46. Valaria
Valaria
The scent of sea air drifts in through the cracked window of the jeep. The sky is painted in that moment before color—hushed blue and silver. Sunrise.
I feel… light.
I’ve set something down. My night terrors are gone. Something inside me has finally come home.
Pietro drives. One hand on the wheel, the other relaxed on the gearshift.
“I thought you didn’t do mornings,” I murmur.
“I don’t,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.
We’re quiet for a moment.
Then I ask, “Where are we going?”
He shrugs. “Anywhere you want. North. South. Off-grid. Into hiding. Into bed.”
I roll my eyes.
He shoots me a sideways grin. “I’m serious.”
I lean my head back, smiling.
I let the silence stretch.
I’m just… breathing.
Finally, I say, “Let’s go where the world can’t find us. Ever.”
He nods. “You got it.”
We drive past the coast, toward the hills. I tap into my phone briefly to message my assistant: Beatrice—cancel everything. Tell the Sofia team they’re brilliant. And tell Pascal he’s not dying, he’s just dramatic. Back Monday. Or maybe not.
I toss the phone into the glove box and lean back.
“Wow,” Pietro says. “Did I just witness Valaria Serrano log off?”
“Miracles do happen.”
Outside the window, the horizon softens.
He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together without asking.
“I love the miracle sitting beside me.”
Love isn’t a clean slate. It’s a map of what we’ve survived together—what we will whatever the future brings.
“Don’t fall in love with me again,” I say, teasing.
He lifts my hand to his mouth. Kisses the inside of my wrist. Slow. Sure.
“Too late.”