“It’s so hot,” I complained, wiping a sheen of sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

I glanced over at Scott. He was barely perspiring. If anything, his tanned skin seemed to glow golden under the Mediterranean sun.

I supposed he was probably accustomed to hotter temperatures and much more rigorous exercise. In contrast to his cool appearance, I was trying not to gasp for air, but we’d been walking up a steady incline for almost half an hour in the baking heat.

“We’ll stop and rest, then,” he offered. “We should have brought water with us. I didn’t realize what a hike this would be.”

We’d taken the funicular from the harbor up to the main town of Capri, but I’d insisted on walking straight through the bustling shopping district. I wanted to see the natural beauty of the island, not spend my day inside boutiques.

What I hadn’t realized was just how steep the walk would be. The woman at the tourist information booth had waved us out of town and toward this path, indicating that it was a short walk to Villa Jovis, the ruined palace where the Roman emperor Tiberius used to reside.

“Oh my god,” I groaned, catching sight of a map at the side of the path. “This says Villa Jovis is another half hour’s walk from here.”

“We don’t have to go,” Scott offered.

“No!” I replied vehemently. “I want to see Tiberius’ palace. He’s a fascinating emperor. I’m not going to have come all this way and not see it just because I’m feeling lazy.”

His brows drew together. “You’re not being lazy. You’re overheated, and you need some water. Come on.” He tugged at my hand, indicating that we should fork off onto a flatter path. “Let’s see if there’s somewhere down here that sells water.”

“Okay,” I agreed, recognizing that I really was getting dehydrated. I probably resembled a sweaty tomato in this heat, and cooling off could only help my appearance. I hated for Scott to see me like this, but I’d promised myself that I’d see Villa Jovis while I was visiting the Amalfi Coast. It was only our second day in Italy, but I wouldn’t have time to come back to Capri, if I was going to visit all the historical sites I wanted to see.

“Oh, pretty,” I breathed when we stepped onto the new path. To our right, a lattice fence was covered in magenta flowers. Bright blue flashes of the sea peeked through the gaps as a breeze rustled the blooms.

“There’s a restaurant up ahead,” Scott pointed out, distracting me. “I bet the view’s better from there. Do you want to get lunch?”

“Sure,” I agreed easily, suddenly feeling much better now that I was no longer climbing uphill with no end in sight. A little rest before resuming our hike sounded like a great idea.

We approached the little white-painted restaurant. From a distance, it didn’t look like much, but as we neared, I spotted more of the beautiful magenta flowers growing over the arched entrance. A small sign with the words La Palette indicated the name of the restaurant, but otherwise, it was an understated place.

“Best view in Capri.” A new male voice jolted me, and I looked up to find a smiling server waving at us from the top of a short flight of stairs.

“Sounds perfect,” Scott said, taking me by the hand and leading me up the steps.

I stopped in my tracks when we reached the top. “Wow.”

Vibrant greenery spilled down the sharp hills below, flowing into the glowing cerulean sea. In the distance to either side of the vista, the rocky cliffs of Capri framed the view. The pastel buildings that made up the town’s cluster of shops splashed the greenery with pale color, and yachts of varying size dotted the harbor.

Scott tugged at my hand, urging me toward a table at the front of the covered porch. “The view’s just as good here,” he assured me with a smile. “And you’ll be in the shade. You’re looking a little flushed.”

Flushed was one word for it. I knew my face was probably glowing red.

“I’m just hot. It’s not sunburn.”

“I know. I put on your sunscreen,” he reminded me with a sly smile.

The memory of his hands rubbing my body made me impossibly hotter. I reached into my bag and pulled out the folding fan I’d bought in Sorrento. The lemons hand-painted on the wood were pretty, but the purchase had also proven practical over the last few days. As a Georgia girl, I was used to the heat, but I didn’t spend this much time outside of air-conditioned spaces on a regular basis.

The porch of La Palette caught the breeze, which helped cool my heated skin. Scott ordered a large bottle of water, and I eagerly gulped half of it down as soon as it arrived.

“One more, please,” he told the server with a smile. “I’m glad we stopped,” he said to me. “I didn’t realize how thirsty you were. You should have said something.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t want to be whiny. It was my fault I didn’t buy any water to bring with me. That was on me.”

He cocked his head at me. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Take responsibility for every little thing. I’ve noticed you do it a lot. It’s okay to lean on me sometimes. It’s okay to ask for help or tell me if you need something.”

I shifted in my chair. “I guess I’m just used to being responsible for myself.”

I’m used to being responsible for everyone around me.

“Didn’t your husband help support you when you needed it?”

I flinched. “No.”

I didn’t elaborate.

Tense silence settled over us, punctuated only when the server came to take our food order. I wasn’t really hungry anymore, but I randomly selected the swordfish. Scott ordered gnocchi and handed the menus to the man with a brief “grazie.”

His eyes remained fixed on me. “So, what’s the next book about?”

I blinked at him, surprised at the change of subject. It should have been a relief, but this question was almost as hard as the one about my ex-husband.

I made a dismissive wave and cut my gaze away from his. “Oh, you know. I have a lot of things in the works. Mostly dark romances and romantic suspense. I even have a vampire romance on the back burner. Lots of projects.”

“Is that what you usually do? Work on several books at one time?”

“No, not usually. I like to get into one project and write the whole thing from start to finish. I’m very linear. A total outliner.”

“So, what’s different this time? Why work on multiple books?”

I sighed, deciding to give him a ghost of the truth. “Well, I’m not really working much, to be honest. I’m kind of blocked right now. Nothing is flowing, so I’m writing bits of different projects when I can.”

“Blocked? Like writer’s block?”

“Yeah. It totally sucks. I can sit at my laptop for hours and not write a single word.”

“How long have you been blocked?”

“Since my divorce, okay?” I burst out in a rush of irritation. If there was one thing I hated, it was a man trying to get too involved in my writing. This was my career. I didn’t need a Dom to try to control what I’d built.

I took a breath.

That was damage from my marriage. Scott didn’t deserve my ire.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I’m just touchy about my lack of productivity right now.”

He nodded, easily accepting my contrition. “I can understand how it must be hard to keep a schedule for writing when you’re uprooting your whole life. You had to move from England to America and get set up again. I’m sure that adjustment takes time.”

“It’s not just that,” I admitted. “It’s… Well, it’s hard to write about people falling madly in love when I’m not sure if I even believe in happily ever after. It just doesn’t make sense, you know?” I fell into my familiar rationalization. “Maybe we’re not meant to be monogamous creatures. Maybe there are multiple people out there in the world who I could share love with at different times in my life. I kind of like that idea: having a lifetime of Great Loves, instead of searching for One True Love.”

A beat of silence passed as he regarded me intently. “Do you really feel that way?”

I forced a superficial smile. “It makes a lot more sense, doesn’t it? Who really has fairytale true love? No one. The problem is, I have to sell it for a living. And if you don’t believe in it, it’s hard to write.”

“What do you want in life, Addison?” His eyes were steady and serious on my face.

“Oh, you know.” I waved my hand in a show of nonchalance. “To hit the New York Times Bestsellers List.”

“That’s a goal,” he allowed. “But what do you want in life?”

My defenses rose, and I leaned away from him. This was exactly what I actively avoided thinking about. The last time I’d thought about my future too deeply, I’d ended up with a bottle of pills in my hand and an emergency phone call to my sister.

“I’m just focusing on my career right now,” I hedged.

“Your career can’t be your life. You deserve more than that.” The lines around his eyes deepened, and I realized his career was his life. He was telling me to live the life he couldn’t have.

But he didn’t understand how these probing questions would make me unravel. In the last months, I’d used travel to avoid the pain. Moving from one place to another was the only way I could continue existing; when faced with the reality of the lonely future that stretched before me, I crumbled.

Then, I’d met Scott. I willfully avoided thinking about the future when I was with him, because I knew we couldn’t have one. He was the best kind of drug, much better than traveling to distract me from the pointlessness of my existence.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” I said, my attempt at bravado ruined by the traitorous tears that spilled down my cheeks. I forced a smile and wiped them away. “Have I told you the latest drama in the Romance industry?”

He took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “No. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

I drew in a shaky breath, grateful that he’d decided to back off. For a few horrible minutes, the house of cards I’d worked so hard to build had almost come crashing down.

I clung to Scott’s hand more tightly as I began chattering, falling into the moment with him so I could forget about the mess that was my life. He was exactly the drug I needed right now.