His eyes are gentle, and his lips are quirked. “Of course I will.”
He sounds so confident, so at ease with himself, and I have never felt that way in my whole damn life, unless it’s at work.
“Would it be so bad?” He cocks his head, watching me. “What if you let yourself have fun with me? What if you didn’t think ten steps ahead?”
“Bad things will happen.” The words are automatic, a product of a lifetime spent trying to make sure things turned out okay. They’re the words of a little girl who was so determined to make sure life went right that she focused all her energy on what could go wrong. Against all reason, the back of my nose heats.
“What if they didn’t?” Another lazy kick. His shoulder muscles bunch as he shifts to rest his chin between my knees, to cage me with his arms. “What if we had the best day ever?”
“I’d want more.”
“Me too.” His words are automatic, his gaze flaring with something that might be triumph.
My stomach squeezes. “I don’t lead a charmed life, Tristan.”
He presses his cheek to my thigh, stubble scraping as he nuzzles me, his smile spilling over his face, like he understands what I’m really saying—that I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything and it terrifies me.
“Katie, baby. Can’t you see that’s what I’ve been trying to give you?”
The pressure behind my eyes grows and I blink furiously. I close my fingers around the edge of the stern, until the fiberglass digs into my flesh. I have a choice to make. I either pull away now or I accept that this is what it is. Hemarries someone else. I’m happy with what I get. I don’t do regret or sadness. I don’t look back and resent my circumstances. If I did, I’d spend my whole damn life shaking my fist at the world.
With Tristan, I feel like the sun has been turned on inside me, lighting up a small corner of my heart that I’ve only just found. Maybe it’s a corner that didn’t even exist until I met Tristan.
Right then, I decide.
Even if this ends in catastrophe, I’ll still be glad that Tristan owns that piece. I still want this for as long as I can have it, especially if it feels like this.
This is better than being a best friend. This is buying a winning lottery ticket every day. It’s the light turning green every time you approach it or the coffee shop giving you a free coffeejust because. It’s the Tristan Prince magic and it feels like a million dollars have been shredded to confetti inside my heart.
His gaze on my face, warm like the sun.
He gives me a teasing smile. Confetti bursts and that corner expands by a millimeter, a dangerous amount for a heart to grow.
“What?” he asks.
“Just thinking,” I croak.Rearranging my insides. Making more space for you because you’ve moved in and I fear it’s permanent.“I’d really like to be more like you. I want to take life by the horns. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to worry about the consequences.”
I pull my shirt up and over my head and smirk at the stunned look on his face.
“Bikini or no bikini?”
His eyes flare. His mouth is ajar, shock racing over his features, followed by something hotter and darker.
There’s a twist of need in my belly, followed by triumph. My fingers flirt with the edge of my waistband, and Tristan licks his bottom lip like he’s imagining his mouth replacing my hand.
He turns his face against my thigh and mumbles something that sounds like “fucking hell,” and I burst out laughing.
I can do this too. I can be that girl. The confident one. The one who makes Tristan feel weak. He makes it easy for me. He always has.
“Don’t want you getting burned,” he mutters. “Wear the suit.”
I chuckle and slip into the water after him, feeling like I could float all the way to the island. As I follow Tristan’s powerful strokes through the choppy water, it never once occurs to me to be scared, because Tristan is right there in front of me.
He will always catch me, and he’ll always like me.
I never feel like I have to please him. I never feel like I’m not enough with him. I never worry about being pushing him away because of how awkward or reserved I can be. The thought stuns me. I tread water, tipping my face up to the sun, blinking back tears.
“Bailey,” he shouts. “You good?”
