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“What’s wrong?”

“Um, nothing,” I say.

“I don’t like you wincing when I touch you. Not after what you told me about your dad,” Enzo says.

“Fine.” I move my hair out of the way to show him the back of my neck. “Really, it’s nothing.”

“Holy shit. Did your dad do this?” he asks, inspecting my neck.

I drop my eyes to the wood floor. “Um, no, you did…last night.”

“I knew that was too rough. Till, I didn’t mean it…”

I interrupt him. “No, I know. It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not.”

I release my hair to cover them again. “I was worried you touched one. They’re tender. I know you weren’t trying to hurt me last night.” He scowls at himself. “Look, it’s beach day! We should get going.”

“You don’t have to deflect so much,” he murmurs.

I cross my arms over my chest.

Don’t say it…don’t say it.

“Like you don’t?”

Oops, said it.

His jaw clenches. “I know I do.” He looks away and exhales. “Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.”

The drive to the beach is quiet after this morning’s conversation and takes over an hour. I’m sure being called out by someone ten years younger doesn’t feel good either.

Standing in the sand, I look out at the houses north of the beach, right on the coast. The sea breeze threads through my hair, and the air smells like salt. “Can you imagine having a house on the beach?” I ask him as he massages sunscreen into my back.

“Someday,” he replies.

“Really?”

“Property is the best investment you can have.”

“Oh, you. Always trying to make a dollar,” I tease.

He presses a gentle kiss on the back of my neck. “I never want to mark you again.”

I turn to face him. “Because you don’t like seeing your handiwork, or because of my history?”

“Both. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“My history is. Because you’d never hurt me,” I repeat.

“I’m trying hard not to,” he replies.

I pick up the tube of sunscreen from one of the folding chairs Enzo brought. “It’s your turn.” He moves to face away from me. I squirt the sunscreen into my hands and begin covering the Catholic mural on his back. “How long did this take? Your back?”

Enzo sighs. “God. Hours. Multiple sessions over a few months. My artist started from the bottom, so for a while, I was walking around with the lower half of my back done.” I let out a light laugh.

“Like a tramp stamp?” I tease.