Emery’s POV
Landon appears in the doorway with an expression I haven't seen in weeks—something light, almost boyish, like the weight of the world has temporarily lifted from his shoulders.
"Get dressed," he says, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "Something comfortable."
I look up from the documents Harmony brought me earlier, my brow furrowing. "Why? What's happening?"
"Nothing bad." His smile widens, and something in my chest loosens at the sight of it. "Harmony's going to watch Elsie."
"Landon." I set down the papers and stand, crossing my arms to mirror his stance. "Tell me what's going on."
"No."
"No?"
"No." He pushes off the doorframe and crosses to me, his hands finding my waist with easy familiarity. "Just trust me. For once, don't ask questions. Just come with me."
I search his face for any hint of what he's planning. All I find is that boyish lightness, that rare glimpse of the man he might have been if this family hadn't shaped him into something harder.
"Fine," I relent. "But if this is some kind of ambush—"
"No ambush." He kisses my forehead. "I promise. Now get dressed."
Twenty minutes later, I slide into the passenger seat of his car, still suspicious but increasingly curious. Harmony waved us off with Elsie on her hip, a knowing smile on her face that suggested she was in on whatever this is.
"At least tell me where we're going," I try again as Landon pulls down the long driveway.
"You'll see."
I watch the estate shrink in the rearview mirror, those iron gates closing behind us like a cell door swinging shut—except this time, we're on the outside. The further we drive, the easier I breathe.
We don't talk much during the journey. Landon keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns against my skin. I lean my head against the window and watch the landscape change—manicured estates giving way to rolling hills, then eventually to something wilder, rawer, untouched.
Nearly an hour passes before he turns onto a quiet coastal road I don't recognize. The ocean appears in fragments through the trees, blue and endless, and something in my chest expands at the sight of it.
"Here," he says finally, pulling into a small parking area overlooking the cliffs.
The restaurant is nothing like the places the Remingtons frequent. It's small, weathered, perched on the edge of the world with windows that frame the crashing waves below. No valet. No photographers lurking behind hedges. No whispered gossip waiting to be collected and weaponized.
Just us and the ocean and the fading afternoon light.
"How did you find this place?" I ask as we settle into a corner table, salt-worn wood beneath my fingertips.
"My father brought me here once." Landon's expression softens with something like nostalgia. "When I was a teenager. Before everything got complicated."
"It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful." He catches my hand across the table. "I realized I couldn't remember the last time I saw you smile. Really smile. And I needed to fix that."
The server brings wine and bread, and we order without looking at menus. When the food arrives, Landon doesn't mention the company. Doesn't bring up his mother or the tabloids or the war being waged against us. Instead, he leans forward with genuine curiosity in his eyes.
"Tell me about Venezuela," he says. "About who you were before all this."
I blink, caught off guard. "You want to know about my childhood?"
"I want to know everything." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "I married you, Emery. But I never really knew you. Not the way I should have."
The question, this revelation caught me off guard. But there was nothing to make all of it seem normal as well. So I tell him.
I tell him about the house I grew up in, small and warm, filled with the smell of my grandmother's cooking. About the beach where I learned to swim, the school where I dreamed of becoming a teacher, the girl I was before a family scandal and a business arrangement brought me to this country, to this name, to him.
"I wanted to travel," I admit, surprising myself with the memory. "See the world. Write about it, maybe. I had this journal where I would plan imaginary trips—"
"What happened to it?"
"I left it behind." I shrug, but the loss still aches. "When I married you, I didn't bring much. I thought I was starting fresh."
"And instead you got swallowed whole." His voice carries guilt I haven't heard before. "I'm sorry."
"Don't." I squeeze his hand. "Tonight isn't about apologies. You said so yourself."
Over dessert, I find myself laughing. Actually laughing—the kind that bubbles up from somewhere deep, the kind I haven't felt in months. Landon tells stories about boarding school disasters and the time he accidentally crashed his father's boat, and I share embarrassing moments from my own past, things I'd forgotten I even remembered.
The sun begins its descent as we finish our wine, painting the sky in oranges and pinks that reflect off the endless water.
"Walk with me?" Landon asks.
We leave the restaurant and find a path down to the shore, our shoes abandoned somewhere along the way. The sand is cool beneath my feet, the waves a constant rhythm that drowns out everything else.
Landon pulls me close when we reach the water's edge, his arms wrapping around me from behind. We stand there watching the sun sink toward the horizon, his chin resting on my shoulder, our breathing synchronized.
"I needed this," he murmurs against my hair. "I needed to remember why we're fighting."
I turn in his arms, facing him. "Why are we fighting?"
"For this." He cups my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. "For moments like this. For the chance to be us, without anyone else's interference."
I kiss him under the fading light, soft and slow, tasting salt and wine and something that feels remarkably like hope. When we break apart, something fragile and precious blooms between us—not just love, though that's there too. Partnership. The sense that we're finally on the same side of a battle we didn't choose.
We walk back to the car hand in hand, the ocean breeze carrying the salt and warmth of the evening. My hair tangles in the wind, and I don't try to tame it. Landon watches me with something like wonder, like he's seeing me for the first time.
"Thank you," I say as we reach the parking lot. "For tonight. For all of it."
"Well, get used to it. Because we will be doing this more frequently. I mean it. Whatever it takes to keep that smile on your face."