The island was quiet.
Tucked away off the coast of Santorini, it wasn't the kind of destination influencers flocked to. It was private. Still. The kind of place where the sea met the sky without interruption.
Adrian and Isabel arrived just before sunset. Their driver dropped them at a whitewashed villa nestled into a cliffside. Stone pathways twisted through olive trees, and the air was laced with the smell of lemons and salt.
Isabel stood at the balcony, watching the horizon blur into watercolor.
"No meetings. No deadlines," Adrian whispered, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
"No shoes," she added with a smile. "Just us."
---
That night, they lay on the terrace, wrapped in each other and a light linen blanket. The stars above were clearer than they'd ever seen.
"I didn't know I needed this," Isabel said.
"You did," Adrian replied. "You just didn't think you were allowed to want it."
He leaned over and kissed her, slow and searching. The kind of kiss that said, we're still learning each other.
Their lovemaking was different now. Not rushed. Not hungry from absence or fear. But deep, exploratory. Like they had all the time in the world.
She whispered his name like it was sacred. He held her like she might drift away if he didn't anchor her.
The waves below sounded like applause.
---
The next morning, Isabel made coffee barefoot while Adrian scribbled something into his travel journal. He'd gotten into the habit—writing pieces of poetry he never showed anyone.
"Read it to me," she said, peeking over his shoulder.
He laughed, pulling the journal away. "Absolutely not."
She grinned. "Coward."
He tugged her into his lap. "Fine. One line: She walked into my life with a storm behind her and still managed to grow roses where she stood."
Isabel looked away, blinking fast.
"You're ridiculous," she said softly.
"And yours," he added.
---
They explored the island on foot. No itinerary. No plan. They found a cove with waters so clear you could see every pebble. Isabel swam while Adrian lay on a rock, sketching her.
"You know you're completely in love when your boyfriend stares at you like a Renaissance painter," she teased.
"Correction," he replied, "your husband."
She splashed him. He dove in after her. Laughter echoed through the cliffs.
---
On their last night, they sat with wine under a string of lanterns. Their fingers played like chords of a familiar song.
"I used to think happiness had to be loud," Isabel said. "A big moment. A loud yes. A finish line."
"And now?"
"Now I think it's this. You. Quiet skies. And a version of me I never thought I'd become."
Adrian touched her cheek. "I love who you are. And who you're still becoming."
They kissed again. No fireworks needed. Just moonlight. And memory.