Chapter 8

The air in the marina had grown thick, heavy with the scent of salt spray, diesel fuel, and the sweet, cloying aroma of roasted chestnuts from the vendors lining the boardwalk. Above us, the sky was a canvas of exploding color, fireworks bursting in rhythmic bursts of gold and crimson, reflecting off the dark, oily surface of the water. The yachts were magnificent beasts of steel and glass, their decks crowded with well-dressed crowds swaying to the distant strains of a jazz band. I stood on the edge of our private dock, the hem of my velvet dress damp from the morning dew, watching the spectacle with a heart that hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. It was Christmas, but it felt like something else entirely. Something older, primal, and undeniably ours. I turned to look at him. He was standing just behind me, his presence a solid wall of warmth that I leaned into without thinking. His tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing a hint of the chest that had pressed against me so many times over the last few hours. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on me, ignoring