eyes burned. No, he wouldn’t think of Alessandro. But it was hard not to when every corner held a twist of nostalgia, a memory to cut deep. Two years on and time had healed nothing. Grimly he increased his speed, the adrenaline of the fast clamber down chasing away his grief in a way no other attempt at solace had until he finally half leapt, half fell down the last vertical slick of rock onto the sand below. Nico kicked off his shoes, the soft sand beneath his toes anchoring him firmly back in the here and now.
It had been over a decade since he’d last visited this particular cove and nothing seemed to have changed. Nico had travelled to more than his fair share of stunning places but on an evening like this the secret cove was hard to beat: small but perfectly formed, the sand curving in a deep horseshoe partitioned by a graceful arch of craggy rock. The waves lapped gently on the shore and Nico knew from experience that the currents were kind, the water deepening gently, several long strides before a bather found himself thigh deep.
The summer breeze was lessened down here, the steep cliffs providing a natural shelter, and Nico realised how warm he was, his T-shirt sticking to his torso. He eyed the sea, already feeling the coolness of the water against his heated skin. It wasn’t that late and the fierceness of the day’s sun would ensure the water was a pleasurable temperature—not that he and Alessandro had ever cared about the time of year or day, as happy to night swim in winter as they were in summer, the sea their eternal playground, until Alessandro had grown up, grown into his responsibilities and put their boyhood adventures firmly behind him. For all the good it had done him...
And now it was Nico’s turn to shoulder the burden, to take his responsibilities so seriously he would no longer be able to sneak away for an evening swim. Really he shouldn’t now; the sensible thing would be to turn around and go home. He clenched his fists. No, he had a lifetime of making sensible decisions ahead of him, a lifetime of duty first, self last. Tonight belonged to him. To the memory of two young boys sneaking away from tradition and responsibility to bathe by the light of the moon.
His body decided before his mind was fully made up, shucking off his damp T-shirt and stepping out of his shorts and boxers, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the sand as he walked naked towards the welcoming sea. It was only as his toe touched the refreshing water that he remembered the main reason why this was a bad idea. Nico paused briefly then shrugged the thought off. If a paparazzi was so enterprising as to follow him here then he or she would get the shot of a lifetime. His mouth curved as he pictured his uncle’s reaction. It would almost be worth it...
The water was every bit as revitalising as he had hoped, the waves not too strong, the temperature warm at first, turning more bracing as he headed out into the deeper waters. He struck out with strong, sure strokes, out, out and further out until, when he turned to float lazily on his back, the beach was just a smudge of yellow. He stayed there for some time, happy to just scull gently in the water as the waves broke over him, rocking him from side to side, the late, sinking sun still warm on his salt wet face. It was hard to imagine ever being this free again when tomorrow he would formally take up his duties, his future one of ceremonies and meetings, a hidebound, indoor, rigid existence.
And, sooner rather than later, a wife. A family. A suitable consort chosen for him.
At the thought his buoyant mood sank quicker than a pebble thrown into the water and he was back on his front and striking back to shore, not with the bold freedom of his earlier strokes but with a precise, weary determination, fighting his own instinct to flee as much as the outgoing tide.
He was closing in on the beach, his pile of clothes coming into focus, when he saw her. Nico stilled, swearing under his breath as he slowed to tread water.
She was on the other side of the arch that bisected the beach into two, standing near the narrow jetty and the natural thermal pool that made the beach so famous. He couldn’t see her boat but, seeing as she had just stepped off the jetty, he was betting she had moored on the other side. If he was careful then Nico might be able to make his way to shore and grab his clothes and be out of there before she noticed him. Or he could stay here, bobbing up and down like a seal and wait for her to leave. Neither option appealed but action would always win out over inaction. So stealthy approach it was.
His mind made up, Nico looked over at the girl again. She was too far away for him to make out her features. All he could see was a petite, very slim frame topped with a mass of long dark hair. She kicked along the beach, hands in pockets, staring down at the ground. Everything about her suggested despair and Nico felt a pull of kinsmanship. He was about to move off when she stopped, straightened and flung back her hair, curving one elegant arm above her head and executing what seemed to him to be a perfect pirouette on the beach. She paused and then spun round again and then again, hair flowing, like some beach naiad performing her evening rites.
Nico sensed that he was intruding on something intensely personal yet he couldn’t look away, transfixed by the grace and agility so unselfconsciously displayed, and by the time she drew her white dress over her head in one fluid movement and dropped it on the beach it was too late to turn away, to swim away. She wasn’t wearing a bra and it took less than two seconds for her to step out of her knickers and walk into the sea with the same grace she had displayed as she had danced.
She must be a naiad or a siren and he, like Odysseus, was caught, too mesmerised to retreat. All he could do was wait and hope that she wouldn’t see him. A futile hope—Nico knew the moment she spotted him because she stopped dead in the water, spluttering as a wave caught her unawares. It was his cue and he swam a little nearer, not too close, not enough to alarm her any more than he already had. ‘Nice evening for it.’
If looks could kill he would be shark meat, his dead body right now slipping underneath the waves. ‘I thought this was private property.’
His mouth curved appreciably. Her head was held high as she trod water, her dark eyes fierce. ‘The sea? Are you Poseidon’s princess to claim ownership over the waves?’
She swallowed, visibly fighting for control. ‘The beach. The beach is private property.’
‘It’s not, you know,’ he said conversationally. ‘It’s property of the Crown, open to all, and even if it wasn’t you, mysterious naiad, aren’t a Del Castro.’ That he was confident of; he knew every member of the most distant branches of the royal family tree.
‘But there’s only one way down and that is private property.’ She tossed her head as she spoke, triumph in her voice. ‘And I know you didn’t come by boat.’
‘There’s always another way, if you know where to look.’
‘Were you watching me? Just then?’
‘Not on purpose,’ Nico admitted. ‘The beach was empty when I got here so, really, I should be the offended one. You intruded on my privacy, not the other way round.’
She didn’t answer his teasing smile. Instead her brows shot up in rejecting disdain. ‘A gentleman would have drawn attention to his presence.’ She managed to convey affronted dignity despite the hair floating around her pale, naked shoulders, the drops shimmering on her eyelashes.
‘Ah. But I’m no gentleman. Ask my uncle. Besides, I didn’t want to draw attention to my presence. I am also...erm...in a similar state of undress.’ His smile widened as her cheeks flushed.
‘I think you should leave immediately.’
‘But I don’t trust you not to peek.’
She glared at him. ‘Believe me, I’ve seen it all before.’
‘This is a predicament.’
