Your boyfriend, Lando, had insisted on a short getaway with his family—one of the rare gaps in his schedule that he refused to waste. Three days, he’d said. No excuses.

He’d rented out a yacht for the trip—sleek, pristine, the kind you usually only saw in glossy travel magazines. His family treated it like it was nothing out of the ordinary, moving through the space with effortless familiarity, while you kept catching yourself pausing to take it all in: the polished deck beneath your feet, the endless blue stretching in every direction, the quiet luxury of it all.

By the second day, the yacht was anchored near a secluded cove, the water below glowing turquoise under the afternoon sun. You were stretched out on a lounge chair, half-asleep, when a shadow fell across your face.

“There you are.”

You squinted up to find Lando standing over you, hands on his hips, curls damp and smile impatient in the way that was impossible to say no to.

“Come swim with me.”

You laughed. “You literally went swimming an hour ago.”

“And now I want to go again,” he said easily, already reaching for your hand. “With you.”

“Lando—”

“Nope. No excuses.” He gave a gentle but determined tug, grinning like he already knew the outcome. “I didn’t rent a yacht just to watch you nap.”

“You didn’t rent it,” you shot back.

He paused, considering. “Okay, not personally, but I did the convincing. Which absolutely counts.”

His grin widened as you caved, rolling your eyes while sitting up. “Fine. But if the water’s freezing, this is on you.”

“Blame me all you want,” he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re still coming.”

Minutes later, you slipped into the water, the coolness stealing your breath before settling into something refreshing. When you surfaced, Lando was already beside you, one arm looping around your waist as naturally as if it belonged there.

“See?” he said, pushing wet curls back from his forehead. “Perfect.”

“You dragged me against my will,” you reminded him.

“You love it.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Debatable.”

He bumped his forehead gently against yours. “Liar.”

Together, you drifted toward the quieter side of the yacht, tucked partially out of sight by the hull. Lando held onto the ladder with one hand, the other staying warm and steady at your waist, anchoring you to him.

From above, the faint sound of his family’s laughter floated down—distant enough to fade into background noise, close enough to make the moment feel secret.

“Are you having fun?” he asked, voice softer now, his thumb tracing slow, absent lines along your side.

You nodded. “Yeah. More than I expected.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Because of me, obviously.”

“Partially.”

“Mostly.”

You laughed, leaning closer. “You’re impossible.”

“But lovable,” he replied instantly.

“Annoyingly so.”

Lando tilted his head, his expression softening as his eyes settled on you. “Well,” he murmured, drawing you just a little closer, “as long as you think I’m lovable…”

His words faded as his gaze dropped to your lips. The world seemed to quiet—the gentle lap of water against the yacht, the warmth of the sun, the steady presence of him.

Slowly, deliberately—giving you every chance to pull away—he closed the distance and kissed you, soft and unhurried, as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be.