The rest of the world fell away as the cabin closed in around us—dim light, soft movement, the quiet creak of the boat.
He laced his fingers through mine, lowering himself on top of me as we breathed each other in. Reluctantly freeing a hand, I slipped it inside his shirt, running it down his chest, exploring the warmth of his skin and the strength beneath it.
He drew in a sharp breath as I traced my fingers lower, reaching beneath the waistband of his jeans, unfastening them slowly.
His grip tightened around my waist, his lips trailing along my neck, then my jaw, until he found my waiting mouth.
I arched against him, but he pressed me back, slipping my top over my head before tugging his shirt free with one hand.
His gaze darkened and he moved lower, my breath catching as his mouth moved over my stomach. When I lifted slightly, he peeled off my jeans. Every small movement drew me further into him. I felt it in the way I leaned into him. In the way my hands explored the rugged lines of his body. In the way neither of us pulled away.
There was only his touch. Only him. Only us.
For the first time… I didn’t think about what came next.
***
For a while, we lay still on the bed, neither of us moving.
There was nothing else. Just the quiet rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.
His hand drifted slowly along my back, tender and grounding.
I traced lazy circles against his skin, my body not ready to let go of the moment—or him.
“Stay,” he murmured against my hair.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
As we lay pressed together, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
And for that brief, perfect moment… it was.
***
SYDNEY | ONE WEEK LATER
IVY
There was no chance to say goodbye to Dyson at daybreak while he was still fast asleep. Karson and I walked hand in hand out to the front of the Sydney Harbour marina to get a cab.
As we stood on the sidewalk, waiting in the half-light, my mind wandered back to my dad. I’d been hoping to visit him and had called yesterday.
But they told me even the staff going into his room unsettled him, and they were trialing some new medications to try and improve the situation.
“Visitors aren’t a good idea right now,” they said.
We set up a plan for me to have regular video calls—once he settled back into a routine. And even if he wasn’t up for talking, at least I’d see his face.
Karson squeezed my hand, we stood beneath the haze of the streetlight, moths buzzing in the yellow glow. A sleek black Range Rover pulled in beside us.
The door opened before the driver stepped out. He was in his sixties with dark gray hair, a portly frame, and stood a full foot shorter than Karson.
He greeted Karson fondly, smiling at me warmly before rushing to open the rear door. He gestured for us to get in.
“Gus, how did you know I was back?” Karson said, agitated. “What are you doing here?”
Gus frowned, an air of gloom descending over his face. “Your father sent me. He wants to see you immediately. My instructions are to take you straight to his office as soon as we drop your visitor off at the airport.”
