Second day on the island.
Two full days without setting foot outside.
I was draped across the bed like a wrung-out mop, barely held together.
When Kael moved toward me again with clear intentions, I spoke with whatever remained of my voice—cracked and threadbare.
“…Please. I’m… hungry.”
My husband, who under normal circumstances never let me go hungry, had done exactly that.
I had not eaten once yesterday.
And on top of that, I had spent the better part of the day crying and making noise, so I had no energy left in any direction.
Meanwhile, Kael—insufferable creature—looked radiant. His freshly washed hair was still damp, and the black of it had deepened to something almost glossy in the light. His skin, already enviably clear, had taken on the smoothness of a peeled egg. That white-marble complexion was practically luminous.
And if that weren’t enough—from all the exertion, his muscles, already impressively carved, seemed to have grown even more defined. Like they were putting on a show.
‘Absolutely maddening.’
He dropped onto the edge of the bed, shaking the last water from his hair, and held out a glass toward me.
I reached for it—then let my hand fall.
“I don’t… have the strength… I’m thirsty but…”
He gave a quiet laugh and drank from the glass himself. Then he took my chin in his hand, tipped my head back, and let the cold water flow from his mouth into mine.
I blinked slowly as I swallowed. Blink. Blink.
‘This isn’t what I meant when I asked for water.’
But I had no voice left.
‘…I genuinely want to hit him. Just once. Hard.’
* * *
The dining table was a feast.
“Janes must have been by!”
My husband was carrying me—properly, arms fully underneath me, since walking was not a realistic option at the moment. He lowered me gently into a chair.
Then he took the seat beside me instead of across from me.
I bared my teeth in a wary glare. He laughed—a full, open sound—’ha-ha.’
“I’ll feed you. You must be exhausted.”
“Whose fault is that!”
He ignored this and began to arrange food in front of me.
He cut the steak into small, manageable pieces and placed them in my mouth one by one. Between bites he offered fruit, salad, pasta—everything arranged thoughtfully, portioned carefully.
The juice of the fruit burst clean against my tongue. The pasta had the right spring. The meat was savory-sweet, slightly spiced, nothing cloying about it. The cream risotto and mushroom soup dissolved softly before they even needed to be chewed.
“This is wonderful. Janes is genuinely brilliant at this—I had no idea!”
Thirty minutes of genuine, unhurried admiration for Janes’s cooking, and the plates were eventually empty.
“I’m full.”
With the hunger gone, my eyelids grew heavy. Fatigue moved in like a tide, and I let my head tip sideways to rest on the shoulder beside me.
‘Haaa.’ A small yawn.
“So sleepy. I want to wash and rest.”
“All right. Let’s do that.”
He gathered me up again. He adjusted me with a gentle pat-pat against my hip until I was settled properly.
I pressed my face into his neck and tightened my arms around him.
“You really wore yourself out.”
‘Peck.’ He pressed his lips to my cheek. The person entirely responsible for my exhaustion had the audacity to make that kiss feel impossibly soft and warm, and I couldn’t even find the words to complain.
His arms—goodness. Honestly, I could spend an entire day folded into them and not want to leave. There was something deeply, unreasonably addictive about being held by him.
I turned my face slightly and pressed my nose into the curve of his neck. Cool and substantial—that smell I never got tired of.
“I love this.”
Still held against his chest, I tilted back just far enough to look at his face. Then, very deliberately:
‘Peck.’
A light kiss to his cheek.
“Someone’s feeling bold today.”
“That—that was not an invitation to—”
He pressed his lips to mine and spoke against them.
“Then you have to do here too.”
I moved my lips and looked away. Then I steeled myself and kissed him—properly.
‘Peck.’
He caught my lower lip before I could retreat, drawing on it softly. When my lips parted slightly, his tongue moved in—tracing the roof of my mouth, gliding along my teeth with practiced gentleness.
I broke away, flustered, and tucked my face back against his shoulder. My legs swung with each long stride he took.
We arrived back in the bedroom.
“Tonight, I am absolutely bathing alone!”
I growled the declaration like a formal notice of war, slipped out of his hold, and sprinted for the bathroom. I slammed the door and locked it behind me.
* * *
“Mmm. I’m melting.”
I was submerged to the chin in a bathtub the size of a small room.
Through the wide window, the nighttime villa spread out before me—warm orange lanterns glowing at intervals across the grounds, a small fountain scattering water upward in continuous silver arcs.
‘Oh—I can see the sea from here.’
Far beyond the garden’s edge, the dark water surrounding Anota Island was just visible.
I hadn’t noticed before. The first two days I had been too unconscious to observe anything—I had been bathed while essentially asleep.
‘How long has it been since I washed myself properly.’
He bathed me almost every night, if I was honest with myself.
Not that his version of bathing was limited to bathing.
I blinked heavily, forcing my eyes to stay open. I worked the soap into a lather, pressed my back against the tub wall, and closed my eyes.
Perhaps thirty minutes passed.
‘BANG.’
“‘AHHHH!'”
I had been dozing—head beginning to drop toward the water—when the crash jolted me awake. I lurched upright with a gasp, clutching my chest.
“What—what is—”
Kael had broken the bathroom door.
He was walking toward the tub, stripping off each item of clothing as he came. I flattened myself against the far wall like a small creature cornered in the wild.
“I said I was bathing alone!”
“We’ll bathe together. It’s fine.”
‘Splash.’
He stepped in. The water heaved in protest and sloshed over the edges. I scrambled toward the opposite side. He reached out and took hold of my shoulder, settling me onto his lap.
“I ‘said’ I don’t want to—ugh!”
“Ha—Ivelina.”
He made a low sound against my shoulder—heavy with intent—and pressed down.
‘Again. It’s happening again.’
“I—I’m done washing. You can have the tub to yourself, just let me—”
‘Already growing again.’
I shifted and pushed myself upward, straining to get free. But his arms had already curved around my waist and he had absolutely no intention of releasing me.
“Ha…”
He mixed his voice with language that belonged exclusively to the dark of their nights, slow and rough. His mouth found the back of my neck—tongue, then teeth, pressing in.
“Mmph—’ahh…'”
He found the place that made everything go soft and bright at once. My body loosened against my will. I sagged against him—all resistance resolving into nothing—and felt his hand close over me from behind.
“Ahh—’mm’…”
He turned me toward him with one hand, his mouth finding mine—then pressed his face against my shoulder and growled against the skin.
“Why are you so warm.”
“You’re—too fast—’mmph—'”
He pulled my head toward him and bit down on my lower lip.
The water in the bathtub slapped and churned, loud and relentless.
