Page 205 of Before Dawn

We took the private car I’d arranged to the pier, arriving in about twenty-five minutes, where the lively crowd and the mingling scents of saltwater and freshly baked churros heightened our excitement.

“Look at that!” She pointed to the towering rock-climbing wall that loomed over the pier.

“Race you to the top?” I suggested, already breaking into a run. “I may just win.”

“Youwillwin. These girls,” she said, gesturing dramatically to her breasts, “cannot handle the hassle of running.”

“Fair point,” I noted with a chuckle. “But I’ll give you a head start as an advantage,amor.”

She laughed, her competitive spirit ignited. “You’re on!”

With adrenaline rushing through us, we scrambled up the colorful handholds, the cheers of onlookers spurring us on. I never thought I’d be doing this, but it didn’t matter. Not when her laughter rang out, not when every second with her felt like winning something I never even knewI needed.

At the top, as she caught her breath, I reached for her, fingers tangling in her hair as I pulled her close. Every kiss felt like a promise of something more, and in that moment, nothing else existed except us.

When I finally pulled away, her eyes sparkled with surprise and delight. “What was that for?”

“A taste of victory.”

“Consider me inspired,” she teased, the playful glint in her eyes making my chest tighten.

“I felt like a kid again,” she admitted as we made our way down. “Are we going back now?”

“Not yet,” I said, taking her hand. “There’s still so much to see.”

We drifted toward an outdoor stage where acrobats performed daring feats, their graceful movements holding the crowd spellbound. Just beyond them, a street magician worked his illusions, drawing gasps and applause as objects vanished and reappeared in his hands.

Laughter bubbled between us as we stepped onto the musical stairs, each note adding to the playful energy of the moment. The city buzzed around us, but the world felt smaller—just the two of us moving through it.

As we wandered closer to the water, sailboats cut smoothly across the bay, the golden light reflecting off their sails. The sight pulled us in, leading us to a quiet bench overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. A salty breeze wrapped around us, carrying the chatter of passersby, the distant clang of a buoy, and the rhythmic calls of seagulls overhead.

She squeezed my hand, her fingers threading through mine. “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you,” she whispered.

I pulled her close, my hand resting on her ass, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Deserving has nothing to do with it,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her hand. “In a lifetime of wrong and calculated turns, you’re the one I never want to lose.”

Her gaze softened, a quiet smile tugging at her lips as she met my eyes. We continued our walk, and she bumped into someone, quickly looking up with an automatic apology on her lips.

“Joshua,” she uttered, her voice carrying a hint of surprise and uncertainty.

I paused, scanning the scrawny guy from head to toe with complete and unconcealable disgust.

His gaze rested on me, his already unpleasant features dulling. “And who’s this? Your new fling?” he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. “Are you sucking his bank accounts dry too?”

“Men with money don’t worry about their bank accounts being dry,” I replied, sarcasm edging my words. “But you don’t strike me as wealthy, nor a man, so I shouldn’t expect better.”

As he struggled to muster a response, she leaned in to me. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend in…” He paused, his eyes flicking over me, dissecting my clothes as if it were evidence of some grand deceit.

“Hermès,” I finished, a smirk creeping across my face, relishing the shift in the atmosphere. “Mr. Dumas sent it to me himself. Nice, isn’t it?”

His expression darkened, the taunt replaced by annoyance, his jaw tightening. He was gearing up to respond, but I realized we’d entertained this conversation long enough.

“Let’s go,mi reina,” I said, my voice steady and sure. “He’s not worth it.”

But then, his whispered insult or what I was assuming he thought was an insult, hit my ears. “Coward.”

My steps faltered as I turned to face him, my gaze sharp. “I don’t argue with imbeciles,” I stated evenly, my voice low and steady, refusing to let his provocation rattle me. “You let that remarkable woman—no, that goddess—slip through your fingers, and you think you’re smart? Get a grip,puta madre.160”

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