About half an hour after we’d ordered, our dinner arrived, causing Ashton to break off his stream of inquiries. The waiters, dressed in white cotton shorts and polos, laid out the dinner on a woven tray atop a folding stand.

The spread was immense; Ashton seemed to never do things halfway. There was fresh fish and seafood a plenty, as well as various vegetables and rice in coconut bowls. A platter of fresh fruit and cheese stood to one side, along with a decanter of red wine.

It was an elaborate meal, and fresher than anything I’d ever been served before; everything pulled straight from the ground or the sea, and served the same day. Candles were erected along the length of the makeshift table, and pillows were strewn upon the sandy ground. Despite taking place on the shores of Barbados, the meal would be equally at home in the deserts of Morocco. The bus boys bowed, then drifted back out into the night, leaving us in peace.

Ashton immediately set to cutting up pieces of food for Levi, playing the airplane game to encourage him.

“Incoming!” he called out, before landing a small tendril of broccoli on Levi’s tongue.

Levi gurgled gleefully, and slammed his hands on the ground for more. Ashton continued to feed him as I looked on with bliss; the easiness of the domestic scene showed me what I could’ve had, in another life.

The meal, simmered as it was in joy, passed quickly, and soon enough, the three of us were laying down our forks—or in Levi’s case, his hands—and preparing to leave the beach. We packed up our things and trod over the sand, back to civilization. Our first night seemed to be all over too soon.

Ashton must have had a similar thought, because no sooner had we left the candlelit meal behind, he asked, “Would you like to drop Levi off with the hotel’s specialist childcare staff? I spoke with the concierge on the way back from the conference, and she said they’re the best on the island.”

I hesitated, unsure about leaving my son with hotel staff, no matter how well-respected they were, and Ashton quickly added, “Of course, we don’t have to. I just thought you might like…” his voice strained, “…some alone time,” he finished.

After the anticipation built up by an entire day together, I had had to admit—he was right.

So, I set aside my worries, and replied, “Yeah, that’d be perfect.”

He smiled, evidently pleased by my answer, and we made our way over to the childcare center. Sure enough, the place was small but well-equipped—I even noticed a Swann Innovations product or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ashton pick up on the same thing, and the pride on his face was priceless; he earnestly loved his work, and sharing it with others.

We spoke with the man at the front desk, who ran over all of the facilities of the center, pointing out various details, services, hours of operation, so on and so forth. After Ashton had ascertained that I was comfortable with the situation, he told the man that we’d be leaving Levi there for the next couple of hours.

“Take your time,” the man insisted. “We’re open 24/7.”

Sounded like a good deal to me. We thanked the man for his time, and after I gave Levi a kiss on the forehead, we exited the facility.

“He’ll be okay in there, right?” I asked Ashton, still a little nervous.

“Of course. And if your maternal instincts flare up for even a moment, we can march right back in there.”

I chuckled at his phrasing, nodding my agreement. “Would you want to go back down to the beach?” I offered. “We never did get to see it in full moonlight. And—though I miss him already—it might be nice to relax some without Levi around.”

Ashton gave me a nervous smile, as if he were afraid to agree with the sentiment.

“Aw, come on,” I urged, giving him a small nudge on the shoulder, “you’re allowed to second that.”

He relented. “Okay, okay, fine, yeah. It might be more relaxing minus the baby.”

“There you go; you’re getting the hang of this whole ‘bad parent’ thing.”

“You’re not a bad parent,” he disagreed. “Everybody gets worn down. Raising a kid is tough.”

“If you even knew…” I began, then the words dissipated in the air. “But, anyway, the beach.”

He nodded, and we began walking towards the water. As we picked our way down the paths, Ashton slipped an arm around my lower back. My shirt rode up, and his bare skin touched my own. The feeling sent shivers through my spine, and I think Ashton sensed as much, because he squeezed me even closer to him. It was breathtakingly perfect, being surrounded by his strong forearms.

Soon enough, we’d arrived back on the beach, albeit a different section; instead of going to the left, towards what I now thought of as “our” private beach, we went to the right, towards the long stretch of sand that went well beyond the lounge chairs, and into the darkness. Tiki torches cast their light off of reflective palm fronds, so it wasn’t pitch black, more like a dim haze of nighttime.

We shuffled our feet in the sand, allowing the noise of the ocean to act as our conversation. Perhaps the only thing more relaxing than talking openly with a person you trusted was not talking at all. Comfortable silence, in this day and age, was hard to come by.

I shot a sidelong glance in Ashton’s direction, and saw with dismay that he looked…sad. Yes, that was the word for it. Not upset, exactly, just not happy. As if we hadn’t just had the most perfect day.

I bit my lip, unsure if this was the right time to ask what was wrong. But I remembered my earlier conversation with Ashton, about Hamlet, and how one is known versus how one wishes to be known; he had been open with me, not out of necessity, but because he liked the feeling.

With that thought, I at last gave in to the question.

Nervous and unsure of myself, I said, “Ashton, are you okay?”

He stopped in his tracks. “What? Yes, of course.”

Not the response I’d anticipated. “I meant…only, you look sad.”

His expression walled off, and he responded more coolly than before, “Perhaps that’s just my face.”

Yikes. This wasn’t what I’d been going for.

“No, that’s not what I’m trying to say,” I reassured. “For one, I think your face is beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” He smirked, and I understood that he wasn’t upset about the rude phrasing of my question.

“Yeah. Beautiful. You heard me.” I paused, and tried again. “What I’m saying is…you look sad, even though we’ve just had what I thought to be the most wonderful day together, and I’m wondering if it has anything to do with your family.”

His eyes turned from mine, and he stared off into the distance. “You’re rather frank.”

“I know.”

“What made you ask that?”

I hesitated, then replied, “You seemed cautious to talk about it at our first dinner together, and I thought maybe spending all day with Levi and me raised some of those feelings for you. About family, that is.”

His brown, thick lashes hovered low over his eyes, and I worried that I’d struck too close to home. Was this the bridge he was unwilling to cross for me?

After what felt like an interminable silence, he finally replied, “Perceptive as always, Harley.”

I rushed to add, “If you don’t want to talk about it, of course, there’s no pressure; I’m just trying to—”

Mercifully, he cut me off. “I can talk about it.”

I started, surprised. Even when I’d raised the topic, I’d assumed there was little chance of him actually giving me a straightforward answer. And yet, here he was, Ashton Swann, ready to open up. I reminded myself for what felt like the millionth time that day to not judge a book by its cover.

“How much do you know about me?” he began.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m in the media. I have a public persona. There have been numerous articles on my childhood and upbringing, though of course, the answers I give to journalists are nowhere close to the truth.”

Understanding, I replied, “I know you’re from Texas. That’s about it.”

I’d done my research on the company before going to work for Swann Innovations, but it’d never occurred to me to dig into Ashton’s background. It had felt, at the time, like it would’ve been a violation, or creepy—like becoming obsessed with a celebrity without ever having met them.

Ashton nodded and said, “Well, then you’ve heard the only accurate part of the story.” He looked out towards the ocean, then as we walked, began to tell me his story.

“I did grow up in Texas, in a small town built around oil. As far as the eye could see, it was all oil rigs and the occasional farm. The weather didn’t allow for much variety of produce, so it was mostly cattle, and a couple of horse pastures. There was one school, one mini-mall, and on Sundays after church, the entire town flooded into Mama Hoosit’s for brunch.

“Only a few thousand people lived in town, at most, and once you were deemed an outsider, you stayed an outsider. My parents had moved there from New York for my dad’s business, just before I was born. Nobody ever considered us to be real town folk, and they were right. We’d come from the big city; we didn’t look like them, or talk like them—at least, my parents didn’t. Whereas the entire area was middle class at best, we were obscenely wealthy. It was a good time to be in the oil industry, and my dad was ruthless in the way he ran his company.”

He paused, and then added, “I was ten when my mother died.”

I drew in a breath at his words. Ashton looked up from the sand, his eyes finding mine.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’s been almost twenty years; it doesn’t sting so much anymore. But my mother was my world, my sanctuary. She had the sunniest smile you’ve ever seen.”

He seemed to recede into his thoughts, his face veiled with memories.

After a moment, he shook his head and continued. “Cancer took her away.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Thank you, but…I’m all right. She was a strong, powerful woman, and she would’ve hated to be remembered for the cancer, you know? I know, in my heart, she wants me to remember her as being the loving mom who was a great cook, or the one who always spoke up at PTA meetings, or the woman who didn’t take any crap from anyone. I try to hold onto that image of her in my mind. But…she passed away, leaving me under the exclusive care of my father, Howard.”

Ashton paused and looked at me expectantly.

I examined his face, searching for a hint of what he was trying to clue me into. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“My father, also known as Howard J. Swann III.”

The pieces clicked into place. “The oil baron?”

Ashton nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. The one and only.”

“Wow.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I guess. Living under the watch of one of the most famous tycoons in U.S. history isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. We were wealthy before my mother died—or, um, very rich by normal standards—but after she passed…well, my father buried himself in his work.

“As an adult, I can say that if he hadn’t done that, he may have just buried himself in a grave alongside my mother. He was deeply depressed, and had no friends or family to support him in the grieving process. I think he believed I was too young to totally get what was going on, or maybe he was afraid of opening up to me and appearing weak.

“Either way, it took me a long time to see it like that. Took a lot of empathy, and growing up. As a kid, I followed my father’s example—or what little I saw of it, since he was hardly ever around. I threw myself into my work even more devotedly than I do nowadays.”

I drew my head back, shocked by this assertion. Ashton clocked the move and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” he said. “If you think I’m putting in overtime now…well, just try and imagine how hard I was working as a kid, trying to get over my mother’s death and earn back the love of my absent father. Because that’s what I figured: if I could just stay up an extra hour and get ahead on one more assignment, he’d love me. But it never happened. He could never show me affection.

“I hated my father for his coldness, and if I’m being honest, a part of me still hasn’t forgiven him. Especially since he made me in his image. Now, that’s what the entire city—no, the entire world—thinks of me. They perceive me as a ruthless businessman who cares about his company and nothing else. I hated my father, and then I became him.”

I sucked in a breath, hoping the air would hold back my tears. Ashton lowered his head towards the ground, and continued, “And I’m scared that if I have children, I’ll repeat the same mistakes my father made—I won’t be home enough, I won’t love them openly enough, I won’t be good enough. Nobody ever taught me how to love another person, and I’m terrified that it may be too late.”

He broke off, and I could see his shoulders rise and fall unsteadily. I put a gentle hand out, hoping to steady them.

“Ashton,” I said softly, “you’re not your father.”

He raised his head, and those brown eyes met mine. I could tell he didn’t believe me, so I pressed forward.

“You’re not,” I insisted. “I can see it. I can see it in the little things you do for me, and the way you take care of Levi, and how concerned you are that everybody hates you. A man who was truly incapable of love wouldn’t do or think any of that. But you’ve shown me enough of who you really are that I can say, with confidence, you are warm and kind and loving.”

It was my turn to draw to a halt. I took a deep breath, and plowed on.

“When we were on the beach today,” I continued, “and you were playing with Levi, and being so tender with him, I thought to myself, ‘Wow, Ashton would make an incredible father.’”

“Really?” he whispered.

“Really.”

Ashton’s eyes ran over my face; then, he leaned in and kissed me.