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“Why law?” I ask as I change lanes. “I don't picture that for you at all.”
“Probably because my family has always been on the other side of it. I could be of more value than just some Mafia heir’s wife. No offense.” She continues to stare out of the window.
“None taken. Why limit yourself? You could do both,” I point out.
This draws her attention from the window. “Do both as in study law and be a wife to a Mafia heir?”
“Why not?”
“Because I never knew it was an option.”
“Maybe not with dickface Viktor, but I have no objections ... well, within reason.”
“What is within reason?” she presses.
“You'd have to master the wife part first, as in submission and the ability to obey. I need to be able to trust you when you're not in my presence.”
A smile spreads across her face. “You'd let me go to law school?”
“Well, classes are needed before then and the whole acceptance into law school bit, but I'm willing to make an effort for this arrangement to be palatable for us both.”
“And what about my motorcycle?” She grins. The excitement in her voice is more pronounced than it's ever been.
“What motorcycle?”
“I have a Ducati back at my father's estate. I bought it after selling some of my mother's old jewelry. My father was livid. He let me keep it, but he hates when I ride, so I don't get to take it out much.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say, shaking my head. “You're a princess wannabe assassin who rides a Ducati and wants to study law. Yeah, that sounds logical to me ... not like an identity crisis at all.”
“I'm not a wannabe assassin, but everything else sounds about right.” And the eye roll is back. I actually kind of enjoy our banter. “So can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Ride my bike?”
“We'll see. Everything doesn't need to be decided today. You and I have a long way to go with this truce, but this is the first step.”
“Where are we headed?” she asks, noticing we're nearing Baker Beach for the first time.
“One of my favorite spots,” I say without giving too much away.
As we park, leave our shoes in the car, and head down to the water, the iconic Golden Gate Bridge comes into view. As we stand on the beach's soft sand, the cool breeze gently caresses my face as the sun begins its descent into the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The sky is painted with hues of orange and pink, creating a breathtaking spectacle. I take a deep breath, savoring the salty scent of the sea and the faint aroma of distant bonfires.
As I gaze westward, the waves crash against the shore, their rhythmic melody providing a soothing soundtrack to the natural symphony unfolding with each wave. The golden rays of the sun cast elongated shadows on the beach, and the sand glows with a warm, inviting radiance.
“This is where I come to think and reset,” I admit offhandedly. “Well, not this beach per se, but any beach. In New York, I frequented Coney Island or Long Island Beach when I wished to take a moment to escape it all. Preferably at night.”
“Why the beach and why at night?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“For starters, there is less of a crowd at night. But also there is something about looking into the vastness of the dark sea—something so tranquil, soothing, and beautiful that has the ability to kill you within its depths if taken for granted.”
“That isn't dark and twisted at all,” she jokes, taking a page from my script to her earlier. “But I get it. Riding my motorcycle does that for me. At that moment, nothing else exists.”
I nod in understanding. Maybe we're not so different in that regard. I turn my attention back to the tranquility before us. A flock of seagulls gracefully soar through the sky, their wings outstretched, dancing in harmony with the fading sunlight. Their calls echo in the distance, harmonizing with the crashing waves. I watch as they dip and dive, seemingly carefree and content, as if they, too, are drawn to the beauty of this tranquil evening.
Its glow intensifies as the sun dips lower, casting an ethereal light across the entire horizon. The clouds that dot the sky are transformed into majestic strokes of fiery orange and vibrant pink, creating a breathtaking canvas above me. I'm immersed in the kaleidoscope of colors, and Margo looks to be appreciating the view as well.
The sand beneath my feet feels cool and soft, a soothing contrast to the lingering warmth in the air. I grab Margo’s hand and begin to walk along the shoreline, leaving footprints quickly erased by the gentle ebb and flow of the tide. The last rays of sunlight stretch across the water, casting shimmering reflections that dance and twinkle like diamonds. We walk a good stretch of the beach before heading back toward the car, her fingers still interlaced with mine. I don't want to read too much into today's efforts other than maybe things don't have to be miserable. We reach my car just as darkness descends.
