Isla
Shane's house felt quieter at night.
Not empty—just calm. The kind of stillness that settled once the city went to sleep, when the walls no longer listened and time slowed enough to breathe.
She slipped out of her shoes near the door, watching him loosen his watch, his movements unhurried now that the day had finally released him.
"You okay?" he asked, turning toward her.
She nodded. "Just tired. The good kind."
He crossed the room and pulled her into him, forehead resting against hers. The kiss that followed was slower than the ones before—less restraint, more intention. When they finally moved toward the bedroom, the world outside ceased to matter.
Some things didn't need words.
Later, wrapped in quiet and soft sheets, Isla lay with her head against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns along his arm. Shane stared up at the ceiling, thoughtful.
"We leave in two days," he said finally.
Her head lifted slightly. "It feels unreal."
"Spain always does," he replied, a smile in his voice. "Especially when it's for a month."
She laughed softly. "Trevor's birthday, your birthday… and your annual gathering."
"And Leroy breathing down my neck if I don't show up," Shane added. "You know he has a share now. He's invested—financially and emotionally."
Isla smiled at that. "He and Leslie are going to enjoy this trip way too much."
"They deserve it," he said. "So do we."
Silence followed, heavier this time.
Then Isla sighed. "I still need an excuse."
Shane glanced down at her. "For your parents."
She nodded. "They don't control my life, but questions still come. And if they ask why you're not around for a month…"
He exhaled slowly. "Tricky."
"I'll tell them I'm traveling with Leslie," she said after a moment. "Finland. Quiet, clean, far enough not to invite follow-ups."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Finland."
"She'll back me," Isla added. "Always does."
Shane kissed the top of her head. "I hate that you even have to do that."
"So do I," she admitted. "But it's temporary. Spain is ours. Madrid. Barcelona. Trevor. Your company. Our life."
He tightened his arm around her slightly. "One month. No pretending."
Her smile returned, softer now. "One month of being exactly who we are."
Outside, the city slept.
And for the first time in days, so did the weight on her chest.
The quiet between them pulled Shane back to her before he could think twice. He reached for Isla, his hand firm at her waist, drawing her closer as if distance itself offended him. When he kissed her again, it was slower but heavier—charged with everything he hadn't said out loud.
He memorized her in that moment: the warmth of her skin, the familiar curve of her body fitting against his, the way her breath changed when he touched her just right. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried, as though he wanted time to bend around them. Shane held her like she was something precious—something he refused to rush, even when want pressed hard against his control.
Her hands anchored him, reminding him of all the years, all the risks, all the quiet choices that had led them here. He stayed close, forehead resting against hers, grounding himself in the reality of her. This wasn't urgency. This was devotion.
When they finally stilled, he didn't let go. He kept her wrapped in his arms, chest rising and falling steadily beneath her, as if holding her there was the only way to keep the world from intruding again.