hanter 21
Chapter 22
The past few days had taken their toll on Joyce.
Though she tried to remain composed, focused, strong–the visits, the apologies, the raw confrontation with her father–all of it had stirred up wounds that she thought had longi scabbed over. But pain, she learned, had a way of lingering in silence. Sometimes it didn’t scream–it simply stayed.
Lorenzo saw it in the way her shoulders slumped when she thought no one was looking. In. how her fingers hesitated over her canvas. In the sadness that briefly flickered across her smile.
And so he made a plan.
He didn’t tell her anything–just asked her to wear something comfortable and warm.
As twilight settled, he led her to a dock just outside the city, where a modest yacht waited gently in the water, strung with soft, golden lights. The wind carried the scent of the sea, crisp and salt–tinged, and the sky began to blush in hues of lavender and coral.
“A yacht?” Joyce asked, breath caught in her throat.
Lorenzo grinned. “One day, it’ll be a cruise. But for now… this is just for us.”
They boarded, and he helped her settle on the upper deck where a small table had been set -candles, wine, and a dinner prepared by a private chef. Soft music floated through the air as the yacht slowly pulled away from the dock, carrying them into open water.
For a while, they just ate and talked–about art, childhood dreams, old stories they never got to finish. Joyce laughed more than she had in weeks.
And then, the first firework burst overhead–bright red, then golden, lighting the sea in shimmering ripples.
She gasped. “You planned this?”
Lorenzo leaned back beside her, his hand brushing hers. “Only for you.’
They sat there, watching the sky explode in color. Her head eventually fell on his shoulder, and her hand slipped into his without hesitation.
Later, when the fireworks faded and the night had fallen into gentle darkness, they remained seated–closer now, hands entwined, breath mingling in the quiet sea breeze. Lorenzo turned to her. “Joyce,” he whispered, voice low, “you don’t have to say anything now, but I need to tell you this.”
She looked up at him, eyes reflecting the stars above.
“I know we’ve both been through a lot,” he said. “I know it took time to get here. And maybe it will take more time. But I don’t want to lose you again. Even if we’re old and gray by the time we walk down the aisle, I want it to be you. Will you… marry me?”
Tears gathered in her eyes–not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming warmth of being wanted.
she whispered “Ves A thousand times ves‘
Chapter 22
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“Lorenzo…” she whispered. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”
He smiled and leaned in, pressing his lips gently to hers–soft, lingering, full of promise.
Their kiss deepened as the moon lit the deck, and without a word, he led her below into the private cabin. There, the world faded. Nothing existed but the slow touch of fingers finding skin, the whisper of lips on collarbones, the quiet moans and sighs as two people who had carried too much sorrow let go of it–all of it–In each other’s arms.
away
she had
Joyce felt his hands explore her like art–gentle, reverent, discovering her in never known. He laid her down as if she were the most delicate thing, the most precious, and kissed every piece of her that had ever been neglected.
She melted beneath him, sighing his name like a prayer.
Lorenzo moved with patience, his touch like poetry. He memorized the shape of her body, the curves time had etched, the scars love had left behind. She wrapped herself around him, clutching him closer as their breaths mingled and their bodies met in a rhythm both slow and consuming.
No shame. No guilt. Just passion. Peace. Freedom.
And when they finally collapsed beside each other, sweaty and breathless, their hands still intertwined, Joyce felt… new.
The next morning, she woke in his arms. Sunlight streamed through the window in lazy golden slants. He stirred beside her, smiling sleepily.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “Even if we’re old and wrinkled, I want to call you my
wife.”
She kissed his chest. “Then it’s settled. I’ll be yours until death–and beyond that, if you’ll
have me.”
They laughed, kissed again, and danced around the cabin like two teenagers in love. That day, they celebrated. A quiet, private celebration–no photographers, no fanfare, just two souls finally choosing joy.
On the deck, she looked out across the ocean, wind in her hair, heart lighter than it had
ever been.
For once, she felt entirely herself.
Entirely free.
What she didn’t know–what she couldn’t possibly know–was that from the far shore, a car sat parked behind a thicket of trees. And inside, Bradley watched.
Alone. His eyes were hollow, red–rimmed from another sleepless night. A bottle of whiskev rested in the passenger seat, half–empty.
Through the zoom of his binoculars, he saw them.
Joyce. Smiling. Laughing. Held in the arms of another man. A better man.
He lowered the binoculars slowly, a tear slipping down his cheek.
Chapter 22
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My Husband of Twenty Five Years Married My Com
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On the deck, she looked out across the ocean, wind in her hair, heart lighter than it had
ever been.
For once, she felt entirely herself.
Entirely free.
What she didn’t know–what she couldn’t possibly know–was that from the far shore, a car sat parked behind a thicket of trees. And inside, Bradley watched.
Alone. His eyes were hollow, red–rimmed from another sleepless night. A bottle of whiskey rested in the passenger seat, half–empty.
Through the zoom of his binoculars, he saw them.
Joyce. Smiling. Laughing. Held in the arms of another man. A better man.
He lowered the binoculars slowly, a tear slipping down his cheek.
He took another sip from the bottle and whispered to himself, brokenly-
“She’s really gone.”
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I never thought I’d wear white again.
