38. Jack
JACK
S he’s still asleep when I wake up. One arm flung across the pillow, her hair spilled over my chest like a silk curtain.
The sunlight cuts through the sheer curtains, casting golden stripes across the bed and the length of her bare back.
I trace the line of her spine with my fingers, just to remind myself that this is real.
She came back to me. Not just physically, not just for the weekend. She chose me, fully, finally, and without hesitation. And somehow, that still wrecks me more than anything else ever has.
I get up without waking her and step out onto the balcony, tugging on a pair of linen pants.
The ocean stretches wide and blue, the breeze lifting strands of my hair, still heavy with salt from yesterday’s flight.
I grab my phone to order breakfast, then hesitate, my notifications buzz with new messages, but I don’t check them.
Santiago. Dawson. Even a text from my father.
Whatever it is, they can wait. Not yet. Not when she’s here. Not when I’ve finally got her back.
A few minutes later, room service rolls in with a silver cart: fresh fruit, pastries, eggs, coffee. Ivy stirs when the aroma hits the air.
She lifts her head, blinking at the tray, then at me. Her voice is rough with sleep. “You bribing me with mango and caffeine now?”
“Whatever it takes.”
She smiles, stretching like a cat beneath the sheets. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, you’re here.”
We eat on the balcony, her legs draped over mine, our plates balanced between us. Ivy picks at the fruit, watching the waves roll in, and I can’t stop watching her. Every smile, every soft murmur, every glance like she’s still deciding if this, if we, are real.
“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly, her voice quieter than the wind.
I set my fork down. “For what?”
“For leaving. For running. For not asking.”
I shake my head. “No more apologies. We both messed up. But we’re here now.”
She nods, then kisses me, just a brush of lips, sweet and soft.
***
The beach is almost deserted when we arrive, the sand warm beneath our feet. Ivy kicks off her sandals and runs ahead into the water, her laughter catching on the breeze. She dives in like she was born for this, and I follow, the salt stinging my skin, the sun pouring down like absolution.
We swim until we’re breathless, until she floats on her back and I hold her there, hands beneath her shoulders, her hair fanned out like a halo.
Then it happens, one of the strings of her bikini top shifts just slightly, undone by the current. It doesn’t fall, but it dips enough to make my brain glitch.
I adjust it quickly, fingers brushing her wet skin, and mutter, “Okay, that’s it. I’m filing a formal complaint against ocean currents.”
She snickers. “You’re lucky I tied it tight.”
“Not tight enough. We’re gonna need to have a conversation about swimwear regulations.”
She raises a brow, treading water. “You want to start setting dress codes now?”
“I want to keep my sanity. And prevent that guy over there…” I tilt my head toward another man in the water, clearly not subtle in where his eyes land “…from developing heatstroke on my watch.”
Ivy turns, sees him, and laughs. “I think he’s more interested in the coral.”
“He’s not looking at coral. And even if he were, I’d still prefer he looked at literally anything else.”
“Well,” she says, swimming a slow circle around me, “he’s not the one who gets to help me untie it later.”
I grab her waist under the water, dragging her flush against me. “Remind me why we left the room again?”
“Vitamin D,” she quips, grinning.
I groan. “You’re gonna kill me, woman.”
She looks like a siren, one of those mythical things you’re not supposed to want this badly.
And her bikini isn’t helping. It’s black, barely-there, tied at the hips with thin string that makes me want to untie it with my teeth.
The top dips low, accentuating curves I already know too well, but somehow look even better drenched in sunlight and sea.
Her skin glows against the dark fabric, and every time she moves, I have to remind myself this beach is technically public, even if it feels like the whole world narrowed down to just her.
"You trying to kill me with that bathing suit?"
She opens one eye, amused. "It’s a swimsuit, Jack. That’s what people wear to the beach."
"Yeah, but people don’t look like you in it," I mutter.
She laughs and splashes me. "Relax. It’s a private beach. Who exactly are you worried about?"
"That guy in the cabana. The one pretending to read."
"Jack. He’s seventy,” she laughs.
"Still has eyes."
She kicks water toward me, still grinning. "You’re ridiculous."
I close the space between us and wrap my arms around her waist. "And you’re mine. That’s the problem. I see you looking like this and suddenly I want to build a wall around this whole place."
"Possessive much?"
"Not really," I say, and then tap my finger lightly against the ring on her hand. "You’re off the market now. It’s not possessive. It’s just good inventory control."
She snorts. "Did you just compare me to a limited-edition asset?"
"A priceless one," I say, grinning. "No refunds. No exchanges. All sales final."
She rolls her eyes so hard I think they might get stuck, but she’s laughing, and I’ll take that as a win.
"Only when you're half-naked in sunlight," I add, leaning in like I’m telling her a secret.
She rolls her eyes again, but there’s a flush in her cheeks that’s not from the sun. I press a kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, and feel her melt into me.
"You ever think about how close we came to never getting this?" she asks, eyes closed.
"Every damn day."
She opens her eyes. "Me too."
I kiss her forehead and pull her in, arms around her waist. She hooks her legs around me under the water, and suddenly the world narrows to this: her lips, her body, her breath mixing with mine.
We dry off on the beach, lying side by side on a towel, our fingers linked. I pull out my phone and start snapping a few photos, mostly of the ocean, but also of her. Ivy lounging in the sun, head tilted back, eyes closed, the edge of a grin on her lips. She cracks one eye open and catches me.
I stand up from the towel and brush the sand off my chest, grabbing my camera and walking a few feet back to frame her against the water.
Ivy’s stretched out on her stomach, hair damp and wild, the curve of her back catching the sunlight just right.
I crouch low to get the angle, sunlight, sea, and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen all in one frame.
She lifts her head and squints at me, one brow arched. "Are you photographing me like I’m your vacation trophy?"
"Absolutely," I say, not even pretending to be ashamed. "Need evidence in case anyone back home thinks I made you up."
She tosses a handful of sand in my direction. "Remind me to revoke your camera privileges."
Just then, a couple strolls by, hand in hand. The guy gives Ivy a second glance, subtle, but not subtle enough for me.
I nudge her. "You see? Men are staring."
She glances at the man, then back at me, amused. "Jack, there’s barely anyone here. That guy was like sixty and with his wife."
"Doesn’t matter. He’s still a man.”
She leans in, kisses the corner of my mouth, and murmurs, "Only one man I care about looking at me."
My throat tightens a little at that. I slide my hand around her hip and pull her closer. "Good answer."
She rests her head on my chest, and I keep my arm around her, staring at the ocean like it might hold still just for us.
She turns to me, chin propped on her hand. "What do you want this to look like when we go home?"
"Exactly like this," I say without hesitation. "Maybe fewer palm trees. But you. Me. No walls left to tear down."
She smiles, soft and quiet. "You’re sure?"
"I’ve never been more sure of anything."
***
The light has shifted by the time we return to the room, warm and honeyed through the gauzy curtains.
Ivy is asleep again, curled on her side, one hand stretched across the empty space where I’d been.
I watch her for a moment from the doorway.
She looks peaceful. Unburdened. Like the version of her I only ever saw in dreams before she came back.
I slip into bed behind her. My arm drapes around her waist, and she sighs in her sleep, tucking herself against my chest like she never left it.
I press a kiss to the top of her shoulder and let my eyes close.
I don’t mean to fall asleep, but when I wake, the light is deeper, richer.
Ivy’s already awake, her lips moving across my shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest like she’s sketching something only she can see.
“Still hungry?” she murmurs.
“Starving,” I say, but we both know I’m not talking about food.
She laughs, low, warm, and familiar, and slips out of bed to get ready. She dresses for dinner, something soft and short and blue. She doesn’t try. She doesn’t have to. She walks out of the bathroom with her hair pinned up and my brain flatlines.
“You’re staring,” she says, amused.
“I’m recovering,” I shoot back, eyes dragging over her legs, then her mouth. “You should be illegal in that dress.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “That’s rich coming from the man who packed three different suits for a four-day trip. Including a vest.”
“That vest is a masterpiece.”
“Jack, it had a pocket square.”
“A coordinated pocket square,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
She laughs, full and bright. “God, I missed this.”
“I missed you.”
Her eyes soften, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then she tugs my hand. “Come on, fancy man. Let’s go drink overpriced cocktails and pretend we’re normal.”
We find a table on a beachside terrace, candles flickering, a guitar strumming somewhere behind us. Ivy orders something fruity and ridiculous. I order whiskey. Her laughter comes easier now, and I lean back in my chair just to watch her talk.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asks, swirling her straw around in her ridiculous pink drink. “You know, suits, boardrooms, spreadsheets. Scowling at people in designer shoes.”
I don’t have to ask what she means.
“No,” I say. “Back then, I had deals and deadlines. But I didn’t have mornings like this. Or a woman who calls me out on my wardrobe.”
She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “I still can’t believe this is real.”
I lean forward. “Then let me keep proving it.”
After dinner, we walk the beach barefoot, our footprints trailing behind us in the damp sand.
The moon lights her skin in silver. I stop her mid-step, pull her close, and kiss her like I might never get another chance.
Because even now, part of me still remembers the cold fear of losing her. And I’m never feeling that again.
Back in the suite, we fall into bed sometime after midnight, sun-drunk and blissed out. She’s tangled in the sheets, lips swollen from kissing, eyes half-lidded with sleep. I pull her against me and press my mouth to the crown of her head.
“I’m not letting go,” I whisper.
She mumbles something I can’t quite catch, but she curls closer.
The world outside can wait. She’s mine. And I’m hers. And that’s enough.
My phone buzzes again from the nightstand. I reach for it lazily, expecting some useless notification, but it’s the same message I saw earlier.
Santiago: Jack, it’s about Derek. You need to see this. Now.
This time, I don’t ignore it. I glance at Ivy one last time, still sleeping peacefully beside me, and my chest tightens.
She's wrapped in the sheets like something delicate, her lips are parted slightly, her brow relaxed in a way I rarely see. I watch her chest rise and fall, steady, and for a second, I let myself believe this version of life, of us, is untouchable. But Santiago’s words cut through the illusion like glass under bare feet.
My stomach knots. I know that tone. Santiago doesn’t send vague warnings unless something’s already slipping through the cracks.
And if it’s about Derek... I sit on the edge of the bed, phone heavy in my palm.
My thumb hovers over the screen. Whatever this is, I need to face it before it touches her world again.
Before it claws back into ours. I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her, and open the message.