Our Finest Moment ✔️

35

COLTON

I don't know what's wrong with me, but when I saw Liana get so engulfed by something as simple as the ocean, my chest warmed. I didn't mean to tell her my plans to buy the beach house either, it just slipped out when I saw how painfully happy she looked.

She's beautiful in the city, but here—on the beach with wind in her hair and a thick jacket to protect her from the cold—she's shining.

I looked for hotels and other accommodations before I found the house, but nothing seemed big enough for the two of us to not try to kill each other. The house was great; a little old and in need of some love, but big and airy. I'm sure Liana would have a field day with an unlimited budget, and I'd enjoy watching her smile while she does it—while she leaves my house to go fix this one, I mean.

As soon as her arms are secured around my waist again, I set off down the road, aiming for the summer home I hope she'll enjoy for the short amount of time she has left.

I can't lie and say having her hold on tightly like this is uncomfortable. If I have to put a word on it, it's the opposite, and I curse under my breath when we arrive outside of the house with faded lime green paint, freshly mowed grass and a terrace that stretches out over the beach. It's been tended to this week, that's clear, but it still looks old.

Liana climbs off the back of my bike quicker than I can kill the engine, her helmet coming off causing her hair to blow everywhere. I wish the road was longer from our pit stop to here, so the time between peaceful silence and budding war would've been longer.

But when she looks back at me, her hands holding down her warm brown hair from the breeze, there's nothing but joy in her eyes. I see no sign of her hatred. No longing to get away or sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. It's like the spell that was cast on the beach moments ago still holds, and I get off the motorcycle, walking up to her with a hand firmly placed on the small of her back.

Maybe just for the weekend, we can be Liana and Colt—not the monster mobster and his once-enemy's lost heir.

It feels foolish to hope for it, but I still do, as Liana gushes about the flower beds and the potential for more greenery in the front yard. Her mouth never stops, not even as the front door opens and a friendly looking older woman steps out, holding her hand out. I reluctantly leave Liana's back as I shake the woman's hand.

"Colton, I assume?" the woman asks. "I'm Brit."

"Yes, we spoke on the phone?" I say questioningly. When Brit nods, I add, "This is my wife, Liana."

My wife. It's strange to say, yet it comes so naturally. Liana shuts up when she realizes we aren't alone anymore, and quickly shakes the woman's hand as mine returns to her back. "This place looks amazing," Liana says, sounding eager and genuine.

"Glad to hear it," Brit responds. She holds out a key, which Liana takes, and says, "The sheets are clean, there's a coffee maker and a kettle, as well as an assortment of teas and snacks. I hope you'll enjoy your weekend."

"Sounds great," I tell her.

As she leaves us, Liana carefully steps forward into the house, and I swear she shudders. I keep my mouth shut to not ruin whatever it is she's experiencing. Turning around, I go to grab the little baggage we took from the back of my bike, and follow her inside, closing the door behind me.

Liana's in the middle of the mid-sized living room, gawking at...everything? I don't even know. It's a normal living room; the stairs to the left go up to an open hallway—only separated from us by some sketchy-looking fencing—and the white paint is starting to chip off the walls. The decorations are maritime, fishing nets hanging from the ceiling with glass bulbs in them and a ship's wheel is the main attraction over the fireplace.