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I know how to spend money. I know I want to put good back into the world. I know how to orchestrate grand plans and pull off challenging pranks. But none of that points to a job I might enjoy, something I would be good at.
I’m a jumble of useless talents–the true slacker in my family who continues to bring Lucca down because my brother refuses to abandon me to endure my worthlessness alone. My father has glumped us into the same category because he doesn’t care enough to distinguish us.
But I’ve never had the vision to solve global warming or start a business or perform in a theater. My talents lie in seeing the struggle around me and wanting to bring levity and relief.
My cynical train of thought suddenly brings a random idea to mind that strikes me as funny. I chuckle. “Is philanthropy a career?” I joke.
Bianka quirks her head and slowly sits up, crossing her legs as she faces me. “Well, sure. I mean, someone has to run charitable foundations and host fundraisers and stuff like that.”
“Huh.” I sit up as well, suddenly intrigued by the idea.
Of course, if anything would piss my father off more than me getting a fine arts degree, it would be a degree that focuses solely on giving away money to help the poor and unfortunate. But that only makes it that much more appealing.
Not that I would change anything right now. I haven’t put much stock in my future, but the one sure decision I’ve made is that I want to be with Bianka. Whatever it takes. And, once again, she’s proving why she is the smartest decision I’ve ever made. She’s far more intriguing and intelligent than I could have imagined in our years apart.
Because not another soul has asked me what I want to do with my life–not my parents, not Lucca, who I know would do anything for me. I’ve never even asked myself.
Rising from my beach towel, I pull Bianka up off the sand and wrap her in my arms. “You’re something else. You know that?”
She laughs breathily, her eyes peering up at me through thick lashes. Hooking a finger under her chin, I tip her face up and lean in, hovering over her lips momentarily as I study her warm, open expression. Then I close the distance. The heat of her sun-kissed skin makes mine tingle with anticipation, and I trace my tongue along her lips, relishing the soft sensation.
Bianka melts into me, her exposed flesh brushing against mine, enticing me to explore more of her. But not yet. I want to deserve the privilege of having this beautiful girl, and I haven’t earned that yet. Grudgingly, I pull back, breaking our kiss, and the sensation of her warmth lingers on my lips.
“Come on. Dinner should be ready,” I murmur.
“Dinner?” She lifts her slender brows, her expression perplexed.
I chuckle and release her to collect the towels from the beach. “Mm-hmm.”
Based on the location of the sun, it’s nearly six o’clock, and we won’t want to swim back to the boat after sunset. It’ll feel too cold without the solar heat, and based on Bianka’s reaction earlier, I doubt she’ll want to be in the water after dark.
Shoving our towels back into the air-tight bag, I seal it, then collect Bianka’s hand as I guide her toward the water.
“Ready for another swim?”
“Sure,” she agrees more readily this time.
We take our time getting back to the boat, splashing around, and swimming playfully as we enjoy the last of the sunshine and the warm weather. Fall will be here soon in full force. Best to satiate our beach cravings before then.
As the sun sets, casting gold and orange rays across the water, we clamber onto the boat and quickly dry off before changing back into our clothes. And when we settle onto the bench seats of the covered dining area a short while later, Bianka looks radiant with a perfect amount of fresh color to her soft skin. Her freckles stand out more starkly like stars against the night sky, her eyes lunar orbs shining in the soft boat lights.
Loui, our private chef, prepared an exquisite dinner of honey-glazed salmon with risotto and withered greens. And Bianka and I enjoy the meal along with white wine as we watch the sunset, the yacht rocking gently beneath us.
This is the first date I wanted to take Bianka on two years ago. Our conversation flows seamlessly from one topic to the next, shifting from light and funny to deep and thought-provoking, just like it did two years ago when I first kissed her.
“So, you never actually met your brother until you were fifteen?” I ask, as we delve into our family dynamics and more thoroughly uncover just how unconventional our childhoods were.
“I never met any of my brothers or sisters before I was fifteen. And I don’t think Ilya has either. Once, he told me he thought we had six other siblings, but he couldn’t be sure. Some of the women our father sent away were pregnant. Some he was just bored of, I guess.” Bianka’s eyes drop to her plate as she pushes a piece of risotto around its edge with her fork.
“Do you know any of your siblings besides Ilya?” I press.
She shakes her head. “I tried to hunt them down at one point, you know, find my family and bring us all together.” She releases a derisive snort as her face turns troubled. “Just goes to show how naive I can be, huh?”
I reach across the table to give her hand a squeeze. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it? You found Ilya, who you’ve clearly formed a meaningful relationship with. What about the others?”
“Most I couldn’t even find. But the few I did manage to track down wanted nothing to do with anything related to Valentin Popov–except for the check they receive every month. They’re all living quite comfortably, of course. I suppose you could say I met them, but Ilya’s the only one Iknow.”
“So, it was just you and your mom for the first fifteen years? You two must be pretty close.”
