The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky painted in bruised purples, deep indigos, and streaks of burnt orange that reflected off the glass-calm Caribbean Sea. On a secluded stretch of the private beach, far enough from the villa that the only sound was the rhythmic, lace-like lapping of the tide, a small table was set.
Roman had outdone himself. There were no neon lights or flashy displays; instead, a circle of tiki torches flickered in the evening breeze, and a path of white lanterns led from the sand dunes to a table draped in crisp linen.
Adam was fast asleep, tucked into his bed after a day of sun and surf that had finally conquered his endless energy. The nanny was on duty, and for the first time since they had arrived, the island felt entirely theirs.
Skye walked toward the table, her bare feet sinking into the cool, silk-like sand. She was wearing a simple, backless silk dress in a shade of emerald that made her eyes look like precious gems. Her hair was down, wavy from the salt air, and she wore the shell necklace Adam had picked out for her.
Roman was already there, waiting. He had traded his polo for a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the dark tan of his chest. He watched her approach with a look that was part predator, part protector, and entirely captivated.
"Youlook," Roman started, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the sand beneath her feet, "like something I dreamed up when I was stuck in a boardroom ten years ago."
Skye smirked, stopping just in front of him. She reached out and toyed with the top button of his shirt, her eyes dancing with sass. "Only ten years ago? I'm hurt, Thorne. I thought I was at least a twenty-year dream."
Roman's hand found her waist instantly, pulling her flush against his heat. The possessive grip was familiar now, a steady anchor. "Don't get cocky, Skye. You're lucky I let you out of the bedroom at all after last night."
"Oh, please," she teased, leaning back in his arms. "You were the one complaining about your back this morning. Maybe the 'Dragon' is getting a little old for all those gymnastics."
Roman's eyes darkened, a predatory smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "My back is just fine, Songbird. And if you keep testing me, I'll show you exactly how 'old' I feel on this table before the appetizers arrive."
Skye laughed, a bright, melodic sound, and slipped out of his grasp to take her seat. "Dinner first, Tiger. I'm starving, and I'm pretty sure you promised me lobster."
The dinner was a slow, indulgent affair. They ate fresh seafood caught that morning, drank chilled champagne that tasted like crisp apples and sunlight, and talked. For the first time, the conversation wasn't about court dates, security protocols, or the Prince. They talked about the songs Skye wanted to write, about Roman's childhood spent building empires out of Lego bricks, and about the ridiculous things Adam said when he thought no one was listening.
As the meal wound down and the stars began to poke through the velvet sky, Roman grew uncharacteristically quiet. He watched her through the flickering candlelight, his gaze heavy and intense.
"What?" Skye asked, swirling the last of her champagne. "Do I have chocolate on my face? Or are you just realizing how much trouble you've actually invited into your life?"
"Both," Roman joked softly, but his expression remained serious. He reached into the pocket of his linen trousers and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box.
Skye's heart skipped a beat. A cold flash of panic hit her- not because she didn't love him, but because the memory of her last "union" was still a fresh, jagged scar. She wasn't ready for a ring. She wasn't ready to be a "wife" again, even to a man like Roman.
Roman saw the flicker of fear in her eyes and immediately reached across the table, taking her hand in his. His thumb rubbed soothing circles over her knuckles.
"Relax, Skye," he murmured, his voice incredibly gentle. "It's not a ring. I know where you are. I know you just got your breath back, and I'm not about to stifle you with another contract. I want you to choose me every single day because you want to, not because a piece of paper says you have to."
The tension left her shoulders in a long, shaky sigh. "Thank you, Roman."
"Open it," he commanded, the bossy billionaire returning for a brief second.
Skye took the box and flicked it open. Inside, resting on a bed of black silk, was a necklace. It was a delicate, platinum chain, and hanging from it was a small, intricately carved pendant of a bird in flight- a songbird. But what caught the light was the stone set into the bird's chest: a rare, vivid blue diamond that matched the color of the Caribbean sky.
On the back of the pendant, engraved in tiny, elegant script, were three words: Always Your Sky.
"Roman..." she whispered, her fingers trembling as she touched the cool metal. "It's beautiful. It's too much."
"It's not enough," Roman countered. He stood up and moved behind her chair. He took the necklace from the box, his large fingers surprisingly deft as he moved her hair to the side. He draped the chain around her neck, the diamond resting perfectly against the hollow of her throat.
As he fastened the clasp, his hands lingered. He leaned down, his lips pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the nape of her neck, his hands sliding down to rest on her shoulders.
"That stone," Roman whispered against her skin, "is the exact color of the horizon the day I heard you say your name for the first time. It's a reminder that you own the sky now, Skye. No cages. No auctions. Just open air. And as long as I'm standing, I'll be the ground you land on when you're tired of flying."
Skye turned in her chair, looking up at him. The sass was gone, replaced by a raw, overwhelming tenderness. She reached up, framing his face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the hard lines of his cheekbones.
"You're a very frustrating man, Roman Thorne," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You're bossy, you're arrogant, and you're a complete brute."
"And?" he prompted, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.
"And I think I'm hopelessly, utterly in love with you," she confessed, the words finally taking flight in the salt air.
Roman's expression transformed. The predatory hardness melted into something profoundly soft and vulnerable. He didn't say a word; he simply leaned down and captured her mouth in a kiss that tasted like champagne and promises. It wasn't a claim of ownership, but a vow of partnership.
He pulled her up from the chair and into his arms, spinning her slowly in the sand under the light of a billion stars.
"Good," Roman growled playfully, his possessive streak returning as he nipped at her lower lip. "Because now that you've said it, I'm never letting you take it back. You're stuck with the brute now."
"I think I can handle it," Skye teased, her arms winding around his neck. "As long as the brute keeps buying me lobster and diamonds."
Roman laughed, the sound echoing over the waves. He scooped her up into his arms, his eyes fixed on the villa in the distance. "The lobster is finished, Skye. But I have a few other ideas for how to spend the rest of the night that don't involve jewelry."
Skye leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand resting over the blue diamond at her throat. "Then stop talking, Captain. Take me home."
As Roman strode across the moonlit sand, carrying his world in his arms, the island felt like the only place on earth. The war was won, the name was hers, and the sky- true to the diamond around her neck- was finally, endlessly blue