Chapter 25 Jess
Jess
I’m standing in a park that’s technically “out of town” but still close enough to Manhattan that I can see the skyline if I squint, and Marco Fiore is explaining survival protocols like we’re about to trek through actual wilderness instead of a manicured nature preserve.
And it’s making me nervous.
Really nervous.
“So the satphone,” Marco’s saying, holding up a chunky device that looks like it survived Y2K. “Pre-programmed with 911, ranger station, and Filepe’s direct line.”
My palms are already sweating. The tree line behind him is making my chest tight and I’m counting breaths without even meaning to. One, two, three. One, two, three.
Focus. I need to focus on something. Anything.
Marco’s hands, for instance. The way they move when he explains things. Very capable hands. Very distracting hands.
Yes. That works.
Ben’s sitting on a picnic table swinging her legs, Frederick clutched in one hand. She’s wearing tiny hiking boots and a slightly puffy vest that makes her look like a very serious, very small mountaineer.
“Why do we need a special phone?” she asks.
“Because regular phones don’t work everywhere,” Marco explains with dad-level patience. “So if we’re ever somewhere without cell service, we can still call for help.”
And okay, here’s the thing about panic management: sometimes you have to work with what you’ve got. And what I’ve got right now is a billionaire in a Henley who’s rolled his sleeves up to reveal those absolutely ridiculous forearms.
But more importantly, staring at those forearms means not staring at the woods pressing in behind us.
My face heats up, though whether from anxiety or attraction at this point, who the hell knows. I busy myself checking the laminated card Filepe printed with all the emergency numbers and GPS coordinates. It’s color-coded and weatherproof because of course it is. Marco doesn’t do anything halfway.
“Okay, let’s practice the call,” Marco says, handing me the satphone. “Pretend something went wrong. What do you say?”
I hold the phone like it might explode. “Uh, ‘Help, we’re lost?’”
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “More specific. Name, location, nature of emergency.”
Right. Because in a crisis I’ll definitely remember to be articulate instead of screaming incoherently.
“This is Jessica Riley with Marco Fiore and Benedetta Fiore,” I recite, reading off the card. “We’re at these coordinates.” I rattle off the numbers. “We need immediate assistance for—” I pause. “What’s the emergency in this scenario?”
“Injury,” Marco supplies. “Someone twisted an ankle.”
“We need immediate assistance for an ankle injury. One adult, one child, all moving and able to walk.”
“Good.” He takes the phone back. “Now the gear check.”
He pulls out a ziplock bag from his pack. Inside: three whistles on bright orange lanyards, two cans of bear spray, and the laminated rules card I’m already holding.
When you realize this man has color-coded emergency preparedness like it’s a Michelin kitchen.
“Whistles first,” Marco says, handing one to Ben. “Three short blasts means distress. Practice.”
Ben blows her whistle with way too much enthusiasm. The sound cuts through the park like a tiny air raid siren. A jogger fifty yards away actually stops and looks over.
“Good,” Marco says, unbothered. “Again.”
She does it twice more. Frederick gets his own whistle blast for moral support.
Then Marco clips a whistle around my neck. His fingers brush my collarbone as he adjusts the lanyard and I swear to God my entire nervous system lights up like a Christmas tree.
When a casual touch during a safety drill makes you want to climb him and you’re grateful for the distraction because it’s the only thing keeping you from spiraling.
Focus, Jess.
Actually, no.
Stay exactly this distracted.
It’s working.
I clear my throat. “What about the bear sprays? Where do we put them?”
“Two cans.” He holds them up. “One in the glove box of the car. One in your bag. Check the expiry.”
I inspect the canister he hands me. It’s bright red with aggressive warning labels in three languages. “Valid through next June.”
“Good. Now the rules.” He taps the laminated card. “If we see a bear, what do we do?”
Ben pipes up immediately. “We make ourselves big and yell!”
“And we back away slowly,” I add, reading off the card. “No running. No eye contact. And we have our bear spray ready.”
“Exactly.” Marco’s looking at me now with that searching gaze that makes me feel like I’m being evaluated for something far more important than a practice drill. “You good with all this?”
No.
Absolutely not.
Because we’re standing at the edge of a tree line and even though this is barely wilderness, barely even qualifies as “outdoors” by most standards, my chest is getting tight and my palms are starting to sweat.
When your childhood trauma decides to make a surprise appearance during a totally routine safety exercise.
I force a smile. “Yeah, of course. Just not super outdoorsy, you know? More of a ‘brunch and museums’ girl.”
It’s my standard deflection. The same line I’ve been using for years whenever someone suggests a weekend cabin trip or a day hike. Like it’s a personality preference and not a bone-deep terror that lives in my nervous system.
Marco’s watching me a little too closely. “You sure?”
“Totally.” I adjust my bag on my shoulder. “So what’s next? Do we actually walk into the woods or is this more of a theoretical exercise?”
“We walk the perimeter,” he says. “Stay within sight of the car. Practice the whistle signals and the protective triangle positioning.”
The protective triangle. Right. That’s the formation where Marco’s in front, I’m with Ben in the middle, and Jag trails behind near the car. It’s the same setup they use for school pickup but adapted for “wilderness.”
As if Jag would ever trail behind in an actual wilderness situation. Then again, I’m not entirely sure if he’d bring security with him while hiking or not.
Well, whatever. I’ll take it. At least if I’m watching Marco’s shoulders I’m not watching the trees.
We start walking. The path is paved for maybe twenty yards before it turns to packed dirt. Trees close in on either side. Nothing dramatic. Nothing objectively scary.
But my breathing’s already shifting. Getting faster. Shallower.
I thought we were just going to walk the perimeter! I want to shout, but bite my lips.
I fix my eyes on Marco’s back. On the way his shoulders move. On the exact spot between his shoulder blades where his shirt pulls tight when he turns to check on Ben.
Focus on that. Not on the trees. Not on the memories trying to claw their way up.
You’re fine.
This is fine.
It’s a park.
There are literally people jogging past.
I start counting. One, two, three. But it’s not the Brave Rules count. It’s far too fast.
One two three.
Start over.
One two three—
“Jess?”
I blink. Marco’s stopped walking. He’s turned back to look at me and his expression is unreadable.
Ben’s a few steps ahead, investigating a stick.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, just—” I laugh, except it comes out too high. Too tight. “Just trying to remember if I locked my apartment door this morning. Total space cadet moment.”
He doesn’t buy it. I can tell by the way his jaw tightens just slightly.
But he doesn’t push.
Instead he says, “Ben, come back here. Let’s practice the hand squeeze.”
Ben trots back, Frederick swinging from one hand, stick from the other.
“What’s the Brave Rules squeeze?” Marco asks her.
“One, two, three!” She demonstrates on her own hand.
“Show Jess,” he insists.
Ben grabs my hand. Squeezes three times in steady rhythm. “One. Two. Three.”
And just like that, I can breathe again.
And I’m grateful.
I squeeze back. “One, two, three.”
We do it twice more. Then the breathing. “Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam.”
In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.
The woods stop closing in. The panic backs off. My hands stop shaking.
Marco’s watching this whole thing with an expression I can’t quite read. Something between concern and understanding and maybe a little bit of admiration.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Just needed a reset.”
He nods like that makes perfect sense. Like having an anxiety spike in the middle of a safety drill is totally normal and not at all humiliating.
When your boss witnesses you nearly losing your shit over a paved trail.
We keep walking. Ben practices her whistle signals. Marco points out landmarks. “See that big oak? That’s a good reference point. Always note your landmarks.”
I note his landmarks instead. The exact way his hair curls at his nape. The curve of his shoulder muscles. The way he positions himself between us and the deeper woods without even thinking about it.
These are the details that keep me grounded. These are the distractions I actually need.
I’m doing better now. The Brave Rules reset bought me enough space to function. I’m still on edge but it’s manageable.
And having Marco here... solid, competent, distractingly hot Marco... is helping more than he probably realizes.
We do the full trail loop. Practice the protective triangle. Run through the satphone script two more times. Check the bear spray expiry again because apparently redundancy is Marco’s love language.
By the time we make it back to the Range Rover, I’m tired but steady. Ben’s chattering about how Frederick was “very brave during wilderness training” and needs a snack for his excellent work.
Marco’s loading the gear back into the vehicle. I spot a shotgun case locked in the back, completely untouched. I’m not sure it’s even legal here, but hey, billionaires’ rules, right?
He closes the trunk and turns to me. “This went well. I’m thinking maybe in a few weeks, once she’s more comfortable with the protocols, I could take her out for a real hunt. Nothing major. Just a short trip. She’s getting to that age.”
My stomach drops.
A real hunt. Actual woods. Not a manicured park with jogging trails and visible skylines.
“Oh. Yeah. That sounds... great,” I manage, my voice doing that thing where it goes up at the end like everything’s a question.
It does not sound great.
“You’d come with us, obviously,” Marco continues, adjusting the strap on Ben’s booster seat. “Same protocols. Same safety measures. Just a different setting.”
Now it sounds like my personal nightmare.
“Right. Obviously.” I’m nodding too much. Definitely nodding too much. “Makes total sense.”
Actually, no, it makes ‘I’m going to have a panic attack just thinking about it’ sense.
Jag’s leaning against the driver’s door, scrolling his phone. He nods when we approach the front. “All good?”
“All good,” Marco confirms.
I buckle Ben into her car seat. She’s already halfway to a nap, slumped against Frederick with that boneless kid exhaustion that comes after any outdoor activity.
Marco’s standing by the passenger door. Waiting for me.
I walk over, trying to project “totally fine” energy even though I’m pretty sure I’ve been clocked.
“Thanks for doing this,” he says quietly. “I know it’s not your favorite thing.”
Understatement of the fucking year.
“It’s important,” I say instead. “Ben should know how to be safe. Even if we never actually go hunting or camping or whatever.”
Even though apparently we definitely are going hunting in a few weeks.
Cool cool cool.
He’s looking at me with that assessing gaze again.
“You did good today,” he says finally.
My face heats up. “Did I?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I should say something. Should acknowledge the moment. Should maybe even hint at the reason I’m being weird about this.
But I can’t.
So instead I smile and say, “Frederick approves of the training. He told me.”
Marco’s mouth twitches. “Did he.”
“Yep. Said the whistles were very effective and the laminated cards were an excellent touch.”
He grins. “High praise from a snail.”
“The highest,” I agree.
We climb into the Range Rover. Jag starts the engine. The park disappears behind us as we head back toward the city.
Ben’s already asleep. Marco’s checking his phone for work stuff. And I’m sitting in the back seat trying not to think about how close I came to completely losing it.
Trying not to think about how Marco saw me wobble and didn’t make it weird.
Trying not to think about the fact that in a few weeks, he might actually take Ben hunting for real. And I’ll have to decide whether to admit the truth or keep masking with jokes about brunch and museums.
When you realize you can’t hide forever.
When you realize maybe you don’t want to.
My phone buzzes. Text from Amara. How’d the drill go? You survive the wilderness?
I type back: Barely. But Frederick was very brave.
Too many plush snail jokes? Definitely too many.
Three dots. Then: You’re insane. Love you.
Love you, too.
I pocket my phone and watch the city grow closer through the window. Concrete and glass and very, very few trees.
My comfort zone.
My safe space.
But as we pull onto the highway, I catch Marco’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Just for a second. Just long enough to see something that might be understanding.
And I think maybe, possibly, someday, I might be able to tell him the truth.
But not today.