After we finish our work on the sand castle, the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a golden light that flickers across the waves. The sea, a vast expanse of deep blue, stretches far into the distance, with the final rays of sunlight catching on the water’s surface. As dusk falls, the world grows still, and the only sound is the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore. It lulls me into a trance, as though nature itself is breathing in time with us, a calm we share in silence.

Our castle is an impressive feat. Its size would lead one to believe that several hands must have worked on it, yet it is the product of only two: Margaret and I. We spent the entire day sculpting and shaping it, our fingers working tirelessly in the sand until it rose tall and proud before us. We created towers and spires that stretch high toward the sky, adorned with seashells of varying sizes and starfish scattered across the windowsills. It is a testament to our time spent together, a thing of beauty born from patience and shared effort.

The grand entrance of the castle boasts cascading stairs that lead to double doors, wide enough to welcome a procession. To the right, a spiraling tower rises, crowned with a delicate spire. Small starfish are affixed to the windows, suggesting that this castle was once a residency by the sea, where the waves whispered secrets to those who lived within its walls. The left side of the castle is dominated by a darker, looming tower with crisp-edged battlements, its arched windows carved with an expert hand. The entire structure feels alive, as if it might one day rise to greet the ocean winds and storms.

I lean my head on Margaret’s broad shoulder, finding solace in the warmth there. Her shoulder, firm yet gentle, has always been a place of comfort for me, a place where I can rest my tired heart. She turns to kiss my forehead, her lips soft and warm, and then rests her cheek against my messy curls. The salt from the ocean still clings to my hair, the wind having tousled it into something wild and untamed, but Margaret does not mind. She holds me there, her presence steady, as if the world could crumble around us and she would be the last thing I’d ever need.

Above us, a flock of seagulls dive into the sea, their wings outstretched as they search for the fish swimming just below the surface. The setting sun reflects off their feathers, turning them into silver streaks against the violet sky. I watch a mother bird with her young, the chicks still clumsy but eager, diving after fish with determined cries. The mother catches a black sea bass and feeds it to one of her children, her beak gentle as she places it into the eager mouth of her offspring. The moment is tender, a reminder of the bonds that tie us to each other.

Margaret sighs, pulling me from the trance. “I cannot believe it is the last day of our stay here at Glashampton. The week has passed far too quickly. I wish we could stay here forever.”

I nod in agreement, though a knot forms in my stomach. “If only we had another week. But if we stayed too long, Edward would become suspicious. I already feel as though he’s begun to notice something… different about us. I’m surprised he didn’t insist on joining us for the week.”

Margaret lifts her head, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, unsure of how to explain. “I don’t know. Recently, when he looks at us, there’s a hardness in his eyes. It’s as though he sees something he doesn’t understand. Maybe I’m just imagining it.”

She studies me for a moment, then speaks softly, “I doubt it. You’re very perceptive, Florence. Maybe he’s just jealous, jealous of how close you are to me. He might not have that same bond with you.”

I think on this for a moment, the pieces falling into place. “That’s an interesting thought. But I never really noticed it before. I always thought I treated him well… but now that you mention it, maybe I’ve been distant with him. I never intended to be, but I’ve been so caught up in us… in you.”

Margaret smiles, a soft and understanding look in her eyes. “I think he feels it too. There’s always been something off when you two are together. It’s not natural. It’s as though you’re playing a part when you’re with him.”

I chew on her words, my mind spinning. “I suppose I’ll just have to put even more effort into it. Keep up the charade. But if you think something’s still wrong, tell me. We can’t let him suspect us. We’ve kept our secret for too long.”

Margaret nods, her expression serious. “Perhaps we should take some time apart, just for a while. Edward will think we’ve had enough of each other after a whole week at the beach. Maybe it’ll throw him off the scent.”

I agree, though my heart aches at the thought. “A month or so, maybe. But it will be difficult. There’s something about you that pulls me in. I could spend every waking moment by your side and never tire of it.”

Margaret looks at me, a quiet smile curling on her lips. “I feel the same way, Florence. But we must be careful. Let’s not make it too obvious.”

She leans in, and I meet her halfway. Her kiss is gentle, slow, as if the world around us might shatter if she’s not careful. I could lose myself in her kiss, in the feel of her lips against mine, but we pull away when the sound of laughter breaks the stillness.

I startle, my heart racing. “Did you hear that? People are nearby.”

Margaret turns her head, listening intently. “Yes, you’re right. We should go.”

We rise from our spot on the sand, gathering our belongings. With a quick glance back at the castle we built, we make our way into the gathering dusk, leaving the sandcastle to the waves. The world around us darkens, and the air grows cooler, but our pace is slow, reluctant to part from the beach. Margaret carries the picnic basket, her hand resting on the umbrella, while I sling the beach bag over my shoulder. Together, we walk back to the house, the sound of our footsteps muted by the thickening darkness.

Later that evening, I open my eyes and find myself staring into Edward’s face. The warmth of the memory lingers for a moment, but then I blink and recall where I am: with Edward, not Margaret. My heart skips a beat. Had I been lost in my thoughts for too long? Had I been thinking about Margaret, not him? What will he say?

Edward chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah, I see you’ve awakened. I thought I’d let you rest for a while. You looked so peaceful with your eyes closed. It really added something to the picture I’m drawing.”

I suppress a sigh of relief. “I didn’t realize I’d kept my eyes shut for so long.”

“It’s perfectly fine, darling. It only added to the effect. I was hoping to capture that trance-like state you were in.”

I try to calm my racing thoughts. “How long have I been out?”

Edward tilts his head, thinking. “About an hour and a half, I’d say.”

“An hour and a half?” I’m surprised, more at how vividly the memory of Margaret still lingers in my mind than at the time that’s passed. I’ll have to be more cautious. I can’t afford to let Edward suspect anything.

“Would you like to see what I’ve drawn?” Edward asks, already flipping the pages of his sketchbook. He turns it toward me, and I gasp in surprise.

It’s a pastel drawing of the sunrise, with me at the center, sitting on my towel, eyes closed, as if lost in some kind of trance. The colors blend seamlessly—pinks, oranges, yellows, and blues all swirl together, with the golden light of the sun catching the skin on my back, casting a halo around me. My French-braided hair catches the light, strands of red highlighted in the sun. The whole piece is breathtaking.

“Edward, this is beautiful,” I say, my voice soft with admiration. “How can you draw so well?”

He smiles, a little shyly. “It’s nothing really. I think I inherited it from my mother. We used to draw together when I was younger.”

“You should teach me how to draw sometime,” I say, moving closer to him, my hand brushing through his neatly groomed brown hair. He’s always so meticulous in his appearance.

Edward looks at me, his smile deepening. I lean in, the warmth of his breath close to mine, and kiss him softly, my lips brushing his. His hands find the small of my back, and he pulls me closer, his touch tender. We fall back onto the towel, the world around us disappearing as we kiss, the weight of the day slipping away.

Finally, he pulls back, his eyes intense. “You are so beautiful, Florence. Your cheeks are flushed from the sun, and your eyes…they hold so much. I love you, darling.”

My heart flutters at his words, but I force myself to smile. “I love you too, Edward. You’re perfect to me. Your face, your eyes, everything.”

He laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I don’t know about perfect, but thank you.”

We lie there for a few minutes, the silence between us comfortable, filled with the soft sound of the ocean in the distance.

Eventually, Edward rises, brushing sand from his bathing suit. I stay behind, gazing at his sketchbook, admiring the drawing once more. He picks it up, offering me his hand. I take it, feeling his large, warm hand engulf mine.

“Edward,” I say softly, “your skin is awfully dry. You should take better care of it.”

He shrugs it off with a laugh. “I’ll be fine, darling. It’s just the sand.”

We spend the rest of the evening talking, reading, and enjoying each other’s company, as we always do. But as we head inside for supper, something gnaws at the back of my mind. This is not how it should be. Edward does not know the truth. But I do.