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He turns my hand until my palm is facing him and presses a hot kiss on the sensitive center. Then he drags his mouth over my wrist, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyelids drift closed. His mouth leaves a hot trail over my skin, sparkling like the sun reflecting in sharp white points off the cool water.
His mouth is soft, wet, and his stubble scrapes me like sand dragging across naked skin. At last he sets his mouth over my pulse and gives a hard suck, leaving behind a wet claiming that burns as his mouth leaves me.
I’m flushed and dizzy. The sea breeze strokes over me, cooling my skin and licking me with salty air and effervescent mist. For a moment I wonder if I should scramble down the rocks and jump into the sea to cool the boiling heat in my blood.
“Are you always like this?” I ask him, dazed by the dazzling effect of his mouth. I struggle for the proper word. “So ... complimentary?”
He flashes me a quick grin, which appears and then recedes as quickly as the waves crashing over the small sandy cove.
“No.”
My shoulders fall.
He laces his fingers with mine and then drops our hands, pulling me along the road again. “Most days I’m worse,” he says, giving a wink.
My face burns, like I’ve been lying on the beach all day and the sun has left me pink and hot.
He takes in the heat in my cheeks and his smile widens. “You love me.” It’s not a question; it’s a happy statement born of confidence and years of intimacy.
“Yes,” I say, not bothering to deny it. It doesn’t matter which reality we’re in, that remains the same.
“It’s a good thing we have five more days. There are so many things I want to do to?—”
“Max! Anna!”
It’s a high-pitched, joyous shout. I turn sharply and watch in wonder as my little sister flies out of the mint-green front door of the villa. She races down the sidewalk, hopping and bouncing like a kid let loose in a toy store.
She looks sohappy.
She’s barefoot, beach-tanned and freckled, with sun-streaked brown hair. Her shorts and navy-striped top are the picture of coastal living. I gobble up her appearance, noting the smudge of indigo watercolor on her cheek and the paint on her fingers.
I grin, my heart ready to burst. My baby sister, the artist.
Max knows what she’s going to do before I do, because he releases my hand, and when my sister launches herself in the air he catches her and quickly spins her around. She lets out a delighted shriek and a wild laugh.
Max laughs and then drops her gently to the ground, where she knocks into me, folding her arms around me. I let out a gust of air, and over Emme’s head Max grins at me.
“You’re here,” Emme says, her face buried against my dress, her voice muffled under the waves and the wind. “I missed you and Max. It’s been weeks!”
Max reaches over and rumples Emme’s hair. “Hello, Emmeline. What sort of plans do you have for us today?”
Emme releases the tight hold she has on me and turns to Max, her face glowing with anticipation. “Everything! Now that you’re here, we’re going to do everything! Oh! I want to show you my watercolors. Mom says they’re my best ever, but she’s?—”
She grabs Max’s hand and drags him back toward the front door, her excited chatter snatched away by the wind. Max shoots me a look over his shoulder—a happy grin and a quick wink.
My heart sort of tumbles out of my chest at that grin.
I hadn’t thought for a moment about what it would mean for my sister if Max and I were married for seven years. But here in this world, that means Max has known Emme since she was a baby. She’s grown up with Max in her life. Clearly, they love each other.
I stare after them. Emme scrambles onto Max’s back for a piggyback ride. Her laughter carries over the sea breeze, and I smile as she tugs on his shoulders, pointing toward the citadel, an ancient fortress over the city, and then at the sea, where a rustic fishing boat bobs in the water, and finally, toward a pretty medieval bell tower rising over the village.
My mom finally makes her way outside. She carefully picks across the concrete, hobbling on crutches in an unpracticed gait. I study her carefully. Even though her right leg is in an air cast, she looks healthier and happier than I’ve seen her in years. The deep wrinkles and signs of fatigue she held in Geneva are gone. Instead the stress lines have transformed to laugh lines and she has an air of energy blended with contentment. She’s a bit like the birds wheeling through the sky, floating effortlessly then diving lightning-quick to the water.
“That man is going to make a wonderful father,” she says by way of greeting. She stares after Max and Emme picking their way down the rocks toward the little cove beach. It looks like they’re taking a beach detour before Emme’s watercolor tour.
My mom reaches out and wraps me in a hug, the crutches knocking against me. She laughs as we both wobble on the pavement, then I hold her tight.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, my lower lip wobbling. All of a sudden, everything hits me. My mom is happy. Emme is happy.
