21. Chapter Twenty-One #3
I wait for him to say it was his job.
His responsibility.
Instead, he says, “Always.”
The word is directed at Bran.
But Luca is looking at me.
Warmth unfurls through my chest.
Bran turns back.
He is too relieved to notice that I’m wearing Luca’s shirt, Luca is shirtless, and both of us have marks that would answer several uncomfortable questions.
Or maybe the ridiculous yellow shirt has temporarily compromised his intelligence.
“What happened at home?” I ask.
Bran’s expression hardens.
“We identified the group behind the gala attack.”
“Who?”
“A radical faction tied to one of Francis’s political rivals. They hired private operators to make it look like random extremist violence.”
“And the concert?”
“Same network.”
“The pilot?”
“He had financial ties to one of their shell companies.”
My stomach twists.
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
The answer destroys the relief trying to settle inside me.
“You said he was on this island.”
“We believe he survived the crash and used the observation-station radio.”
Bran glances toward the hills.
“Our team found a transmission routed through an offshore relay late last night.”
“He contacted them.”
“Possibly.”
Luca steps closer.
“What did the transmission contain?”
“Coordinates. A partial status report.”
Bran’s jaw tightens.
“He may have told them Simone survived.”
The harbor suddenly feels too exposed.
“Then we aren’t safe.”
“No,” Bran says. “Not yet.”
I appreciate the honesty, even though it frightens me.
“We’ve detained several people connected to the attacks,” he continues. “But the person who authorized the operation hasn’t been identified, and the pilot is still unaccounted for.”
“So what happens now?”
“We extract you by sea. A secure aircraft is waiting on the mainland.”
“Back home?”
“Not directly.”
His attention moves to Luca.
“Francis prepared another protected location.”
I groan.
“Absolutely not.”
“Simone—”
“I am not being locked away again.”
“This isn’t optional.”
“It is when it involves my life.”
Luca touches the small of my back.
The contact is subtle.
Grounding.
“First we leave the island,” he says. “Then we decide the next move.”
We.
Not Francis.
Not Bran.
We.
Bran’s eyes drop toward Luca’s hand.
Then to the oversized shirt covering my body.
Then to the fading bite mark above Luca’s collarbone.
His expression changes.
Oh.
His intelligence has returned.
His gaze moves slowly between us.
“Why are you wearing his shirt?”
“Mine was ruined.”
“Why is he shirtless?”
“He gave me the shirt.”
“Why does his neck look like that?”
“Mosquitoes.”
Luca turns his head toward me.
“Mosquitoes?”
“Large French ones.”
Bran’s eyes narrow.
This conversation is approaching catastrophe.
Brock interrupts in French, reminding Luca that the sea passage will not remain clear for long.
Luca answers.
Then he looks at Bran.
“We have to move.”
Bran points one finger between us.
“This conversation is not over.”
“It hasn’t started,” I tell him.
“That’s worse.”
I leave him standing there and walk toward Claire.
She waits near the cottage with Julien beside her.
Ana?s and Rémy stand several feet away with their families.
The children look disappointed that the strangers from the sky are leaving.
I kneel and hug Julien.
He whispers something in French that I don’t understand.
Claire translates.
“He says you should come back and finish cuddling.”
Heat floods my face.
Luca coughs behind me.
Bran looks murderous.
“Cuddling?” he repeats.
“Childhood language barrier,” I say quickly.
Julien grins at Luca.
Little traitor.
I hug Claire.
“Thank you.”
“For everything.”
She presses a package of bread into my hands.
“You come back.”
“I’d like that.”
Her attention moves toward Luca.
Then she looks at me and smiles.
“I see love.”
This time, I don’t argue.
“You were right.”
Claire kisses both of my cheeks.
“I know.”
We say goodbye to Brock and the children.
Luca speaks quietly with the harbor master, giving him instructions regarding the pilot and the abandoned station. Bran’s security team leaves two men behind at the villagers’ request, dressed in ordinary clothing and under strict orders not to interfere unless the pilot appears.
When Luca returns, his hand finds mine.
Not accidentally.
Not hidden.
His fingers weave through mine in full view of my brother.
Bran notices.
Of course he notices.
His jaw hardens, but he says nothing while we walk toward the dock.
The rescue vessel waits beyond the rocks.
Its engines idle beneath the cries of gulls and the relentless island wind.
I look back once.
Brock’s cottage.
Claire waving beside the bread table.
The pool hidden beyond the trees.
The beach where Luca built our shelter.
The island stripped away everything I thought mattered and left me with the one thing that does.
Luca squeezes my hand.
“You ready?”
No.
I’m not ready for the press.
For Dad.
For Bran’s interrogation.
For the danger still waiting beyond the water.
But Luca is beside me.
And this time, he isn’t pretending his touch means nothing.
“Yes.”
We board the boat together.
The world comes back for us.
I refuse to let it take him away.