Page 77 of Ship Wrecked

I love you.

Maria returned the words, face tucked against her brother’s shoulder, and Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so peaceful and content.

And although he wanted that for her—wanted her happiness with an intensity he’d never experienced before, not even with his ex-fiancée—the open generosity of her family’s love strung his chest tight, and for more than one reason.

She cared about him. Without question. She also had a blossoming career and several auditions waiting for her back in LA.

But for the first time, he wondered whether all that—whether he—would be enough to keep her by his side.

17

Maria’s long, blissful afternoon nap had been, in retrospect, a truly terrible idea.

The rest of her family had already headed to bed, either in her parents’ house or in their own homes. Peter had also disappeared upstairs, and the gush of water in the pipes indicated he was cleaning up for the night. In a minute or two, he’d come down, give her a kiss, then trudge back upstairs to erase those dark circles under his beautiful eyes.

She should be getting some sleep too, of course. The next day,Gates’ PR department had scheduled interviews with local and national news outlets for Maria and Peter, as well as an hours-long photo session that would take them to various iconic Stockholm locations. It was going to be exhausting, and the more she rested now, the better.

And given how awake she felt, she might as well have guzzled Sweden’s entire supply of energy drinks, then charged into one of the few Starbucks locations and started an espresso IV. She was nowhere near sleep. At the moment, she wasn’t certain she’d ever sleep again.

If she were irredeemably selfish, she’d convince Peter to forgo the rest he needed and talk with her. Not because she was lonely for company in general, but because she’d pined forhimall day,even though he’d remained no more than a few meters away from her at any given time. But she wouldn’t ask him to give up yet more sleep and keep her company when he was already beyond exhausted. No matter how much she wanted him to herself for a few hours.

Dividing her attention between him and her family hadn’t come naturally that day, much as she wanted him to like them and vice versa. She’d missed one-on-one time with him, missed the privacy they’d relinquished by staying in her parents’ house, missed the thrill of knowing—even when surrounded by other people—that at some point, the two of them would find themselves alone in a bed and fuck like rabbits.

Her childhood bed, sadly, was not conducive to rabbitlike fucking. It was barely wide enough to fit her, and it also shared a wall with her parents’ bedroom. Which had been a source of much consternation during her teenage years, because Stina and Olle still led a very active life, both in bed and out. Nevertheless, she preferred not to follow their example in this particular instance, and she would not be banging Peter in a location where her parents could provide play-by-play commentary, should they so choose.

Peter’s bed abutted Filip’s old bedroom, where her brother was staying until he found an apartment far from the home he’d shared with his ex. The guest bed was the same size as hers, and the old frame would collapse in despair if asked to support their combined weight.

So the two of them were fucked, yet also unfucked. They would remain so until they flew to Wisconsin next week, where they’d check into a hotel. He’d rejected the idea of staying with his father with such stony finality, she hadn’t even asked for an explanation.

Fine, then. She couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t have sex, butshe could still entertain herself. Uncurling from her favorite spot on the couch, the corner farthest from the television and closest to the windows, she drifted toward the built-in shelves and contemplated her options.

Sci-fi paperbacks. Cookbooks. Noir thrillers. Or—childhood photo albums.

Nostalgia it was.

The album she removed from the shelf was a bit worn around the edges now, some of the photos inside not as bright as they once were, and that only made her cherish it more. Those scuffs and slightly bent pages meant the album had been well loved, pored over by her and her family again and again over the past two decades.

It contained everyone she truly needed, everyone she loved.

Although... that might or might not be true any longer.

A heavy, warm hand landed on her hip. “What’s that?”

For such a big man, Peter could move very quietly. Without turning, she let herself lean back against him, trusting him to support some of her weight, and he wrapped his arms around her and propped his bristly chin on her shoulder. With each deep breath, she inhaled her family’s usual lemongrass-scented soap and whatever product made him so deliciously cedary.

The unexpected combination smelled good. It smelled right.

She wished she believed in omens.

His feet were bare, some sort of soft-looking pants loose around his ankles, the fabric of his long-sleeved tee smooth and cool against her forearms. The equivalent of pajamas, which she suspected he didn’t own. So this was a good-night hug, obviously. Not an invitation to share her childhood—not to mention her siblings’—with him.

“Are you ready for bed?” Ducking her head, she kissed a tinyscar on his lower arm, the memento of a too-sharp piece of limestone as Cassia and Cyprian built their home. “Is there anything you need? An extra pillow, or a nightlight?”

She was almost certain she heard him mutter,Some fucking bedding would be nice.

When she turned in his arms to face him, though, he only shook his head. “I’m not ready for bed yet, and I don’t need anything. But I want something.”

“So I can feel.” She raised a brow and nudged his burgeoning erection with her belly. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I’ve considered the logistics, and—”

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