The soft hum of the cicadas and the slow crash of waves against the cliffside fill the air as golden light spills through the open balcony doors of your shared villa. The scent of saltwater and blooming jasmine drifts on the breeze. Somewhere far below, the caldera sparkles under the setting sun, painting the Aegean in strokes of pink, gold, and deep cobalt.

You’re standing in front of the full-length mirror, barefoot on cool stone tiles, adjusting the ties of your blue halter top — the shade a vibrant, silky contrast against your sun-kissed skin. It dips just enough to make your collarbones and shoulders look sculpted, elegant. Paired with your white maxi skirt, soft and flowy with a high slit that brushes your thigh every time you move, you look every bit like a dream pulled straight from a Greek myth.

From behind you, you feel the quiet intensity of his gaze before you even catch him in the mirror.

Aaron is leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, towel still in his hand from drying his hair, though he’s long since forgotten about it. His green eyes drag slowly over you like he’s trying to memorize this moment — the way the light hits your skin, the way your skirt sways as you turn, the way your lips press together in concentration as you slide a gold earring into place.

“You’re unreal,” he says, voice low, rough like gravel softened by silk.

You glance up at him in the reflection and arch a brow. “You’re just saying that because I made you wear linen.”

A slow smirk curves at his lips, the towel finally dropped onto the counter behind him. He steps closer, the faint scent of citrus and clean cologne clinging to his skin.

He’s wearing a white linen button-up, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a few buttons undone at the top to show a hint of his chest and the gold chain you’d given him two birthdays ago. The shirt is tucked into tan dress pants, perfectly tailored, cinched with a leather belt that matches his shoes — elegant but effortless. The sea breeze teases strands of his damp, sun-lightened hair, and somehow, vacation suits him in a way you didn’t expect. More relaxed. Still sharp, but warmer around the edges.

“You like the linen,” he murmurs, coming to stand behind you now. His hands brush your hips, trailing up to lightly rest at your waist. “And I like when you like things.”

You lean back into him just slightly, smiling as his chin dips to press a soft kiss behind your ear.

“You ready?” you ask, voice low, breath catching as his fingers drift along your exposed waist where your top meets your skirt. “We’ll miss the boat if you keep distracting me.”

“I’m perfectly fine missing the boat,” he replies, lips brushing your shoulder now. “This outfit is criminal. You should be arrested. Immediately. Preferably by me.”

You laugh — a soft, delighted sound — as you gently twist in his arms. “Well, you’re the Supreme Commander. Can’t you just delay the boat?”

He hums thoughtfully, hands still on your waist, gaze locked on your mouth. “Tempting. But you’ve been looking forward to this dinner all week. The one with the lanterns and the live violinist, right?”