Richard

I'll never tire of that look of wonder on her face. Her dark eyes brighten and burn, caught like glowing embers. Her lips part, brows rise. It's a look of nakedness, vulnerable in awe. It makes me want to take her right there.

"Richard," Georgina whispers. "It's..."

I smile as she takes in the beach. It's the same place we slept together that last time, before the little fantasy world we'd unwittingly built shattered beneath our feet. I remembered how she loved this place, how she stripped down and dove boldly into the moonlight waves, leaving me to follow. When I think of that night, I realize what a fool I am.

How could I not have known that I was in love with her then? How could I not have known that she was in love with me?

I've always been the master of my own sea. But I'm grateful, endlessly, impossibly grateful, that I did not have control over Georgina, or over what happened after I sent her from the island. I'd told myself for decades that I didn't want to be a father. That I