39. Ivy
IVY
T he ocean murmurs outside our window, like it’s trying to lull me back to sleep. But I’m already awake. Not fully, just hovering in that dreamy space between waking and wanting more of him. My arm stretches across the sheets, reaching instinctively for Jack. But the bed is empty.
The linens are still warm where he was. My body aches, in the best kind of way, thoroughly used, thoroughly loved.
I stretch slowly, the soreness deep in my thighs a quiet reminder of last night, of the way he touched me like he couldn’t bear not to.
Like he had something to prove. Like he had something to lose.
I sit up, brushing hair from my face, and let my feet touch the cool tile.
The floor sends a little jolt up my legs, chasing off sleep.
I walk across the room slowly, trailing my fingers along the edge of the dresser, the carved bedpost, the suitcase he never fully unpacked.
I pull one of his button-downs from the floor and shrug it on, rolling the sleeves past my elbows. The cotton still smells like his skin.
I pass the mirror on my way to the balcony.
For a moment, I catch my reflection, bare legs, Jack’s shirt hanging open at the collar, sleep-mussed hair, skin still marked from his mouth.
It should look messy, undone. But all I see is his .
I never imagined belonging to someone could look like this, soft, bare, whole.
The slider to the balcony is cracked open, letting in a breeze that smells like salt and citrus and something darker.
I hear the clink of ceramic, then the unmistakable vibration of a phone screen turning over on a table.
My stomach tightens without warning. It’s nothing.
But the kind of nothing that feels like it’s holding its breath. I step outside. He’s there.
Standing at the railing, shirtless, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the other holding his phone like it’s a grenade he hasn’t decided whether to disarm.
His back is tense, carved and still, every muscle in quiet suspension.
The ocean glitters behind him, vast and unbothered, waves curling against the shore in slow rhythm like a heartbeat I can’t quite sync with.
A seagull calls in the distance, sharp, abrupt, too loud for how still the morning feels.
I move to him barefoot, careful not to make too much noise on the wooden deck, and slide my arms around his waist from behind. I press my cheek between his shoulder blades, letting my body melt into his. His skin is warm and smells like the sun and something undeniably his, like cedar and sleep.
He doesn’t startle. He just brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it, but he doesn’t turn.
“You disappeared,” I murmur.
He finally looks over his shoulder, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t want to wake you.”
“Everything okay?”
He hesitates. “Yeah. Just work. Santiago being Santiago.”
And there it is, that sliver of distance. The one that wasn’t there last night when he was inside me, whispering things he never lets himself say out loud. It’s small. Subtle. But I feel it. Like the weight of something waiting.
“You’re doing that thing,” I say.
“What thing?”
“Where you pretend everything’s fine, but you’ve already written a dozen worst-case scenarios in your head.”
He exhales a low breath, like I’ve caught him. “I just wanted today to last a little longer. That’s all.”
I slip around him until we’re face to face, his body blocking the rising sun. His jaw is tight. His eyes flick back to the phone.
“If something’s wrong,” I say, “I want to know. I need to know.”
“Ivy…”
“No.” I take his hand. “If we’re doing this, really doing this, then we don’t hide things. No disappearing. No protecting me with silence.”
His throat works like he’s swallowing something heavy. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. Yet.”
“That’s not your call,” I say, quieter now. “Not anymore.”
We stand there, the space between us suddenly full of things unsaid. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to dig. I just want truth. I want the man who held me last night like I was everything. Not the one who disappears behind walls.
Jack stares past me for a moment, into the horizon. A couple walks by below us on the beach, laughter drifting up on the breeze. I envy the simplicity of it.
“I know you’re scared of breaking this,” I whisper. “But shutting me out is what will do it. So tell me.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. But I see it, the crack forming behind his eyes.
Then, slowly, he sets the coffee down and reaches for me.
I let him pull me between his legs as he sinks into the lounge chair, and I straddle him instinctively, knees on either side of his thighs, the shirt riding up my legs as I settle in.
His hands rest on my waist. But his mind is still somewhere else.
“I didn’t want to ruin this trip,” he says finally. “Not after everything we’ve just gotten back.”
“You’re not ruining anything,” I say, cupping his face. “What ruins it is pretending there’s nothing waiting for us back home.”
He nods once, the weight of that acknowledgment sinking in. Then, for the first time since I came outside, he really looks at me. And smiles. Not the guarded one. The real one. The one that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in his world.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Now that I’ve peeled you open emotionally… can we talk about wedding stuff?”
His brows rise. “You want to talk about that now?”
“Well,” I tease, running my fingers through his hair, “you did kind of propose last week, and I never technically said yes. I feel like I should lock it in before you change your mind.”
He scoffs and pulls me closer. “Not happening.”
“So you’re sure?”
“Try and run,” he says, voice low. “See what happens.”
A warm flutter starts low in my belly. “That a threat or a promise?”
His fingers squeeze my thighs. “You know which.”
I laugh, breathless. “Okay then. Let’s say we do this. What’s your vision? Secret elopement? City hall drive-by? Beach ceremony with bare feet and regret?”
Jack groans. “Please don’t make me say the word ‘table-scape.’”
“I’ll take that as a no to custom calligraphy.”
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t need artisanal menus and fifteen kinds of flowers flown in from somewhere I can’t pronounce.”
“Okay, fine. No theme. No Pinterest. What do you want then?”
He pauses. “Somewhere peaceful. Real. Not a show. Just you. Me. A few people we trust. Somewhere that doesn’t feel like we’re performing for anyone.”
I tilt my head. “Like a cabin? Rooftop? Tuscany?”
His brow arches. “You have a Tuscany plan?”
“I have a Tuscany folder.”
He groans again, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Of course you do.”
“I mean, are we doing a registry?” I ask, half serious. “Or just letting people guess what we need?”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m letting strangers decide what ends up in our kitchen?”
I grin. “You’re weirdly territorial about cutlery for someone who orders takeout four nights a week.”
“I have standards,” he says. “Also, I once lost a fight with a can opener and a bottle of pinot noir. Not doing that again.”
“Fair.” I tap his chest. “Okay, but what about colors? Do you care?”
His face goes still. “Is this a trap?”
“Maybe.”
“Ivy. I will marry you wearing a garbage bag if that’s what it takes. But I’m not debating ‘dusty rose’ versus ‘terracotta blush.’ I don’t even know what those are.”
“They’re vibes,” I say, mock offended. “Aesthetic philosophies. You wouldn’t understand.”
He pulls me close, murmuring into my ear. “I understand this: you show up, I say I do, and we leave married. You pick the rest.”
“Even if I wear sequins?”
Jack smirks. “Especially if you wear sequins.”
“Let’s talk rings,” I say, wiggling my fingers. “Do you want something classic? Or flashy? Or are you going to pretend you’re too manly to wear one?”
“I’ll wear the damn ring,” he mutters. “You think I’m letting anyone mistake me for available again?”
That lands harder than I expect. I look at him, soft now. “You’re really all in, aren’t you?”
He nods. “You’re it. There’s no halfway here.”
My throat tightens. “Same.”
I used to think the idea of forever meant confinement. Obligation. A gilded cage dressed in tulle and family expectations. But now? With him? It feels like something I get to choose. A door I walk through willingly, barefoot and grinning, because he’s on the other side.
He strokes a thumb along my jaw. “So what’s your vision, then? Full glam? Cathedral veil and a string quartet?”
I grin. “I used to want all of that, the magazine spread, the Vera Wang, the rooftop ballroom with ice sculptures. But now?” I trace the edge of his collarbone.
“I want something that feels like us. Somewhere beautiful but a little undone. Maybe we get married barefoot in the sand. Or under string lights in the backyard with people laughing and Sienna bossing everyone around.”
Jack chuckles. “That actually tracks.”
I let my hands rest on his chest. “I just want it to feel like a beginning, not a performance.”
He nods again, slower this time. “Then we’ll make it that. No press. No spectacle. Just us.”
My heart thuds quietly in my chest, grounded by his certainty. “You realize our families are going to riot.”
“They’ll get over it,” he says. “Or they won’t. Either way, they won’t stop us.”
I kiss him, slow and smiling against his mouth. “God, I love you.”
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”
The quiet stretches between us, easy for once. Until he remembers. He unlocks the phone, the tension returning like a shadow at the edge of morning.
“I need to show you something,” he says. “I’ve been holding off. I shouldn’t have.”
He scrolls, then hands it to me. My name is in the subject line. My breath stalls. My hand trembles, just slightly, and I curl my fingers tighter around the device to hide it. The glow of the screen hits my skin. The air shifts.
I don’t open the message yet. I just hold it, every nerve suddenly taut. My pulse kicks against my ribs like it remembers. There’s a flash of memory, an envelope. Cream-colored. Heavy. Left on my doorstep like a warning. That day changed everything. And this… this might be another one.
“Who sent this?” I ask.
He hesitates. “It came through Santiago. He thinks it’s tied to Derek’s last push…maybe someone on the inside. Even from jail, he’s still trying to sabotage us. We’re vetting it now.”
I nod slowly, but I’m not really hearing him.
I turn from Jack and walk to the edge of the balcony, letting the sea air hit my face.
I hold the phone like it might bite. Everything in me wants to throw it into the ocean.
Let it sink. Pretend there’s nothing left to uncover.
But that’s not who I am anymore. Not with him.
Jack steps up beside me and doesn’t say a word. He just wraps one arm around my back, grounding me with the weight of his silence.
I glance down at the message again. The screen dims. I touch it, and the glow returns, casting both our faces in pale light.
“Whatever it is,” I say quietly, “we’ll deal with it. Together.”
Jack’s eyes meet mine, and they’re raw again, like they were when he first told me the truth about my engagement. The look of a man who’s carried too much for too long and finally let someone else bear it with him. I reach for his hand again.
“No more shutting down. No more secrets. Promise me.”
“I promise,” he says, voice hoarse. “No more walls.”
I lean in and kiss him, slow and certain. Then his hand finds mine, and he laces our fingers together, tight and sure. The sun is still shining. The ocean is still whispering. But something is coming. I can feel it. And this time, I won’t run from it.