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I cut him off. “You didn't have to do that. I could have handled it.”

“I know,” he says simply. “I have no doubt about that.” A crooked grin curls his mouth. “I'm pretty sure you can take the girl out of Harlem, but you can't take Harlem out of the girl.”

I have to smile at that.

His hand finds mine and squeezes it. “But you shouldn't have to. Not when I'm right here.”

I nod, unable to find my voice. The humiliation and anger are gone, replaced by a warmth that has nothing to do with the sun. Sebastian didn't just defend me, he claimed me in front of everyone on the beach. In a world he belongs to, and I don't, he chose me.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Sebastian doesn't reply, nor does he let go of my hand. He leans back, pulling me with him until we're both lying on the towel, looking up at the endless blue of the July sky. The noise of the beach fades into the background, leaving only the sound of our breathing and the rhythmic pull of the tide.

“Sebastian?”

“Hmm?”

“You were right; this is nice.”

He turns his head toward me, a slow, genuine smile forming on his face. A human smile that I feel privileged to witness. “I usually am.”

I laugh and nudge him gently on the shoulder. We stay there for a long time; our fingers entwined as the afternoon July sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon.

23

ISABELLA

The drive back from the beach is quiet. The interior of the car is thick with the scent of salt, sunscreen, and the lingering ghost of fried clams. My skin feels tingly from the salt air and the sun, a physical reminder of an afternoon that feels like a secret we’ve stolen from the timeline of our lives.

Sebastian drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, inches from mine. His T-shirt is back on, and I already miss seeing that impressive expanse of his chest. His hair is a mess of windblown salty air, and there’s a smudge of stubble on his jaw. He looks relaxed, satisfied, and human.

The afternoon was pure magic. I am so close to believing the Sebastian I saw today was real and not a false creation to manipulate me. It’s a scary thought: believing in him and lowering the shield I swore I’d never let another man breach. But I can still feel his fingers entwined with mine. I can still see the way he laughed as we crashed into the waves, picking me up before one could knock me down, only to get knocked down himself. The man who told me about those vulnerable moments with his father. Does anyone else know about that? Or was he trusting me with something special?

As we pull into the driveway, reality begins to reassert itself. Inside the house, our laptops and piles of paper await our return, ready to drag us under again, reminding us how little time we have left to figure out a mystery that seems to have more questions than answers.

The second he cuts the engine, the sharp, insistent ping of a phone fills the space. It’s not mine this time, it’s Sebastian’s. The arrhythmic vibration in the cup holder feels like a reprimand for the hours we stole today.

Sebastian looks at the screen, and I watch the transformation unfold in real time. The softness in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a sharp, clinical focus. The COO is back, and the mask doesn’t just slide on. It snaps into place.

“The hacker sent more files to review,” he says. He’s already swiping and scrolling, his mind miles away from the sand. “He’s flagged a few discrepancies in some of the European assets. We need to look at these. He’s going to call at nine.”

The change is as sharp as whiplash.

“Right,” I reply, my voice sounding more disappointed than I intended. “I just need to wash the salt and the sunscreen off. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Take twenty,” he says, not looking up from the screen. “I’ll start on the summary.”

I step out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath my sandals. The air is cooler here, and the humidity has lessened slightly in exchange for a breeze. Somewhere in the distance, I hear bass thudding from a party. People are celebrating. People are drinking and waiting for the sky to explode with fireworks.

And we’re going back to work.

The shower is a needed moment of quiet. I scrub the sand from between my toes and out of my hair, watching the grit swirl down the drain. It feels like I’m washing away a version of Sebastian I’ll only get to see once.

I dress quickly, pulling on a cotton sundress and twisting my wet hair into a knot at my neck.

When I walk back into the library, it’s glowing with artificial light. Sebastian is hunched over the table with two laptops open, a legal pad covered in his cramped, aggressive handwriting. There’s a glass of scotch at his elbow, and he’s traded his swim trunks for chinos.

He doesn’t look up when I sit down across from him.