Page 95 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“Well, I don’t know that the beach will fix anything. But it can’t hurt.”

With that, she turns away from me and begins to move quickly toward the water. She sticks her toes in the waves, and the noise of delight that she makes does something strange to me.

I am standing on the beach in a suit. There are some absurdities to that.

“There are crocodiles, right? I mean, I heard that,” she says as she stops with her toes in the water.

“I’ve never seen one here,” I say. “Which doesn’t mean you don’t have to take precautions. But I wouldn’t jump into murky water or into the mangroves.”

“What’s a mangrove?”

I gesture down the coastline. “Where you see trees and plants growing heavily in the water. Anywhere a crocodile can hide. They strike incredibly quickly.”

“Sort of like you,” she says.

“Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“An observation. Neutral. Take it however you like.”

Emboldened by the reassurance that she won’t be eaten by crocodiles, she moves forward into the water and dips down below the surface. She shrieks as the water covers her, and then begins to swim, laughing. “It’s so warm.”

“Is it?”

“You should come in.”

“I don’t have the appropriate attire,” I say.

“And yet again,” she says, “I’m proven correct that clothing matters.”

Well, now I want to spite her. I shrug my jacket off and throw it down onto the sand, and then I start to undo my tie, unbuttoning my shirt. I see that she has stopped swimming, and is watching me with rapt attention. My heart begins to beat faster, and if this were any other situation, and any other woman, and I were a different man, it would feel like a flirtation. Her eyes are fixed on me, and she isn’t even trying to pretend she isn’t waiting for a glimpse of my body. In fairness to her, she’s given me a spectacular view of hers. And so I suppose I should return the favor. I loosen my tie, and unbutton my shirt, taking it off and letting it fall down to the sand. Then I undo the closure on my pants, kick off my shoes, my socks. I strip off everything but the tight pair of black boxer briefs that I’m wearing.

And I’m rewarded with her absolutely rapt attention.

Both of my arms are fully tattooed, and my neck, most of my torso. It has always been my form of penance. A reminder that the sins you commit don’t vanish just because you get rid of the evidence. That you’re changed forever when you engage in violence. It changes you, on a soul level, and I feel that it’s only fair for it to have altered me on the outside as well.

She bites her lip, then slowly floats onto her back and begins to paddle away from me. Though I have never been a casual beachgoer, I’m a strong swimmer. And I get into the water and go after her quickly.

She laughs, moving away from me, and a strange light feeling overtakes my chest. I find myself smiling. Looking at the joy on her face.

Just beyond her are my men in their boats, and it is a reminder of the reality of the present situation. Of the eternal situation. But somehow, it feels easy to block out now. Somehow, it feels like something I don’t want to think about, and so I don’t.

There is an eternal amount of heaviness to cope with. I can’t deny that. But in the salt water, everything feels weightless, including me.

She disappears beneath the surface, paddles away, and back up onto the sand. There is a wooden structure there on the beach, one that served as a cabana for my grandparents. A place where they would often sleep on nice nights, and it’s outfitted with everything you could possibly want. I go after her, grabbing the picnic basket, and then I gesture toward the cabana. “Let’s go inside,” I say.

She cocks her head and looks at me, and then follows me up the steps, and into the small, simple structure.

“Your grandmother definitely had a hand in this,” she says, looking around the room, done up in gold, magenta and natural wood.

“Yes. As I said, my grandfather worshipped her.”

“Did your mother come here as a child?”

She should know it isn’t as if I’ve ever sat around with my family exchanging pleasant memories. She should know because it sounds like, in many ways, she had a broken sort of childhood just like I did. “I don’t know,” I say, pushing away thoughts of my mother, because whenever I think of her, my imagination is invariably full of violence.

“Oh. I just assumed…” She looks down at her hands. “I know that your family is dysfunctional. But in many ways, it seems like you have more people to love than I do. Even though I’m mad at Vittoria… I know she loves you, Ciro. Even though she told me lies, I don’t think that’s one of them.”

“I don’t know that anything is quite that simple.”