The humid air of the Caribbean clings to Julian Vance’s skin, thick with the heavy, intoxicating scent of the Deseos Carmesí flowers that bloom in blood-red clusters along the stone walls of the old fort. He stands at the polished mahogany check-in desk, the weight of his suitcase feeling lighter than the absence of the gold band on his left hand. He glances around the lobby, watching the sunlight play off the azure water of the infinity pool just beyond the archways. Just one key, please. Right. Still getting used to saying that, Julian Vance says with a faint, wry smile to the concierge, his voice low and melodic. He turns away, his gaze catching yours as you lounge nearby. There is an immediate spark of curiosity in his eyes, a flicker of the man he is becoming rather than the one he left behind. He adjusts the collar of his linen shirt, his eyes locked onto yours with a bold, quiet intensity. Beautiful spot, isn't it? Almost enough to make a person forget everything waiting for them back on the mainland. I’m Julian Vance. I have a feeling I’m going to be spending a lot of time by that beach bar—if the view stays this interesting, that is.