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Chapter Text

“Sasha!  Sasha, look!”  Alina holds up the coconut with both hands.  “Isn’t this the largest nut you’ve ever seen?”

Without looking up from the newspaper he picked up from a nearby stall, Aleksander responds, “It’s a fruit, Alina.”

She frowns at the hairy ball.  It certainly looks more like a nut than a fruit.  And why would they put ‘nut’ in its name if it weren’t a nut?  Oh, well.  She returns it to its basket, next to a second coconut and a tall, thin sign indicating the price of the scant remaining ‘fruits.’  Then she watches the plain-clothes oprichniki who are ensuring their luggage is transported from the ship to the carriage that they’re taking to the resort.  Once those logistics are completed, the oprichniki have strict instructions from Aleksander not to be seen for even a second during the trip unless either he or Alina is in imminent danger.

So they’ll be able to pretend that they’re like any other newlywed couple on their month-long honeymoon.  But Alina is aware that their friends have a betting pool back in Ravka on how long it’ll be until one of the pair lets slip their true identity.  Last she heard, the best odds are on Aleksander by day five.

Speaking of Aleksander…  Alina sidles over, leaning on his arm as she reads over his shoulder.  Or at least, she tries to read over his shoulder.  The newspaper is in Kerch, the official language of the Southern Colonies.  Alina can speak it proficiently, but trying to read it makes her eyes cross.  She gives up and just asks, “Anything interesting happening on the island?”

Aleksander finishes skimming an article.  “The mayoral elections are coming up.”

“Mayoral elections?” Alina repeats, wracking her brain for what she knows of regional politics.  “I thought Kerch sent governors to all their colonies.”

“They do, except to those which are only colonies in name.  Ipanema is rich and powerful enough to demand independence in their local government, though they are still beholden to Kerch’s colonial policies.”  Aleksander carefully folds up the Ipaneman Sentinel; at least Alina can read the newspaper name.  He offers his arm to her.  “Shall we, Mrs. Zima?”  His voice lilts amusedly when he utters the alias they’ve chosen for the trip.

Their carriage is open-air, as is customary around here from what Alina can see from all the other carriages.  The lack of enclosure displeases Aleksander, but Alina eagerly gazes around their surroundings, her head swiveling every which way as she tries to take in everything.  The air is warm but dry, and a cheerful breeze wafts the aroma of fried pastries from the street vendors to her nose.  Loud, unbridled conversations bubble around the carriage as it trundles through the crowd, the mix of Kerch and the local Ipaneman dialect gushing far too quickly for Alina to comprehend.

She notices that the Ipaneman flag, boldly green and yellow and blue, is flying proudly from every stall and balcony in sight.  “Is there a national holiday coming up?” Alina wonders aloud.

“No.”  She can practically hear Aleksander’s lip curling at the next word.  “Football.”

“Football?” Alina parrots.  She’s heard that the game is extremely popular in the western lands, particularly where Kerch has established settlements.  But she didn’t think that running around kicking a ball would merit the level of patriotism and festivity evident around them.  “Just a normal game is causing all this?”

“Not just any game.  Every four years, a federation of professional teams from Kerch, the Southern Colonies, and parts of Novyi Zem meet to compete in a football tournament.  In a few days, Ipanema will be hosting a practice match with their archrival, Argeria.”

“Argeria.  That’s another one of the Southern Colonies,” Alina recalls.  “Very rich like Ipanema but on the mainland, right?”

“Correct.”  There is an undertone of pride in Aleksander’s voice, and Alina allows herself a moment to preen.

“So,” she says as she snuggles against Aleksander on the carriage bench, “how do you know so much about this football tournament?  Are you a fan?”

“Absolutely not.”  Aleksander taps his abandoned newspaper.  “It’s amazing the things you can learn if you just read the news, Alina.”

She wrinkles her nose.  Normally she enjoys reading, but something about newspapers just makes her go blegh.   “But why do I need to when I have you to tell me everything important happening in the world?”  Or at least, everything Aleksander deems important.  Alina makes sure to double-check her sources.  Her husband has been known to consider a devastating flood that killed hundreds of peasants to be a minor event.

As their carriage rolls up to the finely wrought fence surrounding the resort’s property, they spy a crowd of maybe a dozen people on either side of the front gate.  They’re holding signs that Alina can’t read, but protests look the same in any language.  Aleksander leans forward, tensing.  But once he reads the messaging on the signs, he sits back again, affecting an expression of nonchalance.

“I presume they’re not here to protest us?” Alina whispers as the carriage draws closer to the small mob.  She doesn’t think the people of Ipanema have any reason to harbor grievances against the new Ravkan monarchy.

“No,” Aleksander assures her.  “They’re protesting the resort owner.”

“Why?”

“Something about a mining operation he runs elsewhere on the island.”

The carriage passes through the protestors.  Their rhythmic chanting remains steady, and their voices sound relatively calm.  One of the protestors approaches the carriage, offering a pamphlet.  Alina instinctively takes it, and he smiles winsomely, his teeth almost blindingly white, before rejoining the others.

“Don’t encourage them,” Aleksander mutters once they’re on resort property, the protestors far behind them.

Alina sticks her tongue out at him.  When she glances down at the pamphlet, she’s unsurprised to find that it’s in Kerch.  She tosses it on top of Aleksander’s newspaper in case she feels like trying to translate it later.

The carriage coasts to a stop in front of the resort’s main building.  It has white-washed walls and graceful columns in the colonial style favored in the more recently settled parts of the island.  Palm trees line the curved driveway, providing some shade from the hot afternoon sun.  A man in a starched white uniform is standing at the elegant double doors leading to the lobby, but as soon as their vehicle slows to a halt, he is rapidly striding toward them.

“Welcome to the Hotel dos Reis, Mr. and Mrs. Zima,” he greets in Kerch.  He has an accent, but it’s slight, and he speaks slowly enough for Alina to understand him.  His offer of a helping hand is waved away as Aleksander easily disembarks then turns to help down Alina.  “My name is Ivo, and I am the manager of this establishment.  I would be pleased to personally escort you to your accommodations.”

“Thank you, Ivo,” Aleksander replies, his Kerch flawless as far as Alina can tell.  “But first, I would like to sort out some correspondence in the lobby.”

While Aleksander speaks with Ivo at the front desk, Alina is content to recline in a comfortable chaise.  One of the staff offers her a glass of icy lemon water, causing her to realize how parched her throat is.  She manages to stutter out what she thinks is ‘thank you’ in Ipaneman before slurping down the beverage.  Near her seat is a rack of brochures advertising the events and sightseeing locales on offer.  There is a Ravkan translation, and Alina starts to reach for it.

“ Huanying huanying, xiaojie! ”  Someone steps in between her and the brochure rack, and Alina retracts her hand just before she can accidentally smack the slight paunch of his belly.  The man is solidly middle-aged, with gray hair carefully combed to cover a bald spot and more wrinkles on his face than Alina’s travel-worn sundress.  He smiles welcomingly then turns to pluck one of the brochures from the rack--a Shu translation--and offers it to her.

Alina tries not to grimace.  Flustered, she says in stilted Kerch, “I prefer Ravkan.”

“Oh.  My mistake, miss.  Here,” he says, speaking in Ravkan as he swaps the brochures.  “If I may make a recommendation, you must pay a visit to Sugarloaf Mountain while you’re in Ipanema.  It’s the tall, distinctive slope jutting out in the middle of the bay, and it offers the most spectacular panoramic views of the entire coast.”

“That does sound lovely,” Alina agrees, studying the painting of Sugarloaf Mountain copied in the brochure.

“I can also provide the names of my favorite restaurants in the city center.  I’m a regular patron, so I can get the best tables at any of them at a moment’s notice--”

“Good afternoon.”  Aleksander steps beside Alina’s chaise, a bland expression on his face.  “I don’t believe my wife and I have made your acquaintance.”

Ivo rushes to their side.  “Mr. and Mrs. Zima,” he says hurriedly, “this is Senhor Pedro Guerreiro Reis, the owner of this hotel.  Senhor Reis, this is Mr. and Mrs. Zima, our esteemed guests who will be staying in the Villa Real for the next month.”

Pedro immediately turns to Aleksander, a gleam in his eyes that Alina has seen often enough during her tenure as Queen of Ravka to recognize as ‘schmoozing.’  “Mr. Zima, I am delighted to meet you at long last.  We have been eagerly awaiting you and your wife’s arrival.  If there is anything at all that you need during your stay here, please do not hesitate to ask.  Ivo here will make sure you get it.”

“Ivo has been extremely helpful already,” Aleksander says smoothly.

“I’m glad to hear it.  He will continue being so, I’m sure.”  Pedro shoots a look at Ivo before resuming his sycophantic expression at Aleksander.  “You know, Mr. Zima, your arrival is most fortuitously timed.  My family and a few close associates will be having a private dinner on my yacht tonight.  The meal will be exquisite, and we will have a wonderful view of the bay from out on the water.  I would like to personally extend an invitation to you and your lovely wife.  You can tell me all about your business in Ravka.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Senhor Reis.  We would be delighted to join.  For now, however, my wife is tired from our travels, so we would like to settle into our accommodations.”  His tone a clear dismissal, Aleksander helps Alina to her feet and they depart the lobby, Ivo quickly striding forward so he can show them the way to their villa.

“Why did you accept the dinner invitation?” Alina hisses as they step out onto the promenade where she can clearly see the aforementioned Sugarloaf Mountain.  “We only spoke to the man for two minutes, and I already don’t like him.”

“Ivo was a font of information at the front desk,” Aleksander replies, unperturbed by her displeasure.  “He told me that the dinner on the yacht tonight is also a publicity stunt.  Pedro Reis is inviting his primary opponent for the mayoral elections and someone from the press, so he can show that he is capable of playing nice.  He doesn’t have the best reputation outside of the elite circles of Ipanema, and he’s trying to fix that quickly.”

“ Sasha, ” Alina whines.  “This is our honeymoon.  We should be spending it doing fun things, not politics.”

“But politics is fun.”

Before Alina can grumble too much about that heinous opinion, they arrive at the Villa Real, and then she’s too busy oohing to complain about anything else.  Like the main building, its walls are white-washed, and palm trees sweep the walkway, with bright clay shingles lining the rooftop.  But the architectural style is more reminiscent of the beach bungalows that Alina spotted from the boat as they were docking.  Although it’s only one-story tall, it looks spacious enough to accommodate ten people who each need their personal space, let alone two honeymooners.  

The villa is also surrounded by its own personal fence, to which Ivo hands them both a key, along with keys to the actual building.  Expressionless, he explains to them in a neutral tone that the maids are scheduled to clean the villa every afternoon at one o’clock, but there is a little sign they can hang on the front door if they need privacy.  Alina suddenly finds the tropical flowers in the front garden intensely fascinating while Aleksander, with a smirk, thanks Ivo and sends the manager on his way.

“Come now, Alina,” Aleksander says as they enter the villa and shut the door behind them, “they know we’re on our honeymoon.  It’s not a surprise what we’ll be up to most of the time.”

Alina pretends to scoff as she starts exploring the living area.  “Most of the time?  I was planning on sightseeing.”  She waves the brochure she got in the lobby.  “There’s plenty to keep me occupied outside of the villa.”

“If you want to be more adventurous with our lovemaking, solnyshka, you only need to ask.”

Cheeks flaming red, Alina scurries through the living room to the double doors in the back.  She throws them open and gasps upon seeing the backyard.  A private pool!  A firepit!  Hammocks!  She darts forward, kicks off her sandals, and dips her toe in the water.  It feels wonderful.   “Is our luggage here yet, Aleksander?  I want to go swimming.”

“I’m afraid not.  It might be another hour.”

She frowns, gazing longingly at the cool, clear water.  Then she considers the high brick walls enclosing the yard, shielding them from intrusive eyes.  Alina chews on her lip as she glances back at Aleksander, who is still standing in the living room and flipping through a stack of correspondence that was already waiting for him prior to their arrival.

Be more adventurous.

Her sundress is made of breezy white cotton, scandalously sleeveless by Ravkan standards.  She purchased it on a whim when their ship made a stop at the mainland of the Southern Colonies, having already sweated through even the lightest dresses she’d packed.  Once Aleksander saw her twirling around in it in their cabin, he bought at least a dozen more--but only after showing her just how much he appreciated the sight of her in it.

The dress easily slips from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.  Her usual stays don’t fit well beneath the cut of the sundress, so all that’s left for her to remove is her pantalettes.  Those join the dress on the patio floor, and then Alina is carefully descending the stairs into the pool.  She is thigh-deep in the water when she looks over her shoulder, and she is unsurprised but pleased to see that Aleksander is watching her with utmost attention, correspondence forgotten.  She smiles innocently at him before submerging herself in the water.

Alina has maybe thirty seconds of swanning around by herself before she hears the telltale splash of her husband joining her.  A moment later he is pressed against her back, arms wrapped around her stomach as his erection pokes suggestively between her legs.

“Don’t you have correspondence to manage?” she asks breathily as her hips grind against his, eliciting a satisfying hiss from his lips.

“It can wait.”  He picks her up bodily, an act which she knows is effortless for him even outside the water, and bends her over so she’s bracing her arms against the shallow side of the pool, her white sundress lying inches from her face.  Then his fingers curl around her clit and find the precise spot that unfailingly makes her keen like an animal in heat.

Her legs flail beneath the surface, kicking currents in the water.  If Alina were in her right mind, she would be mortified by the indecent sounds echoing through the yard, all of them coming from her.  His fingers expertly slip around her nub and between her folds, following a familiar path that nonetheless steals her breath away every time.  She is brought to a peak, whimpering, but just as she starts to descend, he presses forward again, and Alina practically wails as it continues anew.

By the time he finally allows her frayed nerves to settle, she’s lost count of how many orgasms he’s given her, and her legs feel like jelly.  It’s only the buoyancy of the water and Aleksander’s arm still wrapped around her waist that keep her from sinking.  Mind blank, she allows him to steer her toward the pool stairs.  He sits on one of the steps, and then he splays her legs on either side of his hips, his cock effortlessly slipping inside her and firmly locking her in place.

“Lie back, solnyshka,” he coaxes, and he guides the arch of her spine until she is floating on her back.  She gazes dreamily up at the afternoon sun as he fucks her slowly and steadily, the water splashing from the movements where they’re joined.  Her ears are partially submerged, so his voice sounds strangely echoey as he asks, “Is this the kind of fun you had in mind, Alina?”

“Yes,” she sighs, the sound wrenching into a groan as he thrusts deeply.  His cock hits her in just the right spot, and her cunt tightens greedily around him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice strained.  “I wanted to do this slowly, Alina.  Start this vacation at a lazy pace.  But you’re making it difficult, solnyshka.”

“I don’t want lazy right now, Sasha.”  And she purposely flexes her inner muscles so that her channel squeezes around him again.

“ Dammit. ”  Aleksander’s grip tightens around her hips and he fucks harder into her.  The water splashes almost violently around them, splattering Alina’s torso where it’s exposed above the surface.  Her arms scramble for purchase somewhere, anywhere, but there is nothing she can grab onto in the water.  All she can do is wrap her legs around Aleksander’s waist and trust that he won’t let her go as her upper half is sent wildly adrift.  His fingers dig into her hips almost painfully, but she finds it perversely pleasurable as he slams roughly into her, once, twice, again and again until she feels his whole body tensing in that telltale way, letting her know he has found his climax.

He is breathing hard as he reels her in, pulling her upright.  Alina blinks as she straddles his thighs, pushing her wet hair back from her face.  He languidly presses kisses along her collarbone, and she hums in satisfaction as she drapes her arms around his shoulders.  “Isn’t that much more fun than politics?” she asks cheekily.

“I would either be insane or an idiot to say anything other than ‘yes.’”

Pedro Reis’s yacht, Sereia, is a sleek, beautiful vessel which even Alina can appreciate, despite her general lack of interest in all things naval.  As she and Aleksander make their way down the dock, Pedro steps forward from where he is standing with a woman and a younger man.  “Good evening, Mr. Zima, Mrs. Zima.  I am honored to introduce my wife, Tania, and our son, Basilio.”

Tania Reis is middle-aged like her husband, but she has made an admirable attempt at concealing that fact; powder has been expertly applied to her wrinkles, and her golden hair gleams from obsessive care.  Her dress is made of sky blue silk, and long strands of pearls drape from her neck.  Long white hair pins tipped with diamonds support her intricate updo, curls piled high on her scalp.  

Basilio seems like he ought to be around Alina’s age, but the ruddiness on his face--which she suspects is due to excessive drinking--makes him appear older than his years.  He is dressed just as richly as his parents, though Alina finds the patriotic green and yellow of his suit garish.

Pedro gestures grandly at Sereia.   “The finest luxury boat on this side of the True Sea,” he boasts.  “It was designed with the aim of minimizing the crew needed to man it.  Tonight, all we need is the captain to steer, and Ivo to propel us through the water.  He is zowa, as they say in the north.”

“Is Ivo a Tidemaker or a Squaller?” Aleksander inquires.

“Is that what you call it over there?  Eh, the water one.  Tidemaker, I suppose.  The man has his uses.  Come, let us board.”  Pedro leads them up the gangway onto the boat.

On the deck is a long dining table with formal place settings.  No fewer than three crystal glasses and five forks per person.  Alina suppresses a sigh when she sees the placard for ‘Mrs. Zima’ beside Tania, on the opposite side of where ‘Mr. Zima’ is seated next to Pedro.  And she doesn’t recognize the name assigned to her right: Srta. Estefania Ferrera.

Alina absent-mindedly returns the captain’s dashingly white smile as he greets all of his passengers.  She notices that Aleksander’s attention has been monopolized by Basilio, who is gabbing in an overly loud voice about sailing, his favorite wines, and the upcoming football tournament, somehow all at the same time.  Aleksander isn’t trying very hard to hide his pained expression.

Before she can rescue him, a distinctive click clack snaps up the gangway.  An elegant woman comes into view, wearing a shimmering violet dress that covers her from collarbone to ankle but clings almost obscenely to every voluptuous curve.  The heels of her golden shoes are impossibly high and thin, yet the woman sashays across the deck as if she were born wearing them.  

“Pedro,” she purrs, interrupting their host as he is in the middle of hissing something to a stoic Ivo.

“Stef!”  Without another look at Ivo, Pedro strides forward.  He and the woman kiss each other on the cheeks, the contact lingering a tad too long.  Alina sneaks a glance at Tania who has a bored expression on her face, but her knuckles are white as she plays with the hairpins on her head.

A new voice sounds from the gangway, distinctly irritated, as the end of a cane bangs on the deck.  The captain hurries forward to help the newest arrival, an older woman whose scowl seems permanently etched onto her face.  She glowers at the captain as she accepts his hand, muttering something to him before firmly stepping onto the deck.

“Senhora Teixeira!”  An obviously fake smile is plastered on Pedro’s face as he steps up to welcome her.  “I am so glad to see you tonight.”  The older woman snorts and spouts something in Ipaneman, which makes Pedro’s eye twitch.  Still, he manages to retain his smile as he politely takes her elbow and guides her toward Alina and Aleksander, the latter of whom has managed to make his escape from Basilio’s rambling.  “Allow me to make introductions,” Pedro declares in slow, clear Kerch.  “This is Mr. and Mrs. Zima, guests at my resort who came all the way from Ravka.  Mr. and Mrs. Zima, this is Benigna Teixeira.  She is a well-known political advocate in Ipanema, and we are both running for mayor in the upcoming election.  I expect we will have an interesting campaign season.”

Benigna eyes the two of them then opens her mouth.  Her Kerch is much more thickly accented, but Alina is able to make out a grudgingly cordial ‘nice to meet you.’

Aleksander responds, and Alina stares as perfect-sounding Ipaneman flows from his lips.  The use of her native tongue elicits a reluctant smile from Benigna, who replies shortly in kind before thumping off with her cane for a seat at the dining table.

“How many languages do you know?” Alina whispers furiously to her husband.

“Enough to get by.  I told you to brush up on some basic words in the local dialect before we left Ravka.”

“I did!  But there’s a difference between asking where the toilet is and having an intellectual conversation about the local economy.”

Everyone else seems to follow Benigna’s lead as they begin to sit down at the table.  Alina thanks Ivo as he makes his rounds pouring drinks, then she hesitantly turns toward Tania, who is already halfway through her glass of red wine.  In halting Ipaneman, Alina begins, “Good evening, Senhora Reis.  Thank you for…”  Her mind scrambles for the proper conjugation.  “For hosting us tonight.”

Tania smiles indulgently at her--and then replies in a whirlwind of Ipaneman which completely soars over Alina’s head.

As Alina just stares, uncertain how to react, a low chuckle sounds from her other side.  “Oh, be nice, Taninha,” Estefania Ferrera scolds in Kerch.  “Native speakers can barely understand your funny way of speaking Ipaneman.  Have mercy on the poor girl.”

Tania scowls at the other woman and pointedly turns to her other side, drawing Basilio into a conversation--in Ipaneman.

Estefania sips from her wineglass, eyes sparkling with amusement.  “Don’t take it personally,” she assures Alina.  “It’s me she’s snubbing, anyway.  I’m Stef.”

“I’m Lina.  And that’s my husband, Eryk.”  Alina nods in Aleksander’s direction, pleased that she remembered to use the aliases they agreed upon.  “So how do you know the Reis family?”

“I used to be Pedro’s personal secretary.”  Stef’s crimson lips slant up.  “Now I run the Ipaneman Sentinel.   It’s the main newspaper on the island.  But I still stay in touch with Pedro and his...delightful family.”

Alina doesn’t inquire further into their relationship.  She already has an idea what it really entails, and she doesn’t want any more details.  “How did you get into the newspaper business?”

“Oh, you can open any door on this island if you have the money to back it up.  And I’ve been squirreling away a lovely nest egg over the last few years.”  Stef fingers the sapphire choker around her throat.  “I could help you practice your Ipaneman if you’d like, Lina.  No judgment.  I know my Ravkan is complete rubbish.”

Not seeing the harm, Alina agrees.  After exchanging several sentences of polite greetings, Stef corrects her pronunciation of the letter s.   Whereas on the mainland it’s pronounced sibilantly, on Ipanema it sounds more like sh.   

It baffles Alina, but Stef merely shrugs and replies, “That’s just how it is.  Don’t be like Taninha over there.  She constantly wavers between s and sh.   I swear, she can’t decide whether she wants to speak ‘prim and proper’ like the people on the mainland or whether she actually wants to be intelligible to everyone around her.  To be fair, Basilio does it too, but that’s because he’s drunk half the time.”

Then Stef teaches Alina some of the local slang, including a few words which she advises, with a wink, are best used in the bedroom.

Despite Alina’s initial reservations, she discovers that the Reis family is able to set a very fine menu.  Crispy cod balls, hearty bean stew that sticks to her insides, perfectly spiced steak that falls apart in her mouth, and an endless supply of tiny, impossibly gooey cheese breads.  The meal is finished with bite-sized fudge balls, which are delicious, but Alina can only squeeze in one or two on top of her already stuffed stomach.  However, she doesn’t fail to notice that at the other end of the table, Aleksander takes more than his fair share from the communal dessert platter.

Stef excuses herself so she can gather Pedro and Benigna for an interview about their mayoral campaigns.  Meanwhile, Tania and Basilio are engrossed in a heated conversation which is making Tania gesticulate angrily at her son’s garish suit.

Alina’s husband appears at her side.  “Shall we take a stroll around the deck?”

“You’re going to have to roll me off the boat.”  Groaning, she nonetheless accepts his helping hand and gets to her feet.  

It is sunset, and the yacht is anchored in the middle of the bay, far from any other boat or landmass except the occasional rocky outcropping jutting from the water.  To one side of the yacht is the island coast, visibly thriving and awake even from this distance.  Ahead lies Sugarloaf Mountain, the landmark which Pedro insisted is a must-see, and Alina must admit that it is even more impressive in person.

She perches on the railing at the bow of the boat, taking care not to lean too far over.  “It looks way too tall and narrow to be natural, don’t you think?”

“It seems strange to our eyes, to be sure.”  Aleksander wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head.  “Do you know why it’s called Sugarloaf?”  Alina shakes her head, and he continues, “Around the Southern Colonies, it is common to sell refined sugar in the shape of a tall cone with a rounded top.  It’s called a sugarloaf, and when Kerch colonists discovered the peak in the bay, they immediately gave it the same name.”

“Did you learn that from the newspaper, too?”

“No.  I take a keen interest in sugar imports to Ravka.”

Alina rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.  “Do you think we could visit that mountain before we leave?”

“Of course.  Whatever you want, solnyshka, I’ll make it happen.”

“ Oi, moço. ”

They both look around to see Benigna tapping her cane impatiently against the deck.  She points the cane at Aleksander, who sighs and reluctantly parts from Alina.  “I should go see what she wants,” he murmurs before stepping away.

Alina resumes her stroll alone, content to enjoy the view and the balmy evening weather.  As she passes the cockpit, she lifts her hand in greeting to the captain, who offers a blindingly white smile in return.

She screeches to a halt as recognition registers in her brain.  “Wait.  I know you.  You’re that protester at the resort who gave me the pamphlet--”

Panic flashes across his face, and he hushes her frantically.  “Please, senhora!”

Alina eyes him suspiciously, bracing herself for an encounter.  “Are you here to cause trouble?”

“No.  Well, yes.  Well--not the kind of trouble you should be worried about.”  At her skeptical expression, he rushes to continue, “I’m here to publicly denounce Pedro Reis in front of the journalist woman.  He is a horrible man, and the world should know it.  But even if she doesn’t publish what I say, I have...plans.”  He glances shiftily to the side.  Alina follows his gaze and spots a large bucket of filthy, stinking slag.

“What is that? ” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

“He recently razed a nature preserve on the north side of the island so he could establish mines and drills.  What was once a place of sacred beauty is now covered in grit and reeks of smoke.  The mining operations create detritus, and he just has his workers dump it into the once-green valleys.  I promise this stuff won’t hurt him, but he’ll never be able to wear his suit again.”

Alina considers his words thoughtfully.  She doesn’t like Pedro, or any of the Reis family, but they haven’t done anything especially terrible toward her, either.  But destroying a preserve to plunder its resources?  Isn’t the man rich enough already?

“I guess,” she says slowly, “I won’t say anything.  But--”

A high-pitched shriek rends the air.  They both turn toward the sound.  Tania is standing at the railing, staring in horror at the water.  Everyone rushes to her side.  As Alina peers over the railing, she feels Aleksander standing beside her, his hand pressed protectively against her back.

A body is floating face-down in the water.  Alina recognizes the suit it’s wearing as Pedro’s.

Nearby, Ivo raises his hands.  A pillar of water surges beneath Pedro, raising his body and depositing it on the deck of the yacht.  Ivo splashes through the puddles to kneel beside his employer.  After a moment, he pronounces grimly, “Dead.”

Tania swoons, slumping against the captain, who quickly catches her and sets her carefully on a bench.  Basilio stares at the man for a moment then exclaims, “ YOU!   You’re that troublemaker, Teodoro Ventura.  Always making a nuisance on our family property.  Why the hell are you on my boat?”  Then Basilio’s face darkens.  “You did this, didn’t you?  You killed my father!”

Chapter Text

Teodoro gapes at Basilio’s accusatory finger.  As he stammers wordlessly, Basilio swivels to face an equally stunned Ivo.  “What are you waiting for?  Apprehend him before he tries to escape!”

It should be noted that the yacht is currently in the middle of the bay.  The distance to the nearest shore is impossible for any normal human to swim across.

Ivo hesitates, and Basilio’s face turns purple.  The shade clashes terribly with his green and yellow suit.  “Now!”

Without a word, Ivo moves toward Teodoro, who seems too shocked to resist as the Tidemaker grabs a length of rope and binds the false captain’s hands behind his back.  As Ivo and Teodoro meet each other’s eyes, a look heavy with meaning seems to pass between them.

Alina doesn’t have the wherewithal to dig too much into that right now, as she turns and hisses to Aleksander, “It couldn’t have been Teodoro.  I was talking to him before the body was discovered.”

“You weren’t with him the whole evening.  He could have had time before you spoke,” Aleksander points out.  “We should leave this to the local authorities, Alina.  It’s not our business.”

But Alina is dissatisfied by that prospect, even more so when the yacht makes its premature return to the island.  The local police are hastily summoned, and at a single word from Basilio, they grab Teodoro and hustle him away.  

Alina watches them marching out of view, her jaw dropped.  “They didn’t even ask any of us what happened!  They just did what Basilio asked.”

“I’m not surprised.  The Reis family is as good as royalty in Ipanema.”  Aleksander looks remarkably unconcerned by the strong possibility that an innocent man has been arrested for a murder he didn’t commit.  “We should return to the resort.”

“No, we have to do something!  We can’t just--”

“Alina,” her husband says patiently, “what is your plan?”

The question makes her pause.  “Um…”

“Say you barge into the police station right now and demand that they release Teodoro.  You could give them your eyewitness account, but then it would be your word against Basilio’s.”

“Then we tell the police to interview everyone else on the yacht.”

“Everyone else being Basilio, his mother, his father’s mistress, their family’s employee, and a political rival.  Not to mention that the real culprit must be one among their number.”

Alina bites her lip.  He has a point.  Almost everyone’s accounts will probably be biased.  “But I can’t just let Teodoro be framed for a murder that I know he didn’t do.  Maybe…  Maybe we should tell the police who we are.  They would have to listen to us then.”

“They would,” Aleksander agrees.  “It would also significantly complicate the situation.  We would be using our political credit to get our way, just as much as the Reis family uses theirs.  Being king and queen doesn’t mean we can do whatever we want.  We would need to alert Os Alta about these events and include them in our actions going forward.  Are you prepared to escalate to that level, Alina?”

Once, Alina would have replied with a definitive yes.  It isn’t fair to let an innocent man languish in a cell, no matter how much of an inconvenience rectifying the situation might cause herself.  But she has managed to learn something of tact and politicking in recent months.  She tries to remind herself that this isn’t a black and white situation.  Surely there’s a way she can help Teodoro without bringing the Ravkan government into the mix.

“And,” Aleksander adds casually, “once our identities are revealed, we’re going to be invited to a whole lot more political dinners, although they probably won’t all come with murder.”

Ick.   Alina scrunches her nose.  “Then we’ll have to figure out who the real culprit is ourselves,” she decides firmly.

Despite Alina’s anxiety and excitement about the recent murder and the prospect of solving it, all the recent travel has exhausted her and sends her into a deep slumber as soon as they return to their villa.  She is chagrined when she wakes up late the next morning--a whole evening of investigation lost!  But she tries to console herself with the thought that at least she is very well-rested and full of energy.

Also, breakfast.

Aleksander is already up and dressed, even though Alina is certain he went to bed after her.  He is reading this morning’s edition of the Ipaneman Sentinel as he munches contentedly on a piece of cake.

“Cake for breakfast, Sasha?  Really?” Alina teases as she sits down beside him.

“It’s a typical breakfast food here,” he says loftily, quickly turning to press a kiss to the top of her head before returning his attention to the newspaper.  “The front page story is about Pedro’s murder, unsurprisingly.  But not many details yet.”

As Alina listens, she occupies herself with selecting her own breakfast.  The table practically groans beneath the weight of all the fresh fruit, some of which Alina can’t even recognize.  She decides to try a bit of everything, as well as a bread roll and some cold cuts.  And what little cake that her husband has left for her.

“Coffee?” he offers.

She glances at the bitter beverage and grimaces.  “No, thank you.”  

He shrugs, and she watches as he proceeds to pour himself a cup and then spoon sugar into it.  One, two, three…  When the cup is eventually more sugar than coffee, he finally looks satisfied and begins to drink.  After a few sips, he sets his cup back down.  “I was thinking we could just take the day to relax.”

Alina frowns as she swallows a mouthful of berries.  “We have to investigate, Aleksander.”

He sighs, as if hoping she had forgotten about the whole murder thing.  “Or we could--” he begins to suggest before seeing the look on her face, and he sighs again.  “Very well.  How do you wish to begin?”

Perhaps visiting Teodoro at the police station and interviewing him?  As Alina mulls it over, however, she wonders if two tourists visiting the local jail would attract too much unwanted attention and tip off the real culprit.  With a guilty pang, she reasons that Teodoro can wait a day or two before sharing his side of the story.  As Aleksander pointed out the previous night, the real culprit must have been another person on the yacht.  There was simply no way for someone to sneak on board that far out in the water and then sneak back off.

“Stef told me that she often spends her mornings sunbathing on the resort’s private beach,” Alina recalls.  “And she mentioned that Tania has the same habit, so they usually have to be careful not to pick a spot near each other.”

“A beach day?”  Aleksander folds up his newspaper.  “Splendid idea.”

Having spent most of her life in landlocked East Ravka, Alina has not had much opportunity to visit the beach.  She did have a swim in the lake a few times in her childhood, and being children, she and the others simply stripped to their underclothes before diving into the water.  West Ravka has more of a beach culture, but Alina has never been to any of their seaside resort towns.  All that to say, she isn’t entirely certain what one typically wears to the beach.

Still, she’s inclined to be suspicious when she unpacks the beachwear which Aleksander ordered from a local boutique at their last port stop.  She picks up the flimsy red fabric and holds it up, contemplating the coverage--or lack thereof--it will provide.  The top piece is held up by only a strap at one shoulder and completely bares her belly.  The bottom piece is an airy skirt--with drawers sewn underneath--which seems modest at first glance, but the slits at the sides ensure that her legs will be on display as she walks.

“Aleksander, what is this?”

He returns to the room, already changed into his own outfit.  His clothes are black--of course--a loosely belted vest and flowing pants which end several inches below his knees.  “A bathing suit.  Do you not like the color?”  

“The color’s fine.  It’s everything else about it.”

Aleksander casts an assessing glance at the outfit.  “I think you would look lovely in it.  But I’m sure you could wear one of the sundresses instead if you prefer.”

Alina considers it.  The swimwear would absolutely be considered lingerie in Ravka.  But then, they’re not in Ravka, are they?  And she’s pretty sure she glimpsed people wearing something similar on the beach when they were on their way to the yacht last night.  “It’s fine.  I’ll wear it.”  

The bathing suit is a snug but comfortable fit.  She tugs gently at the gleaming fabric, wondering how it will hold up in the water.  “What is this made of?  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it before.”

“It’s a blend of very fine wool and sea silk.”

“Sea silk?  Like the silk from Shu Han?”

“No, Shu silk is produced by silkworms.  Sea silk is produced by a certain type of mollusk which is only found in warm tidal waters, like the ones around this island.  It is very much a luxury.  Most bathing suits around here are made of wool only.  The sea silk adds a cooling quality, in addition to the unique sheen you can see in the fabric.”

Well, if sea silk is made by mollusks, then Alina figures it should hold up well in the water.  Then, to complete the outfit, Aleksander hands her a matching cover-up made of linen to wear when she’s not in the sea.  It’s still more skin than Alina is accustomed to revealing, but she feels comfortable enough to leave the villa, arm in arm with Aleksander.

As they walk closer to the beach, Alina relaxes upon seeing that most of the beachgoers are in fact wearing similar garb.  The sun is in full force, warming the white sands beneath their sandaled feet, but the sea breeze carries a pleasant coolness and salty scent towards them.  Aleksander leads her toward a private, tent-like pavilion--he calls it a cabaña--designated for the two of them.  It has curtained walls on its four sides, all of which are currently raised, revealing the cushioned lounge chaises and small tables arranged on its wooden floor.  Although the cabaña isn’t completely secluded, it is still a respectable distance away from its closest neighbors, allowing them a semblance of privacy.

As they settle onto the chaises, a server appears as if out of nowhere to inquire if they want any refreshments.  While Aleksander places their orders, Alina busies herself with brushing the sand off her feet.  She suspects it’s a futile effort, as she will most likely be traipsing across the beach again very soon.

As the server departs, Alina looks up to see that Aleksander is holding a bottle right in front of her face.  “What’s that?”

“Suncream.  One of David’s inventions.  It protects your skin against sun damage.”

She wrinkles her nose as she gets a whiff of the pungent ointment.  “I’m the Sun Summoner.  I think I’m fine.”

“The light you summon and the actual sun’s rays are different.”

“It smells bad.”

Aleksander looks unmoved.  “I’ve seen many people who have constantly exposed themselves to the sun.  At best their skin ends up prematurely wrinkled.  Sometimes they develop lesions, red bumps across their skin.  At worst, these lesions eventually spread to their organs and cause organ failure.  Do you really want an eternity of that, Alina?”

She gapes at him, uncertain if he’s exaggerating to scare her into compliance.  But his face is deadly serious as he continues to hold out the bottle.

Alina puts on the suncream.

The suncream isn’t so bad, she admits to herself.  After a few moments, the smell no longer registers with her.  She easily slathers up her limbs and her front, but her back requires some uncomfortable contortion.

Without prompting, her husband takes the suncream in hand and begins to rub it on her shoulder blades.  Despite the soothing, repetitive pressure, Alina tenses as her husband’s fingers trail down her skin, dipping beneath the fabric straps on her back.  The contrasting sensation of his warm hands and the cool cream makes her shudder; he says nothing, but he surely must have noticed.  His fingers glide along her spine and lower back, raising goosebumps.  And then, daringly, his fingers begin to slip beneath her waistband.

Alina feels compelled to speak, even though her body is delighting in the experience.  “Sasha, we’re in public.”

“Just being thorough.”  When he removes his hands from her person, she turns around just in time to catch a glimpse of his--dare she say-- cheeky grin.

The server reappears, sets down some cups and dishes on the little table between their chaises, then disappears once more.  Alina picks up one of the tall curvy glasses and peers at the creamy golden liquid within.  A slice of pineapple and a cherry are wedged onto the rim of the glass.  “What is this?”

Aleksander is already a third of the way through his drink.  “It’s called a piña colada.  It has pineapple, coconut, and rum.”

Alina tries the beverage and finds it pleasantly sweet and cold.  But just as she’s settling back in her chaise to relax, she recalls with a start her true purpose this morning.  The investigation!   She sits up straight and looks around the beach, hoping to catch a glimpse of either Stef or Tania.  Fortunately, the beach--private and accessible only to resort guests--is less than crowded, despite the perfect weather for sunbathing.  It doesn’t take long for her gaze to land on a cabaña not too far from theirs where Tania is reclining in a powder blue cover-up.

“Be right back,” she calls over her shoulder to Aleksander.  Without waiting for a response, she shoves her sandals back on and crosses the sand to Tania’s cabaña.

Tania doesn’t seem to notice Alina’s approach at first.  Alina has to clear her throat a few times before the other woman finally lifts her tinted glasses--an accessory which Alina has noticed is popular among the beachgoers.  “Senhora Zima,” the blonde greets.  The smile on her pink painted lips is more pleasant and sincere than any expression she wore the previous night.

“Senhora Reis.”  In slow, careful Kerch, Alina continues, “I want to offer my condolences for your loss.”

“Oh.  Yes.  Thank you.”  Tania lets the glasses fall back into place on the bridge of her nose.  Her Kerch is much better paced and clearer than it was yesterday.  “Last night was difficult for my son and me.  Basilio’s father was very important to him, you know?”  Alina makes the appropriate sympathetic noises.  Tania continues, as she twirls a bone-white hairpin holding up her bun, “I couldn’t sleep at all.  I just kept seeing my beloved Pedro’s body floating in the water.”

“It must have been terrible to be the one to discover him in the water,” Alina agrees.

“Oh, it was!”  Tania presses a hand to her forehead.  “That horrible, horrible look on his face.  And then the captain--the fake captain, I suppose--held me with the same hands that killed my husband!  He could have killed me too!”

Alina quashes her instinct to come to Teodoro’s defense.  Instead, she says lightly, “It sounds like you and your husband had a wonderful marriage.  Do you have any advice for some newlyweds?”

Tania preens.  “Of course.  First, it is important that you give him space to indulge his little hobbies.  It keeps him happy, and you get to have your own free time away from him.  You get sick of each other much less quickly.”

“I see…  But you and your husband were still close?  You told each other about all the important things in your lives?”

“Well…”  Poorly hidden annoyance flashes across Tania’s face.  “That is a good goal,” the older woman acknowledges.  “You should strive for it.”

Alina affects her best expression of wide-eyed innocence.  “Is it difficult?  Please don’t tell me you had problems with it, or I’ll have no hope at all.”

Tania huffs but doesn’t seem at all reticent as she elaborates.  “I came from a family with lots of money, of course.  And Pedro had plenty of his own money.  We can’t expect to tell each other about everything that we buy.  We’d spend more time talking about it than doing actual shopping.  But there’s a difference between just buying a yacht versus buying an entire sports team, you know?”

Actually, Alina doesn’t know, but she nods anyway.  “That must have been difficult.  Did he at least buy you nice gifts?”

Tania brightens.  “He did!  Such lovely clothes and jewelry.  And he knew that I was always happy to receive another beautiful hairpin.”  She pulls out the one currently in her bun.  “Made of real ivory, you know.  From the mainland.”  Then her expression darkens again, evident even with her tinted glasses covering half her face.  “But he always gave her better gifts,” she mutters, so lowly that Alina is uncertain if she’s meant to hear.  “Ugh, and there she is, again!   On my beach.”

Alina follows her gaze and sees Stef, not too far away under her own cabaña.  Stef is wearing a bathing suit which only just covers all the necessary parts.  Alina doesn’t even own any lingerie as skimpy as what Stef has on.  But she reminds herself sternly that Ravkan standards don’t apply here, and there are several other women--and men, for that matter--who are wearing something similarly...sparse.  Alina makes her excuses to Tania, who seems to have already forgotten about her in favor of grumbling about Stef, then takes the circuitous route to Stef’s cabaña so Tania doesn’t see her beelining for the other woman.

Stef doesn’t lift her head or indicate that she notices Alina’s arrival.  Still, once Alina is within earshot, the other woman smiles and says lazily, head still perched on her pillow, “So nice to see you again, Lina.”  She pats the empty lounge chaise beside her.  “Come, sit next to me.”

Accepting the seat, Alina stretches her legs in front of her.  “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well, all things considered.”  Stef turns onto her side so she’s facing Alina.  “Are you asking because of Pedro?”  Alina nods.  “He was dear to me, but I certainly wasn’t in love with him.  It was a shock, but my heart will recover quickly.”

“So, you were his…”

“Lover,” Stef confirms matter-of-factly.  “It didn’t start until after I quit being his secretary.  Not that it matters.  These things happen.”

Alina tries not to frown.  She likes Stef, but…  “You don’t…  You knew he was married…”

Stef wags a finger.  “First of all, Pedro was just as complicit as I was.  Second, Tania knew exactly what she was getting into when she married him, and it wasn’t a faithful husband.”  She reaches over to pick up her drink on the table.  “Besides, she’s had her own fair share of fun over the years.  So all three of us were equally terrible.”

Trying not to frown, Alina replies, “Well, Tania definitely feels like the wronged person here.”  And Alina can’t ever imagine herself knowingly marrying someone who would be disloyal to her.  Aleksander is far from perfect, but he worships her even more fervently than the most devoted followers of Sol Koroleva.

“Of course she does.  Every kruga that Pedro spent on presents and outings for me was one fewer kruga she would get in her own inheritance once he died.”  The faintest smirk plays on Stef’s crimson lips as she examines her manicured nails.  “If she knew the size of the nest egg I’ve saved up from Pedro’s patronage, she would fling herself from the top of Sugarloaf Mountain.”  Then Stef slants her eyes slyly toward Alina.  “Are you getting the answers you’re looking for?”

Alina blanches.  “What--”

“I’m a journalist, Lina.  I can tell when someone is fishing for clues.  Don’t worry, you’re doing a good job.”  Stef winks.  “Shall we discuss my alibi for Pedro’s death next?”

It only takes a few seconds for Alina to determine that there is no use prevaricating.  “Alright.  What were you doing when Pedro died?”

“I shall tell you,” Stef says, tapping her nails on her drink glass, “if you tell me why you’re asking around about this.”  Alina eyes her suspiciously.  “I’m about to tell you sensitive information.  I think it’s only fair.  Besides, if I were guilty, I would already be tipped off to your investigation.  You might as well get something out of it.”

Alina ponders Stef’s words.  She doesn’t entirely trust Stef; she barely knows the other woman.  Then again, what Stef is asking from Alina isn’t a very high price.  Telling Stef that she believes Teodoro is innocent and wrongfully arrested wouldn’t be a particularly risky move, especially not since Stef is already aware that Alina is snooping around.  

“I was speaking with Teodoro for several minutes before Pedro’s body was found.  He couldn’t have killed him.”

Stef nods in understanding.  “But the police aren’t just going to let him go on your word alone, not when Basilio was so adamant about Teodoro being guilty.  Well, I must applaud your morals, Lina.  It wouldn’t affect you at all to just let Teodoro stay in jail, and it would probably be easier to just enjoy your honeymoon.”

With a guilty pang, Alina wonders what Aleksander is up to right now.  Hopefully just relaxing?  But Stef is speaking again, and she has to focus.

“I was deep in conversation with Ivo,” Stef tells her.  “Pedro was recently involved in a big business matter which Ivo couldn’t allow himself to keep quiet about.  But I didn’t get the details, unfortunately.  We were still negotiating the price when Tania started screaming about Pedro in the water.”

Alina furrows her brow.  “ Pedro’s business matter?  I thought you and Pedro were close.  You didn’t already know?”

Stef laughs lightly, the sound almost chime-like.  “Pedro and I didn’t tell each other everything.   Where would be the fun in that?”  She sighs, reclining against her lounge chair again.  “Whatever Ivo had to say, it’s not important right now.  Pedro’s death is what everyone wants to talk about right now, so that’s what my newspaper will talk about.  But I like you, Lina, so I won’t say anything about your investigation.  At least, not until something juicy happens.  Then you must promise to tell me first, hm?  I am very interested to see whether you discover the real killer.”

After a few more minutes of idle chatter, Alina makes her excuses and hastens back to her and Aleksander’s cabaña.  Her husband is still there--she didn’t expect him to have left while she was gone, but it’s a relief nonetheless--and has finished his piña colada.  He has also finished most of hers.

His nose is stuck in a book.  He doesn’t look up as she re-enters the cabaña.  She picks up her mostly empty glass and turns to him teasingly.  “I don’t remember drinking this much before I left.”

“The ice was melting,” he replies in a calm voice with no emotional inflection.

She puts the glass back down.  “I managed to talk to both Tania and Stef.”

“Wonderful.  Perhaps you would like to talk to Ivo next?  I believe he’s usually stationed in the lobby.”

His voice never varies from its steady tonelessness.  Alina frowns.  Some gut instinct tells her that his affected calmness is actually concealing...upset?  She doesn’t think she said or did anything wrong before she left to speak with Tania.  All she did was tell him she would be right back, and then…  

Ah.  

“I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly earlier, Sasha.”  He doesn’t say anything, but she catches his eyes flickering toward her from behind his book.  “It was very rude, especially after you ordered us such nice drinks and snacks.”  She crosses over and perches on the edge of Aleksander’s chaise.  “Can you forgive me?”

He sighs and finally lowers his book.  “Of course I can, Alina.  You are well within your rights to come and go as you please.”

“Yes, but it was still kind of rude, wasn’t it?”  She stretches out on his chaise until she’s half sprawled on top of him, their limbs pressing together.  “I’m such a terrible wife for neglecting my husband on our honeymoon.”

The suggestiveness in her voice cannot be mistaken.  She feels the way Aleksander’s muscles coil and tense beside her.  His own voice is strained as he inquires, “Shall we return to our villa?”

They could.  But Alina is feeling...daring.  Her eyes land on a nearby cord hanging from the fabric ceiling of the cabaña.  A quick tug and the curtains roll down on all four sides, leaving the two of them in shady privacy, obscured from the view of their fellow beachgoers.

Aleksander’s dark eyes gleam.  “You’re taking an unusual amount of initiative.”

“You were the one who said that if I want to be more adventurous, I only need to ask.”  She clambers over until she is straddling his hips.  “Unless, this isn’t to your liking?”

“I like…”  He groans as she rolls her hips against his.  “I like it very much.”

Alina moves her hands to the opening of his swim trunks where she can feel a distinct hardness, which she frees with no small amount of eagerness.  “That’s good.  I don’t think you’d have much fun trying to walk back with this.”  He reaches for her own garments, but she twists out of reach.  “Not yet, Sasha.  I want to make up for my earlier neglect.”

She slides farther down the chaise until she’s at the perfect position to bend her head over his hips.  She presses a feather-light kiss to the tip of his erection, and a shiver ripples along the length of his body.  When she closes her lips around him, he makes an obscene groan.  Alina briefly wonders if any passersby can hear him.  The thought that some stranger might know what they’re doing in the cabaña, rather than making her cringe with shame, in fact sends a thrill up her spine.  She feels herself growing wetter; as she presses her thighs together, her tongue swivels roughly around the girth of Aleksander’s cock.

Her husband hisses, the sibilant sound bursting with pleasure.  His fingers entangle themselves in Alina’s hair, not ungently, wordlessly encouraging her eager ministrations.  As his breathing becomes more ragged, Alina herself becomes desperate for relief, any kind of relief.  But when she begins to grind herself against his leg, Aleksander tenderly draws her attention and urges her to raise her head.

“Come here, solnyshka.”

She crawls forward until her knees are around his hips again.  As he pulls her in for a deep, searching kiss, the fingers of his other hand dart beneath her skirt and rub her through the thin fabric of the drawers covering her cunt.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs against her mouth.

“Mm-hmm.”  

“But you haven’t been in the water at all, have you?”

“No oooooo …”  Her voice draws out into a whine as he pulls her drawers to the side, and his fingers come into direct contact with her clit.  They’re close enough to the water that they can hear the waves, and he strokes her almost in tandem with each crash of the tide upon the shore.

Groaning, she wraps her fingers around his cock and guides him into her.  He slides inside her with a most pleasant friction.  His thumb never ceases to swirl around her clit in that repetitive, maddening motion, even as she begins to rock back and forth so that he can fuck the spot deep in her channel which never fails to give her white-hot pleasure, again and again.  With his free hand, Aleksander seizes the fabric of her top and pushes it up until it is scrunched above her breasts.  His head bends forward so that his mouth can claim the soft flesh, and she whimpers at the delightful tugging on her nipples as his teeth scrape the sensitive peaks just the way she likes it.  Every tug sends another jolt through her, and she feels herself tightening around his cock.

Their orgasms strike at the same time, and Alina hurriedly yanks up his chin and presses her mouth against his in a bid to muffle her cries.  She isn’t entirely certain if she’s successful, but any thoughts of potentially scandalized passersby are far from her mind as her own climax fades.  Instead, she is far more focused on the way Aleksander suddenly grabs her waist, his clenched teeth beneath her lips, and his hips pushing roughly against her thighs in one final thrust before he exhales a shuddering breath against her mouth, all tension seeping from his body.

Alina collapses on Aleksander’s chaise beside him.  It’s a tight fit, but she’s more than happy to snuggle close to him.  The sea breeze whisking through the gaps in the curtains brings welcome relief to their warm skin, damp with sweat.  Aleksander wraps one arm around Alina, his fingers playing with the loose tendrils of hair near her shoulder.  She lies there, deeply content as she listens to the constant rhythm of the waves against the sand.

Eventually, the dryness of her throat compels her to stir.  They put their appearance back in order, their movements languid and unrushed, before raising the curtains again.  At her request, Aleksander dutifully orders her another piña colada.  It tastes even better this time around.

Later, after they’ve both bathed and changed into fresh clothes, Aleksander goes to the resort lobby to sort through more correspondence from Ravka.  Alone in the villa, Alina jots down notes from her conversations with Tania and Stef earlier.  Nibbling on her lip, she contemplates the various relationships that Pedro had with Stef and the other guests, and she wishes she had a visual to depict the increasingly complicated web.

In the villa kitchen, there is a board hanging on the wall with various leaflets pinned to it, advertising the resort’s amenities and other nearby attractions.  Alina removes the paraphernalia and replaces it with her own slips of paper.  When Aleksander returns, it is to the sight of Alina carefully stringing sewing thread between a piece of paper that reads STEF and another paper reading PEDRO.

“What’s this?” he inquires, watching her work.

“I’m outlining how all the suspects knew Pedro.”  Alina labels the STEF-PEDRO string with another paper that says LOVERS.   “I’m also listing anything I know about their motives or alibis.”

Aleksander steps forward to take a closer look.  He raises an eyebrow at the sight of the SASHA paper.  “I see that I’m on here as well.”

Alina flaps her hand at him.  “For thoroughness.  The culprit had to be someone on the yacht, so I’m just listing everyone who was there.  See, I put Teodoro on there too, even though I’m sure he didn’t do it.

“Where’s your name?”

She glares at him.  “Okay, I know that I definitely didn’t---you know what?  Fine.”  She slaps on another piece of paper that says ALINA.   “Happy?”

“Just being thorough.”  Then he sighs, a touch dramatically as he gazes at the board.  “If I’d known that you would be so engrossed in a murder mystery, I would have arranged one of my own as a romantic gesture.”

Alina throws a spool of thread at his head.