20
RUPERT
It was entirely my fault for being too relaxed.
As we headed to the coast, her hair kissed the top of her shoulders, which peeked out from the straps of a sundress I’d bought for her in a boutique on the island. Ivy’s skin was now a shade darker than when we arrived, light cream splashed with peach rather than the apple blossom with a trace of elusive pink. Joy bubbled in her laugh and in her eyes as she held the wheel, skimming us into shore where residences were stacked like fanciful cakes above the seaside town.
One week ago, we took a small, private yacht to Capris, and I inhaled a deep, satisfied breath as we pulled into the dock, my pulse and heartbeat steady.
We ate, slept, and f****d on the boat. Ivy’d painted enough canvasses to have her own show when we returned to
