Page 119 of Bound

He never mentions it again because he values his marriage.

We sleep late. Or I sleep late.

He watches me sleep like the undead.

We make love in every room of the villa and one place outside that I refuse to describe because I have standards.

It’s the last night, and we walk down to the beach.

No shoes.

My dress keeps catching in the wind.

Lucian carries a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“This is romantic,” I tell him.

“I brought a gun.”

“There he is.”

We sit near the water.

He pours.

I hold up my glass. “Here’s to surviving our beginning.”

He clinks his glass against mine. “And here’s to surviving you.”

I laugh. We drink.

The waves move in and out.

For a long time, neither of us speaks.

Then he says, “I feel something.”

“What’s that?” I ask, happy to help my now emotionally less stunted man process.

“I feel…” His voice lowers as he stares out over the ocean. “I feel happy.”

My heart melts. I smile. “Say it again.”

“I am happy.” He looks at me with a softness in his eyes I’m trying to get used to.

My heart aches. In the good way. I lean into him. “Me too.”

He puts his arm around me.

No enemy appears.

No phone rings.

No one dies.

The world simply keeps moving.

And we let it.