The beachside villa was a sprawl of white stone and terracotta, its wide windows thrown open to catch the sea breeze and its courtyard shaded by palms that swayed in the fading light.
Cecilia had been pacing the veranda for the past ten minutes, her eyes fixed on the path that wound from the road to the sea.
When the carriages appeared, she was already moving.
Arkai stepped out first, tall and dark against the golden light, his coat unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled, his hair catching the wind.
He barely had time to turn before she was in his arms, launching herself at him with the unselfconscious joy of a woman who had not seen her husband in—what, a day? A few hours? It felt like years.
He caught her. Of course he caught her. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet, and she was laughing, her face buried in his neck, her legs wrapped around his hips, her whole body pressed against his like she could crawl inside his skin and stay there.
