mine, tugging me toward his room with my duffel slung on his shoulder. He doesn’t stop until we’re in his closet, and then he drops my bag with a thud.
“You’ll have plenty of room here, yes?”
He’s waving to the empty racks and drawers on the right half of the closet.
I laugh. “More than enough.”
It’shuge.
He bends down again, kissing me with passion. It’s a physical reminder, I think, that I’ve returned here like I promised I would.
“My stuff will barely fill one of those racks,” I tease.
“And your clothes at home?” I hear his worry in his voice.
“I’m not sure my clothes at home are worth sending over…”
His expression darkens instantaneously. He turns and shakes his head. “Why not? I thought—”
I’m smiling as I go to him, hug him, and press my face into his chest. “You misunderstand. It’s not because I’m planning to go back, it’s because my clothes are all sodull. Pantsuits and corporate dresses, things I could wear to the De Vere office. I don’t have any need for them here. In fact, I’d hate to wear any of it on the island. Stiff wool…” I shiver at the thought. “I’ll get more sundresses and bathing suits.”
He hmms. “Do you evenneedclothes?” he asks, nuzzling my neck, gripping my waist.
He starts to walk me backward out of his closet toward his bed.
“You’re right. I could just wear your T-shirts,” I suggest with a laugh.
“No.Nada.”
His hands find the bottom of my dress and he tugs it up and off me. His eyes blaze down my body, and though we’ve made love slowly on his bed, hard against the wall, naked in his outdoor shower—now there’s something noticeably different about the way we touch each other. With ravenous kisses and possessive need, Cristiano lays me back on his bed and strips me bare, pressing into me, weaving our fingers together, whispering in Spanish.
“Te amo.” He says it once and then again, in English. “I love you.”
Epilogue
Isabel
Ibiza is extra special at the end of September when the peak season has thinned out and the weather is still warm and sunny. The beaches are less crowded, the island is more relaxed. Aura, Solaría, Ushuaïa—all the best clubs have already had their long-awaited closing parties. Seasonal employees have packed up and returned home.
It’s my favorite time to enjoy Ibiza, and I’ve been lucky enough to experience it for three summers now. That first year, I was still settling in and felt like I had one foot out the door. I was traveling back and forth to France to check on Lita, trying to get my paperwork in order so I could stay on the island even if I was no longer working at Aura.
I was jobless for a while, though I already had a plan in place. A few weeks after I flew back to Ibiza from Marseille, I brought a business proposal to the surf shack on Playa Jondal, hoping to work with the current owner to expand. I own half of a smallsurf shop now, enough that I feel a sense of responsibility and purpose. In the summer, I teach surfing lessons to kids sometimes from sunup to sundown. I get tan, my hair is bleached, my arms are strong and lean. In the slow months, we close. Cristiano and I spend weeks visiting Lita in France and my parents in the States. We’ve visited Annika as well. I’ve tried her mom’s fiskefrikadeller. They’re Danish fish cakes and they’re delicious.
Simone and Felix travel with us occasionally, though it’s harder now that they have Melody. At one year old, she’s already the proud owner of a tiny surfboard and wet suit, courtesy of Aunt Isabel. I tease Simone that I’ll have her riding waves by four, but we both know it’ll be sooner than that.
Felix has worked his way up and taken over Hugo’s manager position at Aura so that Hugo could move over to Sabor a Sol.
