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Her expression doesn’t change, but I feel the slight tension in her fingers. “How soon?”

“By the end of the week. I spoke to Mel, the head producer, yesterday. They’ve moved up the production schedule.” I sigh, hating the intrusion of reality into this bubble we’ve created. “Some issue with scheduling and budget. The usual film nonsense.”

She nods, absorbing this. “We knew this was coming,” she says, her thumb making small circles on my palm. “It’s already been like ten days anyway. Can’t make vacation last forever.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about. I want you to come back with me.”

Her eyebrow arches. “Instead of staying here the extra week or two?”

“Yes. I realize that might seem selfish. But I want you to come back to Boston with me and Fen.” I gesture vaguely toward the baby monitor.

She shifts onto her side to face me fully, the sheet sliding down to reveal the curve of her breast. I’m momentarily distracted before forcing my eyes back to her face.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t like the thought of you on the island alone. I’m saying I’d miss you too much if you stayed.” I swallow thickly and force out the words. “This is new for us, and I don’t want to lose what we’re building.”

“And you think a week apart would do that?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. No, I don’t. I just know I don’t want to be without you, and I’ll go mad thinking about you alone on the island. Besides, the press already found us here,” I point out. “They had photos of us at lunch and then on the beach yesterday. Photos of you holding Fen. Of us holding hands.” The memory makes something protective and angry rise in me. “If privacy is the concern, we’ve already lost that battle, and it’ll be no time until they find the island.”

She pushes a strand of that remarkable red hair behind her ear. “It’s not just that. It’s going back to Boston is different. Key West is a vacation. Boston is real life.”

“I want real life with you,” I say quietly, a little frustrated by her brush-off. “That’s exactly what I’m asking for.”

She studies me, and I see the fear there, beneath the calm exterior. Keegan Fritz, with her sharp tongue and sharper mind, is afraid. Not of me, but of this. Of us and of what we’re becoming.

“The press will be worse there,” she notes. “You know that. British movie star returns with billionaire heiress girlfriend and baby. They’ll be all over us, digging into my life, making assumptions. They’ll find the most unflattering photo of me from college and plaster it everywhere next to some airbrushed shot of you from your last premiere.”

I can’t help smiling. “Most unflattering photo? Now I’m intrigued.”

She shoves my shoulder, but she’s smiling too. “There was an unfortunate phase involving too much eyeliner and boy band T-shirts I cut up in ways that made sense at the time.”

“Sounds hot,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss her shoulder.

“You’re missing the point.”

“I’m appreciating the visual.” I trail my fingers up her arm. “But no, I’m not missing the point. I know what we’re up against. The press has been following me since I was twenty-three, Keegan. It’s not my favorite part of the job, but it’s part of the package. You’re no stranger to the press. Besides, I’m not leaving you here on a rooster-infested island with press lurking offshore in motorboats.”

She sighs, rolls onto her back again, and turns her head to look at me. “You make a fair point.”

“I occasionally do that.” I prop myself up on one elbow and gaze down at her. “Besides, I have a not-at-all foolproof plan for Boston.”

She snorts. “This should be good.”

That sound never fails to make me smile. “First, I get a real place, not a short-term rental. Something with security and parking and enough space for Fen to run around without encountering mysterious stains on the carpet.”

This gets a laugh and a scrunched nose from her. “Practical and less terrifying. I’m listening.”

“Tinsley knows someone in their building who’s moved out?—”

“Wait.” She stops me. “Are you talking aboutbuyinga place in Boston? As inmovingthere?”

Now I stall. Did I misread this? Her expression is throwing me for a loop. “I was contemplating it, yeah. Bad idea?” Maybe I’m more in this than she is, which feels ironic and horrifying all at once.

She catches my wrist, her expression turning serious. “What happens when this film ends? When you need to be in Vancouver or New Zealand or wherever for the next one?”

It’s the question I’ve been asking myself. The one that wakes me in the middle of the night.