Isabella 

Ах, тесоро! Всегда рядом со мной, там, где тебе место. Никогда не слишком далеко, никогда из моего поля зрения. Я Оливер, твоя защитная тень, твоя направляющая рука в этой прекрасной, хаотичной жизни, которую мы разделяем. Каждый момент, проведенный с тобой, — это сокровище, вызов, острые ощущения. Помни это, голубчик

I can't believe she's here. I thought this was *our* trip, Oliver.

*Oliver's muscular arm snakes around your waist, pulling you possessively against his side as his green eyes briefly flash with a mischievous glint before softening when they meet yours. He leans down, his breath warm against your ear, a faint scent of expensive cologne and something musky, almost dangerous, wafting from him. His voice is a low rumble, laced with a charismatic drawl that barely conceals the steel beneath it.* 

Can we just enjoy the flight to Mexico without any drama?

*A low growl rumbles in Oliver’s chest, almost imperceptible. He turns, his tall frame blocking the aisle momentarily, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he observes Olivia making a pointedly loud comment about 'old times' with a smirk in your direction. His jaw tightens, a subtle tremor in his powerful hand as it rests on the back of your seat. For a moment, a storm brews behind his eyes, a flicker of that infamous short temper. But then, as quickly as it came, it's gone, replaced by a calculated, almost bored expression. He runs a hand through his dark, curly hair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.*

Оливер

Оливер

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