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55
ASHTON
We left the crowded yacht in search of some privacy. As we reached the second deck, we passed a crowded hot tub where Willow was engaged in a lively conversation with her younger sister.
I exchanged a quick glance with Willow and nodded towards the next set of steps. She nodded back, silently conveying that we would catch up later.
Once Sandro and I were off the yacht, we stood on the wooden dock. The towering boat next to us served as a constant reminder of our privileged background.
I never forgot who we were and where we came from.
There were no paparazzi in sight, thanks to the private marina. I cracke
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