“Of course, I do. But I also want to enjoy the moment with you.”
“Me, too.”
“And maybe I’m evolving.” I slip my hand into his—those cool, familiar fingers lacing through mine. “Or maybe some things should just be for us.”
He takes a breath. When he speaks, his voice is low. “I like that.”
“The evolution or the privacy?”
“Both. But mostly the ‘us.’”
We round a corner, following the stone path toward the beach club. I can hear music—something tropical and upbeat, louder than the usual resort entertainment.
And there are lights. Lots of lights. Fairy lights strung between palm trees. Tiki torches lining the sand. A full bar setup that wasn’t there this morning.
“What the—” I start.
“SURPRISE!” Everyone shouts with excitement.
Fifty people. Fifty people I recognize—Mom in a flowing caftan, our aunts and cousins I haven’t seen since the last family funeral, Chris’s parents beaming, friends from Boston, colleagues from the hospital.
All of them standing on the beach with glasses raised, faces bright with the satisfaction of having kept a secret.
Violet’s hands fly to her mouth. Tears are streaming. “Oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH! I can’t believe this!”
Chris is grinning like he just cured cancer and won the lottery in the same afternoon. “Surprise, babe.”
“You planned this?” She’s sobbing now, the happy kind that destroys mascara. “You planned a whole party?”
“Pre-wedding celebration.” He wraps his arms around her, and she buries her face in his shoulder. “Everyone flew in early. I’ve been coordinating with your mom for weeks.”
“Weeks?”
“You deserved something special. Something that’s just for you, before all the wedding chaos takes over.”
“I love you,” Violet manages between sobs. “I love you so much, you ridiculous, wonderful man.”
“I love you, too. Now go hug your family before Aunt Martha starts crying and sets everyone else off.”
Violet dissolves into the crowd—hugging, laughing, exclaiming over and over how well everyone kept the secret. Chris watches her go with an expression that makes my chest tight.
This is what she deserves. Someone who plans surprises. Someone who looks at her like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him.
Beside me, Julian has gone still.
I know that stillness. It’s the same coiled tension from the cocktail party when Damien appeared. The predator’s pause before fight or flight.
His eyes are scanning the crowd. Cataloging faces. Counting exits. I can see him mapping the terrain—where the shadows fall, where someone could hide and watch without being seen.
“Julian.” I squeeze his hand. “It’s a party. Just a party.”
“Fifty people.” His voice is controlled.
“Chris planned it. It’s a good surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“I’m getting that.”
