Chapter 4
The path down to the private beach wasn’t long.
Lush tropical plants curled around the stone walkway, casting lazy shadows over my ankles as I padded barefoot from the back door to the soft curve of sand just beyond.
There were two entrances from here: one led to the bedroom, the other to the sunlit kitchen Callum had disappeared into when he said, “Just give me a few minutes. I need to tell them properly.”
Them being his parents. Properly meaning without an audience.
I hadn’t questioned it, especially after everything we’d just dropped on them.
An engagement. A possible fertility journey. A quiet elopement brewing. And now… his retirement.
I knew how much weight he gave that conversation. How much of himself he owed to the people on the other end of that call. I knew how difficult that conversation was to have from firsthand experience—the least I could do was let him have the space to honor it.
I moved slowly, letting the warmth of the morning kiss each step. My feet sank into the sun-warmed sand, grains sticking to my heels and the spaces between my toes.
A salty breeze lifted the hem of my linen cover-up and whispered secrets through the palm fronds above.
The beach glittered like it had been brushed in gold dust. This was our little slice of heaven, untouched and still.
Just the sea, the sky, and the soft hush of the waves—no cameras, no chaos, no clocks.
I laid my towel down with the same care you’d unfold a love letter, pressing each corner into place. I twisted my hair into a loose bun, securing it with the claw clip I’d attached before walking down here.
The breeze cooled the sweat at the back of my neck. With a sigh, I dropped the cover-up to the sand, stretched out on the towel, clad only in a pink string bikini. I reached for the bottle of sunscreen beside me.
The lotion was cool against my fingertips, but my skin drank it in fast—still warm from the sun and the remnants of last night’s sexcapades.
My hands swept slowly over my chest, my stomach, the curve of my hips.
Across the sore stretch of my inner thighs and the ache low in my belly.
My abs flinched under my own touch. My lower back tingled where Callum had held me, gripped me, worshipped me like he couldn’t believe I was real.
I winced as I adjusted, the soreness radiating down through my hips and spine in delicious little waves. It was a reminder of everything we shared and the life that awaited us.
I smiled, soaking it all in. Phone face-down, notifications silenced. Just me, the sea, and Harper Rose’s new album purring softly from the speaker beside me. Her breathy voice painted promises of first kisses, forbidden nights, hearts broken on satin sheets.
I’d met her once. The day I won my first race, the Monaco Grand Prix. She told me I was doing the damn thing and that I was an inspiration. If I wasn’t a fan before that, I certainly was now.
I sang along under my breath, lips curling around the words.
No one was here to hear me but the waves. It was warm and indulgent and peaceful in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not performative peace. Not earned peace. Just… being.
And I didn’t need an audience.
I felt… golden. Unbothered. Blissfully soft and fucked-out and sun-drenched. Happy. Healthy. Alive. Stupidly, irrevocably in love.
I didn’t hear him at first—not over the waves or the song or the fluttering heat between my thighs—but I felt him. There was a distinct shift in the air. A ripple of something magnetic.
Callum.
I tipped my head back to look at the path.
He strolled down the sandy path like a wet dream in motion—shirtless, sunlit, and smug, swim trunks slung low on his hips.
His shoulders were broad and muscular, his chest kissed pink where I’d clawed him the night before.
A towel hung lazily over one shoulder, and his facial hair was gloriously unshaved, messy and infuriatingly sexy.
That tousled hair of his looked like he’d dragged a hand through it on the way down the path and called it a day.
He wasn’t smiling. But his eyes—those molten, hungry eyes—never left me.
God.
Sex on fucking legs.
Suddenly, I couldn’t remember a single lyric of the song playing. Couldn’t remember anything, really, except how badly I wanted to climb him like a tree and undo every ounce of peace this sun was trying to give me.
He dropped his towel beside mine and sprawled out with that signature Callum laziness—limbs long and loose, torso gleaming, eyes half-lidded.
Then, instead of settling flat on his back, he rolled to his side and propped his head on one hand.
His gaze swept over me once, slowly, like he needed to check I was still here.
And then he asked the last thing I expected.
“How’s your body feelin’, love?” His voice was soft, Scottish lilt curling around the vowels. “Things got intense yesterday. And I know you were still cramping from the new IUD.”
I shifted onto my side to face him, mirroring his position. I’d expected some cheeky remark, a flirty growl, a filthy memory on his tongue—hell, even jumping straight into the conversation with his parents. But no, of all things, he chose that.
I blinked at him, stunned. Then I smiled, so warm it hurt. He always did this. Always saw me first.
“Better,” I murmured, brushing sand off my towel. “Still sore. But in a good way. And the cramps are easing up.”
His fingers found mine between the towels. Gentle. Grounding. “You’d tell me if it wasn’t, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I promised. “You took care of me. Like you always do.”
A beat passed. The waves crashed in the distance. And the only thing louder was the sound of my heart falling for him all over again.
I gave him the space he needed until he was ready to talk.
Callum wasn’t a man who filled silences just to fill them.
He processed things slowly, quietly, like he was kneading each thought into shape before offering it up.
And I knew better than to rush that. Sometimes, the most loving thing you could do for someone was just be there.
Beside them, feeling it with them, so they weren’t alone.
So I stayed still, hand in his, our towels nearly overlapping as we both lay on our sides facing each other.
The breeze carried the faint scent of salt and sugar—coconut sunscreen and the sweet citrus peel I’d rolled between my palms before coming down here.
Waves rolled in and out like a metronome.
My phone still played Harper’s album quietly, a song that was honey-smooth and just slutty enough to make me grin.
Callum let out a slow exhale, eyes still on the horizon. His thumb swept gently over my fingers. My heart thudded. I stayed silent, letting him find his way.
“They took it better than I expected,” he said finally, voice quiet but sure. “Mum cried a little, but said she always knew it would happen sooner than I wanted it to. That she was just proud I stayed in it as long as I did.”
I blinked, the sting of emotion hitting unexpectedly.
He looked at me, eyes tired but soft. “Dad said he wasn’t surprised.
Told me…” He trailed off, then let out a breathy laugh that wasn’t quite laughter.
“Told me he could finally breathe a little easier knowing I was choosing a life instead of just a legacy. And here all this time I thought—” he cut himself off, swallowing.
I pushed myself up and reached for him, cupping his cheek. He leaned into it, eyes fixed on mine as I leaned over him.
“They understood,” he added, voice thick with emotion. “They saw everything you and I have walked through. The timing, the storm, the way the world has shifted for us. And they said…” His voice went quieter, just for me. “They said it was time for me to choose peace.”
A beat passed.
I kissed his knuckles. “And does it feel like peace?”
He hesitated. Then he nodded. Just once. “Bittersweet,” he admitted. “But aye. It does.”
And there, on a stretch of glittering white sand, the sound of Harper’s sugar-sweet voice filling the air, I realized something:
Letting go didn’t always have to mean losing. Sometimes it meant finally choosing the life you didn’t believe you were allowed to have.
I didn’t say anything right away. Just held his gaze and let the silence wrap around us like a blanket. The kind that didn’t need mending or explanation.
Then I grinned and rolled onto my back with a dramatic sigh, reaching for my phone. “Well, you’ve officially earned a selfie.”
Callum groaned as I flipped my camera, angling it for the light. “Christ, not this again.”
“You look hot when you’re emotionally vulnerable.” I snapped a few pictures, my gold hoops glinting in the sun, and then tilted the phone toward him. “Now smile for your fiancée.”
He didn’t. He lunged.
With a startled squeal, I dropped my phone and scrambled to my feet, but I wasn’t fast enough. His arms wrapped around my waist, hauling me up like I weighed nothing.
“Callum!” I shrieked through laughter, clutching his shoulders as he started running down the sand toward the surf. “Don’t you dare—”
Too late. The water hit our feet, then our knees, then our waists. I was still gasping when he dipped me, dunking us both under in one glorious, breathless splash.
When we surfaced, soaked and breathless, I looped my legs around his waist and kissed him like it was my last chance to taste him. He was laughing into my mouth, water streaming down his face, his arms locked tight beneath my thighs.
“Mmm. Didn’t get to finish what I started earlier,” I whispered against his lips, voice sultry and sweet.
A strangled sound clawed up my throat as I ground against him, the water doing nothing to cool us down. One of his hands slipped up, tugging at the string around my neck, loosening my bikini top just enough that one wrong move and my whole tit would be out.