Tell me I’m not alone in this. Tell me you want me, too, that this was never only a job to you, that you wanted me when we first met on the train, that—

A muscle tics in his jaw. “No, not just because he’s a criminal.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“You’ve never said it,” I reply. “How could I know?”

“Because you’re mine.”

It’s no louder than a whisper, but in this quiet hotel room, against the hammering of my heart, it might as well be a shout.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I say, taking an unsteady step toward him.

I stop when I’m close enough to wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his head down toward me until our mouths are a hairbreadth apart.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

I do.

“As much as I trust anyone. Are you going to kiss me? Properly?”

Sam’s answer is the brush of his lips against mine, his arms around my waist, holding me tightly against his hard frame. He kisses with a gentleness that’s wholly unexpected, as though we are learning each other, easing into the embrace.

“I’ve done this before,” I say against his mouth.

I think I know him well enough by this point to not worry about his reaction, to not expect judgment. But at the same time, men are so funny about these things that the truth is, I don’t know what he’ll say.

“Me too,” he replies with a wry grin, moving his hands up my back until he arrives at the top of my dress. “This is going to complicate everything,” he warns, undoing the first button.

“I’m not afraid of complicated,” I murmur, kissing his neck.

“That makes one of us, then.” He removes another button. And another.

My dress falls to the floor.

The thing that surprised me most about the lazy afternoons lounging naked on the couch with Billy while his parents were off somewhere else, those stolen afternoons, was how it was possible to learn a part of someone—to know a sliver of them—the expanse of freckles on their back, the sound of their sighs, the shudder of their body against yours—but for so much else to be a mystery. I thought the physical intimacy we shared all those years ago was like a key that would help me gain admittance to a locked room where all the interesting stuff was held, when in reality, it was a different room altogether—uninteresting and drab with a lumpy couch and a poor view of the road.

I am not ready to share every part of myself with Sam, and in this moment, I am grateful for the separation between sex and intimacy, the ability to choose the parts I give of myself to another, the freedom of it.

We tumble into bed together, hands fumbling, our remaining articles of clothing falling to the floor, limbs entangled, my laughter filling the air.

“You’re stunning,” Sam whispers up at me.

I smile, shifting so I straddle him. “I’m happy,” I reply as my mouth finds his.

It’s different than it was before with Billy. Maybe there is something to be said for being with an older man, a man who has seen the world and knows himself. Or perhaps, it’s because I’m different this time.

Despite this madness with Frank, for the first time in my life, I’m in control of my future. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel strong.

* * *

—

“What I said earlier—about being close to Frank.” I gaze up at the ceiling, my head resting in the crook of Sam’s arm. “What if we used that to our advantage? I could gather information for you. I could—”

“Absolutely not. I meant what I said earlier. I’m not going to let you get close to Frank Morgan to help me put him behind bars. It’s too dangerous. He’s too dangerous.”

I prop myself up on my elbow, peering down at Sam lying on his back in bed.

“‘Let’ me?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually. Frank Morgan is my problem. My father borrowed money from him. A man like him isn’t going to go away. It’s my responsibility to see he isn’t a threat to my family.”

“This isn’t a game. He isn’t some college boy you can manage with a hint of your cleavage and some blushes. He’s a monster. Anyone who gets in his way, he eliminates. When he threatens them, he goes after their families. Their children. Maybe you haven’t seen that side of him yet, but that just means you haven’t seen it yet, because if you get in his way, if you interfere with his business, if you threaten him, he will kill you.”

“And what will he do to you, then? If he’s as powerful as you say, then he won’t be above going after a federal agent. Especially after that federal agent double-crossed him and ended up in bed with his fiancée.”

“I mentioned it would be complicated.”

“But do you regret it?” I ask him.

“Not at all.”

Thirty-Four

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1935

Helen

In the two days after his visit, I consider Matthew’s suggestion that I rebuild the Sunrise Inn, turning the notion around and around in my mind long after my tears have dried.

The area will likely be uninhabitable for a while. Even with the insurance money and Matthew’s help, the task of rebuilding the inn will be great indeed. I watched Aunt Alice run the business when I visited her over the summer as a young girl, but she had a manner of making it appear easy when I’ve no doubt it was anything but.

I know nothing of running a business, nothing of bringing in lodgers. The prudent thing would be to use the insurance money to get a fresh start elsewhere; after all, if Tom is still alive, he’ll eventually make his way to Islamorada to look for us.

But in spite of all of my reservations, my mind keeps drifting to what I would do if it were mine, the color I’d paint the shutters, how I’d sit with Lucy on the front porch and gaze out at the sea, telling her all about her great-aunt Alice; the inn is Lucy’s birthright, too. And perhaps, it’s not just the two of us sitting on that wide porch. Maybe if I’m being completely honest with myself, as much as it terrifies me, I see John there, too.

Impossible dreams.

There are moments when I see a hint of emotion in his eyes, when I hear the affection in his voice, and I wonder if it’s possible that I’m not the only one who could picture us as more than friends.

But I am another man’s wife, and there are so many things John and I have never spoken of, so many things I’m not ready to face.