“You know, if you want to know about that kind of thing, you should talk to Riley or Sasha.”

“Oh, I know about sex. It’s not so different in my world. We can have sex as we like. It’s a bright side.”

He had to laugh. “Definitely qualifies.”

“But when we find our mate, when we pledge, there’s no other after. Like Bran and Sasha, there is only one.”

“That’s nice. It’s what most people hope for.”

“So there has been sex for you, but no mate.”

“There you go.”

The way went narrow, with buildings closing in. He distracted her from talk of sex by pointing to a shop window.

“Oh, we can come back to shop! I have the itch.”

“Tell me. You’ve always got a shopping itch.”

“No, no, the payment. The . . . scratch!”

Though he grinned, he draped an arm over her shoulders to steer her away from a shop window. “Right.”

“Look at the pretty food.”

Pastries and little cakes, pretty as jewels, tempted behind the glass.

“We should definitely grab some pastries to take home. And down there? Gelato.”

“What is it?”

“Outstanding.”

“Outstanding,” she repeated as they navigated the steep, narrow street.

Sawyer took her hand. The retail shops might not be open yet, but he’d had the experience of shopping with her in Corfu, and knew she could run off impulsively, like a terrier after a squirrel.

“I’ll buy you a gelato on the way back,” he promised.

“Thank you.”

“But we’ve got to head straight to the boat now.”

“This village? It’s all very big, and very small. They have vegetables and fruit there—” She pointed to a stand. “Look at the colors, the shapes. I don’t know what some of them are. Are they all for eating?”

“Yeah. Some as they are. Some you want to cook first.”

She looked at everything, absorbed everything. He found it part of her charm. She ran her fingers over the walls of buildings to test the texture, would surely have run after a stray cat if he hadn’t had a good grip on her. But he managed to steer her along, keep up with the others as they passed people sitting at tables outside cafes with their little breakfast cakes and strong coffee, through a cluster of colorful homes, beyond the hotels with their awnings and umbrellas, and toward the boats and piers and docks.

“There.” Riley pointed toward a boat, much like they’d used in Corfu.

The . . . Annika had to dig for the name, but found it. The rigid-hulled inflatable.

Then Riley nodded toward a skinny man with a lot of teeth who walked toward them. The many teeth in a wide, wide smile made Annika think of a shark.

“I’ve got this.”

Riley strode forward, began an animated conversation in Italian. Annika recognized some of the words, and some of them were rude ones.

Sasha took out her sketchbook, and started to draw the world around the marina—the spread of awnings, tables, buildings, the stack of buildings climbing up to the tall, tall hills.

“He wants more money,” Doyle told them. “She’s telling him, in various ways, to stick it.”

Obviously confident in Riley winning the day, Doyle swung onto the boat.

“She said—” Annika struggled for the words. “Something about his ass and a hole.”

On a laugh, Sawyer tugged her toward the boat. “She called him an asshole. It’s an insult.”

“An asshole makes a bargain then tries not to keep it.”

“Among other asshole behavior.”

Riley came back, and the skinny man didn’t show as many teeth. “Fabio, my team. Team, Fabio. The dive club’s just down there. Fabio’s graciously agreed to give me a hand with the equipment, but we could use a couple more.”

“I’ll go with you. Come va, Fabio?”

Fabio showed Sawyer more teeth. “Bene.”

“I’ll go with them.” Bran kissed Sasha on the forehead, strolled away with Sawyer.

It didn’t take long. They wheeled back the tanks and the wet suits and the equipment the others needed to survive under the water. And a cooler full of ice and water, and even some of the fruit juices she liked, and the Cokes—she liked them, too.

While they loaded it, secured it, there was a lot of talk in Italian, but without the rude words now.

And at last—at last—they were all on board, and skinny Fabio released the ropes that held them to the dock.

Riley tapped two fingers to the brim of her hat. “Ciao, Fabio. You fuckhead,” she added in a mutter.

“A fuckhead is an asshole?”

Riley tipped down her shady glasses so her tawny eyes laughed into Annika’s. “A fuckhead is a really big asshole. My friend Anna Maria, who is neither asshole nor fuckhead, says we can moor the RIB at the dive club while we’re here. It’ll make loading and unloading easier.”

Riley walked forward to what they called a wheelhouse, where Doyle worked the controls. “I pilot today, remember?”

“Just getting us away from the fuckhead.” But he stepped aside, gave her the wheel.

Then they were skimming over the water, nearly as good as being in its heart. Doyle stepped out of the wheelhouse to go over the equipment.

“I don’t need the tank,” Annika began.

“Better if you gear up, like the rest of us.”