The beach was perfect in that messy, real kind of way—umbrellas crooked at odd angles, couples tangled in each other’s arms, and kids half-buried in sand like it was a competitive sport. The waves were lazy today, tumbling over themselves as they kissed the shore and fizzled back into foam.

You stretched, arms overhead, sighing into the sun as it warmed every inch of bare skin the bikini didn’t cover. The thin sarong fluttered around your waist, half a suggestion, barely hiding anything. You didn’t mind. Not with the way Price’s eyes followed you like you were something dangerous on a battlefield.

“You’re gonna burn,” he murmured beside you, dropping the beach bag down and squinting toward the horizon. “Again.”

You grinned over your shoulder, tugging your hair up into a quick knot. “Not if someone mans up with the sunscreen this time.”

He shook his head but reached for the bottle anyway, muttering something about “spoiled bloody princesses” and “should’ve packed combat boots instead of sandals.”

You flopped onto the striped towel, stomach-down, resting your chin on your crossed arms as he knelt beside you. The first cold touch of lotion made you flinch—followed by the slow drag of his hands across your back. Big, warm palms working it in with a gentleness that didn’t match his gruff grumbling.

“Your hands are nice,” you murmured.

“They’re working,” he replied, but you caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

His fingers dipped lower, smoothing over your hips, the edge of your bikini. You hummed, not even bothering to hide the smirk in your voice. “You’re stalling.”

“You’re distractin’.”

You turned your head to look at him—sunglasses on, hair a little windblown, a rare peace softening his features. It made your chest ache, a little.

“You happy?” you asked quietly, out of nowhere.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—“Yeah. Think I could get used to this.”