We turn and stare over at the view.
She smiles wistfully into the wind and I stare at her. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.
“She is.” I smile.
Her eyes find mine and she gives me a shy smile. “I’m talking about the view.”
I take her hand in mine and kiss her fingertips. “I know.”
She smiles softly. “Can I take a photo of us?”
“If you want.”
She takes her phone out and puts her face to mine, and with the backdrop in the background, she takes a shot. She looks at it with a huge smile. “I want to see what you looked like on film before you piggyback me up to the top.”
I laugh. “Angel, if you want to fall spectacularly down this mountain and die, let me carry you.”
She turns and begins to walk up the trail again. “I could carry you,” she replies casually.
“I have no doubt,” I huff as I climb. “Horses can do that.”
She laughs. “You know I haven’t gone hiking in such a long time . . . since my parents died, actually.”
I frown; this is the first time she’s told me this. “Your parents both passed?”
She continues to walk in front of me. “Yeah, they were killed in a car accident six years ago.”
Shit.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
We keep walking.
“What were they like?” I ask.
She turns. “My mother was like me.”
“A sex maniac, then.”
She laughs out loud. “And my father was the sweetest man on earth.”
I keep climbing as I listen.
“We used to have this thing that we would do together on special occasions.”
I puff as I climb. Fuck, this hill is steep. “What was that?”
“Eat Cornetto ice creams.”
I smile as I listen.
“Watching a movie, Cornetto ice cream. Something was celebrated, a Cornetto ice cream. When I got my first job, he picked me up with a Cornetto ice cream.”
“I haven’t had one of those ice creams in years,” I say.
“Me neither . . . not since he died.”
We walk for a while. “What are your parents like?” she asks.
I think for a moment. “Busy.”
She turns and frowns, as if surprised by my answer. “And that bothers you?”
“Not necessarily.” I walk for a bit. “I just never had that time as a kid to hang around and be bored.”
She listens.
“I went to boarding school from the age of seven. Holidays were always rush, rush, from one exotic resort to another.” I shrug. “I don’t know . . .” My voice trails off.
“Will you send your kids to boarding school?”
“Not on your life.”
She turns as if surprised. “What would you do differently—I mean, to the way you were brought up.”
“Give them my time.”
She stops and turns. “You didn’t get time with your parents?”
“Still don’t.”
She stares at me for a moment. “What about your brothers?”
“My brothers.” I smile. “They take up too much time, I love those fucks.”
She giggles and continues walking.
“We only ever had each other growing up. They mean the world to me.”
We walk for a while.
“Our formative years were spent preparing us to take over Miles Media. We all sometimes resent that we never got to choose our own path.”
She keeps walking in front and I don’t know why I feel the urge to tell her all of this.
“I should probably shut up now.” I pant. “This hill is getting steeper.”
“Yeah, time to piggyback me, Miles. Impress me with your power.”
I laugh and we keep climbing.
“You know, I wish you were a plumber,” she says casually.
I frown. “Why?”
She turns. “Because then I wouldn’t have to share you.”
We stare at each other.
“And you could be a normal boring guy and fall for me.”
That would be the easiest thing in the world to do.
I smile softly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“If that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard”—she laughs and turns back to climbing—“you must know some real assholes.”
“True, I do . . . I’m very good at cleaning out pipes though. So, I am a plumber . . . of sorts.”
She laughs out loud. “I know. A damn good one too.”
I lie on the deckchair and sip my cocktail.
The afternoon sun is just going down over the water and the sound of the gentle waves lapping on the shoreline fills my senses.
Kate is playing volleyball with some kids by the water’s edge. I watch as she laughs and talks with them as if they are long-lost friends.
She’s animated and laughing loudly, so carefree and happy.
She’s in a white bikini and I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful and flawless.
Calm.
That’s what she is . . . she brings me a sense of calm that I don’t ever remember feeling before.
I don’t have to try to be something I’m not, I can just be myself.
She doesn’t care about my name or my money, or how cool she looks.
She hasn’t worn makeup or styled her hair for our entire trip and I don’t think either of us have looked in a mirror once.