ARIA

I have never felt more alive in my skin than I do on this island.

Day three unfolds like a slow, sun-drenched dream.

We wake late, bodies tangled in the cool linen sheets that smell faintly of salt and us. Sunlight pours through the open villa walls, painting golden stripes across Dante’s bare back. I trace them with my fingertips, feeling the warmth of his skin, the flex of muscle beneath as he stirs.

He rolls toward me without opening his eyes, his mouth finding my breast ...