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It’s changeover time for the guards soon. When that happens, the beach will be unpatrolled for exactly thirty seconds. It’s a tiny window, but it’s enough time for me to sneak out and for the new guard to assume I returned to the house… I hope.

I’ve spent the last few years learning how to move through the gaps in my father’s security. Today, that knowledge is the only thing that can buy me the privacy I need.

Father kept us in a bubble. A beautiful, gilded, high-security bubble. Men were employees or threats, never possibilities.

I’ve somehow made it to nineteen having read plenty about romance while knowing absolutely nothing about what to actually do with a man.

I need a complete stranger. Ideally a tourist whom I’ll never see again.

Checking over my shoulder, I watch as the old guard steps away and climbs the stairs up to the house.

Go time.

I jump up, disappear behind the shrubbery, and sprint down the narrow path toward our boundary. Even after crossing it, I don’t stop. I keep running until the house is long out of sight.

Breathless, I sink down onto the sand and scan the shoreline for a suitable candidate. Unfortunately, there aren’t many tourists in Sicily during winter.

The beach is mostly empty, save for a young man, probably around my age, near the tide line. He’s golden-skinned and lean, dressed in simple pants rolled up to his knees and a linen shirt.

Hmm, probably a local, but he might do. I walk toward him, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

I considered approaching one of the garden hands back at the house, but I dismissed that idea before I even got down the stairs. It’s too close to home. Gossip in an Accardi household travels faster than a bullet. This stranger won’t know who I am, and more importantly, I’ll never have to see him again.

The closer I get, the more I realize I have no idea how to start. Do I just say hello? Do I ask about the fishing?

He notices me, his eyes widening slightly as he takes me in. I’m wearing a simple sundress, but I know I look like I belong here.

“Beautiful morning,” he says, his voice friendly and light. It’s nothing like Maximo’s low, gravelly baritone. It doesn’t make my skin prickle.

Good. That’s good, really.

“It is,” I reply, my voice steadying.

I can do this. I’m an Accardi. We don’t flinch.

“Are you having any luck?”

He grins, and it’s a nice, normal grin.

“Not yet. The fish seem to be smarter than me today,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

I find myself smiling at him. He’s cute.

“I’m Mia,” I say, stepping a little closer and holding out my hand.

“Elio.” His cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink.

We talk for a few minutes about the weather and the coast. It’s easy. Comfortable. I wait for the spark, for the pull I felt in the garden with Maximo, but there’s nothing.

He’s nice, polite, and clearly charmed.

See? I can do this.

But as the seconds tick by, I realize he isn’t going to make a move.

Is that normal?

He’s looking at me like I’m something to be admired from a distance. Perhaps he’s shy?