They arrived at the coast by midday. Roman stepped out of the SUV, calmly weathering the playful jabs from Adelaide and Kaisen. As Violette climbed out from the passenger side, she caught his silhouette from the side—always perfectly upright, exuding that effortless, aristocratic air.

It reminded her of the breakfast table that morning: when Roman had insisted he was "bored," yet his body had been angled entirely toward her, feigning disinterest with the grace of a statue.

What a pity. The pretense would have been far more convincing if they hadn't spent their morning engaged in a very different kind of activity.

As Violette stepped onto the sand, the two siblings spun around, calling out a chorus of "Sister-in-law" in perfect unison. Adelaide promptly latched onto her arm. "Sister-in-law, he’s absolutely impossible. He told us that just letting us tag along was a stroke of divine mercy and that we’d better not push our luck."

That hadn't been Roman’s exact wording, of course. He had simply expressed—with cool, clinical precision—that they would each stick to their own agendas and avoid encroaching on one another.

Over Adelaide’s shoulder, Roman offered Violette a look of tempered resignation. She saw it then—the intense, deeply buried protectiveness hidden beneath the rigid, unbothered facade his siblings complained about. The longer she knew Roman, the more vivid he became, a man far too complex to be defined by the flat, monochromatic labels she’d initially used to describe him when they first moved in together.

Roman effectively overruled Adelaide’s protest with a single look. She and Kaisen were ushered onto the double-decker yacht.

Violette boarded with them, ducking into the changing room to slip into her wetsuit. Afraid of the sun, she had chosen a full-body design that covered her from neck to ankle. It was a minimalist black piece, save for two sleek, white panels running down the sides of her torso. As she leaped onto the smaller speedboat, those white stripes caught the light like the crest of a breaking wave.

Roman turned his head, his gaze lingering on her waist for a heartbeat too long.

"Ready?"

A question that sounded rhetorical. Violette answered him in her head, but her eyes drifted behind him to the hired captain waiting at the helm. "You aren't driving?"

"You overestimate me," Roman replied, turning his gaze away with a casual shrug. "I don't have the capacity to steer a boat while simultaneously coaching you."

He had changed into his own gear, the fabric clinging tightly to his frame, revealing a physique that refused to surrender a single wrinkle of slack. Violette hadn't truly noticed, but she found herself blurting out, "That sounds like you think I’m too clumsy to learn."

"I wouldn't dare," he laughed, reaching out a hand.

Violette gripped his palm, using his strength to vault over the edge of the boat. Once the yacht hauled anchor and pulled away, their small speed boat tore across the water in the opposite direction.

Several hundred yards from the shore, the water turned crystal clear. Violette was already strapped into her life vest. She had listened to Roman’s detailed instructions and watched his demonstrations, but the moment she hovered over the water, her bravado vanished. She stared down at the choppy surface, hesitating.

"What if I fall?"

"That’s what the vest is for," Roman said, leaning down to check her buckles one last time. He tilted his head, his eyes meeting hers. "And I’ll be there to fish you out the second you do."

His wetsuit was almost a mirror image of hers—ink-black, sculpting every muscle. In his movements, she could see the corded lines of his forearms working. So much vitality.

She pressed on. "What if the waves are too high? What if you can't reach me?"

"A possibility, which is why I’ll be ten thousand times more cautious."

Violette poked a finger at his bicep. "What about sharks?"

"The probability is as low as me failing to catch you," Roman replied.

"That still implies it's possible," she murmured.

Roman broke into a laugh. The sun was perfect, the water dancing with fragments of gold that made his expression feel dangerously magnetic. His fingers brushed against the clasp of her life vest as if to undo it. "If you’re truly afraid, we don't have to do this. I brought you here to relax, not to add to your stress."

Violette caught his hand, holding it still. "I’m not that afraid."

In truth, she wanted this. Testing the danger before facing the unknown was just her nature.

Roman tossed the tow-line to her. "Remember what I said: keep your shoulders open. Feel the wind."

She understood the theory, but the moment she dropped into the water, her heartbeat was deafening. Her toes gripped the surfboard; she held the line connected to the speedboat, feeling like a single, drifting sail at the mercy of the current.

"Roman!"

"Hold your footing! Don't panic!"

The engine roared, the wind screaming past her ears and swallowing his voice. Violette stared at him, unblinking, until she saw his lips shape the words: *Brave girl.*

She swallowed hard, following his cues as she forced herself to straighten her back.

*Splash.*

She hit the water. A split second later, Roman dove in. In a blur of motion, he surfaced beside her, steadying her effortlessly. He wiped the salt from her eyelids, offering a calm, encouraging smile. "Perfect. Just keep your feet a little steadier. You'll be up on the next one."

He handed the rope back to her and turned, moving through the water with the fluid grace of a fish. He didn't even need the captain’s help; he grabbed the gunwale and hoisted himself up in one smooth motion.

*Such core strength,* Violette thought, a flicker of admiration cutting through her nerves.

She took a deep breath and gave him an "okay" sign.

The second attempt went exactly as he’d promised. Once she found her balance, she stood tall on the board. But before she could gloat, Roman gestured for her to widen her stance; she overcorrected, a swell hit, and she tumbled back into the froth.

*Splash.*

This time, Roman didn't dive in. He leaned over the side of the boat, half his body suspended over the water, watching her with a steady, grounding gaze.

Violette wiped the water from her face, and as she met his eyes, her racing heart finally slowed.

"You have experience skiing," he called out. "Surfing isn't that different."

She gripped the rope again, bracing her feet on the board. "Really?"

"Most people spend dozens of hours just learning to stand. You’re learning fast."

"And you?" she asked, without thinking.

He laughed, a rare, spirited sound. "One try."

Violette planted her feet. "Hmph. I only took two."

On the next pull, she stayed upright. The waves surged beneath her, and she could finally feel the rhythm of the water. The boat carved white foam into the blue; the wind grew louder, sharper.

Just as she started to grow confident, she heard Roman’s voice cut through the air: "Let go of one arm."

His tone was as steady as his gaze, and for some reason, she trusted it implicitly. She didn't let fear paralyze her; she obeyed.

Releasing one hand changed everything. That half of her body relaxed, allowing the wind to rush through her. The initial panic was gone, replaced by a strange, humming focus. If she fell, she fell. She moved her other arm, feeling the pull of the water.

"Want to let go entirely?" Roman asked.

She didn't dare move her head, afraid that a single tremor would break her balance, so she blinked a signal to him. Roman’s short hair was windswept and messy, giving him a wild, reckless handsomeness.

He shook the rope in his hand, his lips mouthing: *Let go.*

Violette followed. She let go of the line.

The wind swallowed her. The waves rose and fell in a chaotic symphony, and in the heart of that sheer terror, every other thought simply evaporated. Every muscle in her body was tuned only to maintaining balance, her gaze locked on the point at the stern of the boat. She hadn't been this single-minded in years. Her heart was empty of everything else.

The world had become vast, yet in this moment, it was perfectly small.

She finally understood why Roman had brought her here. Sometimes, you have to strip everything away to remember who you are.