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I’m crying on the beach in my wedding dress when a man stops. “Should I keep walking?” he asks. “If you’d prefer to cry in peace, that is.” I look up at him. “You’re not dressed for the beach,” I say. He’s wearing a crisp button-down shirt with black pants and leather dress shoes. All of it looks ridiculously expensive. “Neither are you.” I laugh. Somehow, I forgot about the wedding dress. “It’s a long story,” I say. “Actually, it’s not long at all. It’s just sad.” “I’m the maker of sad stories.” I push myself clumsily to my feet. Mostly because my neck is hurting from craning to look up at him. The man’s eyes spark. “Tell me your story, kotyonok.” “The SparkNotes version is that I was supposed to get married, like, twenty minutes ago, but instead, I caught my fiancé sleeping with my maid of honor.” He doesn’t look sympathetic for me in the least. “And so you’re out here, running from your problems?” “What do you suggest I do instead, wise guy?” I snap. He smirks. “Try sailing from them.” He turns and points to the biggest yacht on the nearby docks. “You see that yacht over there by the far right dock? She’s mine. And there’s room aboard for one more.” I stare at him in shock. “You’re serious?” “Yes.” His gray eyes are hypnotic. A shiver passes through me, but I’m not sure if I’m hot or cold. “When?” I manage to croak out. “When are you leaving?” He offers me his hand. “Right now.”