Until I Wrote Him
Chapter 91
India's POV
The ocean breeze carried the faint scent of salt and sun-baked teak, weaving through my hair as I pushed open the small gate leading to the grill area.
Guillermo scurried behind me, holding a collection of shells, some small and delicate, some jagged and bright like fragments of colored glass.
“Last one!” I called, holding a particularly perfect shell in my hand. Its surface caught the light, a pearlescent shimmer that made me forget, if only for a second, the chaos of my morning with Roman.