"There's nothing beautiful about scars," she said, biting her lip as she looked at it.
"Do you find mine so horrible?" I watched her furrow her brow, but she shook her head and pouted her lips at me.
"I don't like to think of someone hurting you like that, but the scars themselves? No," she admitted, though it looked like it pained her to say it.
"That is exactly how I feel about yours, and since my opinion is the only one that matters, there's no need to fuss over it," I said. She huffed a laugh at me, shaking her head adorably. She probably thought me arrogant, like no other opinion could matter after mine because I would be the best she ever had.
She didn't yet know I would be the only man she ever had.
The driver parked alongside the curb in front of the Portal de Ses Taules, and I opened my door. Holding out a hand, I encouraged Isa to scoot herself across the seat and get out on my side. I helped her out, watching as her expression widened and she stared up at the stone wall in front of her. Kissing the back of her hand, I kept it in mine as I tapped the top of the car and closed the door for the driver to retreat until I summoned him.
Normally, I would have driven my McLaren, but finding a parking spot in the area was difficult even for me. Isa would do enough walking that day. I could only be pleased I'd talked her into wearing the flat sandals sent by the shopper instead of her own heeled shoes. She'd appreciate it at the end of the day.
"What is this?" she asked, letting me guide her up the stone ramp to head toward the gate.
"Dalt vila," I answered. "The Old Town. The walls are from the renaissance. The city inside is stunning, and there are little shops and restaurants. It is a must for anyone spending time in Ibiza." We made our way into the entrance, Isa's hand reaching out to touch the old stone with trembling fingertips.
"It's really been here that long?" she asked, the history buff inside her forcing her excitement to the surface much like I'd hoped.
Humming my agreement, I captured her hand in mine and dragged our fingers over the stones so they scratched her palm. She closed her eyes; her face pinching as she lost herself to the desire of me pressing into her spine. Of our hands together.
I'd use my touch to manipulate her every chance I got.
I hadn't expected the innocent virgin to be so inclined to my rougher tastes. I'd expected to spend the next few days making love to her sweetly and then slowly acclimate her to the more...
Deviant of my desires.
But that she stood there with me willingly after I'd lost my control with her repeatedly proved just how well-matched we were. She'd give me everything I wanted and beg me for more.
As long as I kept her from questioning if her desires were wrong. I suspected my Isa would battle with that, eventually.
The entryway opened up before us as we stepped through the narrower tunnel. Her face lit as she took in the whitewashed buildings and stone streets. The timing of her trip was unfortunate, but I hadn't been willing to wait any longer to bring Isa to Ibiza just to avoid the summer crowds in Dalt Vila. Vendors lined the streets for the summer, selling all sorts of wares and handmade items. I guided her up the road, passing vendors who smiled at her as if she was their saving grace even as they avoided me entirely.
Nobody wanted to make eye contact with the devil.
Even as my princesa turned wide eyes to them and smiled shyly when she didn't understand what they said to her, they still moved forward as if drawn by her haunted presence. Something in her called to all of us, a history that needed fixing and a mystery that needed solving.
Our fingers interlocked as I guided her forward slowly. "Wait until you see the citadel up close," I told her, squeezing her hand to draw her attention back to me. As much as I loved watching her fall in love with the island, I wanted nothing more than for her to love me for giving it to her.
I would be the center of her universe. Not Ibiza.
"The citadel?" she asked, her voice betraying her excitement. "Sorry," she winced with a laugh as she tempered her joy. I wanted to rage against the fact that she felt the need to diminish her happiness. Like she couldn't enjoy something without feeling guilty. "I'm a history geek. I'm going to college in the fall to get my Bachelor's in Anthropology."
"Why not just regular history?" I asked, prying into the parts of her mind that I couldn't know from watching her. Hugo knew her very well, but there were certain questions he didn't think to ask. His desire to know her didn't come from a unique fascination, though I knew the boy had come to care for her in his time with her.
I already knew Joaquin had questioned me far too often over the last few months as the looming deadline neared. He adored Isa primarily from a distance, as one might a younger sister he'd been separated from in a divorce. The man had never questioned my decisions prior to Isa, but something about her had wormed her way under his skin.
For that reason alone, he'd be her personal security once she knew the truth. Nobody would protect her better than a man who was brave enough to risk my wrath in an attempt to give her a chance at the best life possible.
"I find people oddly fascinating," she admitted. "I don't like them most times, so
