15. Chapter Fifteen #2
He glances toward the darkening tree line.
“The pilot headed inland. Until I know where he is, we remain near the beach and keep the fire concealed.”
My gaze moves toward the trees.
“You still think he’s dangerous.”
“I know he abandoned two injured passengers after a crash he walked away from without visible difficulty.”
His voice becomes colder.
“And he carried something long enough to leave a drag mark in the soil.”
“A weapon.”
“Possibly.”
The fear returns.
Luca notices.
“We aren’t discussing that tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because you need food, water, and sleep.”
He says it with such certainty that part of me immediately believes we’ll survive.
He always does that.
He turns decisions into facts.
I follow him back to the shelter.
The emergency case rests behind the rocks, concealed beneath branches. Luca opens it and removes a foil-wrapped ration bar.
It’s not much larger than my palm.
He hands it to me.
I cradle it like an emerald.
“This is all we have?”
“For tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“I’ll find something you can eat.”
“What if you don’t?”
His eyes meet mine.
“I will.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
I tear open the wrapper.
The bar tastes like compressed sawdust held together with artificial chocolate, but I’m too hungry to care.
I take an enormous bite.
Then another.
By the time I remember Luca hasn’t eaten either, only a small section remains.
I look at the fish.
Then at him.
“Sorry.”
I hold out the final piece.
“You eat it.”
“You need it more.”
“You were in the crash too.”
“I’m eating the fish.”
“But it isn’t cooked.”
“It will be.”
He folds my fingers around the ration bar.
“Finish it.”
There’s no point arguing with that tone.
I eat the rest.
It barely touches my hunger, but the trembling in my hands eases.
Luca begins preparing the fish well away from me, using the survival knife from the emergency kit. He works with efficient, practiced movements.
I watch until the process becomes too graphic.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
“Training.”
“What kind of bodyguard training involves gutting fish?”
“The kind that assumes people occasionally become stranded.”
“That happens often?”
“No.”
“Excellent. I was worried this was normal.”
When he finishes, he rinses his hands and the knife in the shallows, then returns to the shelter.
He removes his wet shirt.
My ability to form thoughts disappears.
His back is broad and sharply defined, tapering into a narrow waist. The tattoo covering his left arm is fully visible now, along with the dark vertical line of script running down part of his spine.
I remember when he got the sleeve.
I was seventeen.
He and Bran stumbled into the estate at three in the morning, drunk enough to wake half the house.
I found Bran unconscious on the living-room floor.
Luca stood shirtless in front of the open refrigerator, drinking milk directly from the carton.
The refrigerator light illuminated the fresh ink covering his arm.
I stopped on the stairs and stared.
“Come here, Simone,” he said without turning.
I remember being stunned that he knew I was there.
“I heard your footsteps.”
“It’s late,” I said, because apparently alcohol had affected my intelligence despite the fact that I hadn’t consumed any.
He lowered the empty carton and looked at me.
The alcohol on his breath should have been unpleasant.
Instead, it made him seem older.
More dangerous.
He stepped closer and pointed one finger toward my nose.
“You.”
His voice dropped into a drunken murmur.
“What’s happening to your face?”
My heart beat so hard I felt faint.
“What do you mean?”
“Pretty.”
He squinted as though trying to solve a difficult problem.
“You’re becoming pretty.”
His fingertip touched the end of my nose.
“Really pretty.”
I couldn’t speak.
Hope exploded inside my chest.
Then he stepped away.
“Too young,” he muttered.
He collapsed onto the floor beside Bran and fell asleep within seconds.
I remained in the kitchen long after both of them began snoring.
For weeks afterward, I wondered whether his drunken confession meant he might eventually see me as more than Bran’s sister.
Then Bran mentioned that Luca rarely remembered anything he did while heavily intoxicated.
My hope sank.
It’s ridiculous how foolish I was about him.
Even more ridiculous that I’m becoming that foolish again.
Luca wrings the water from his shirt and spreads it over a warm rock.
Then he unfastens his trousers.
I stare.
He looks toward me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He removes the wet fabric and lays it beside the shirt.
Now he’s standing in black boxer briefs.
His thighs are muscular. His stomach is sharply defined. A dark trail disappears beneath the waistband.
I force my gaze upward with more effort than should be required.
“A ration bar and a strip show.”
I smile.
“You’re spoiling me.”
Luca rolls his eyes and reaches for a thermal blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders.
“What about me?”
I gesture toward my ruined costume.
“Should I take mine off too?”
“Do what you want.”
“I’m dirty.”
“You survived a crash.”
“I could wash in the ocean.”
“Stay in the shallows.”
“Will you watch me?”
His chest rises slowly beneath the blanket.
“Watch you do what?”
“Undress.”
His jaw tightens.
“Swim.”
I tilt my head.
“Skinny-dip.”
“Get some sleep.”
“Boring.”
He turns away.
I smile at his back.
“Would you want to watch?”
He stops.
Then he looks over one shoulder.
“Is that what you want?”
My heart skips.
“Yes.”
His gaze darkens.
“Why?”
I gesture toward my body as though the answer should be obvious.
“Because I’m hot. Anyone would want to look.”
The corner of his mouth moves.
“You’re certainly self-aware.”
“Of course I am.”
Silence stretches between us.
It isn’t uncomfortable.
For the first time since the night he kissed me, we aren’t attacking or avoiding each other.
We’re simply here.
Alone.
Alive.
As darkness spreads across the beach, Luca builds a small fire inside a hollow surrounded by rocks. The flame is low enough not to be visible from the forest.
It takes him several attempts to make it catch.
I sit nearby while he cooks the fish.
The scent makes my stomach turn slightly but watching him does something entirely different.
He moves with steady confidence.
No wasted motion.
No panic.
My entire world has become uncertainty, and Luca is the only stable thing in it.
When the fish is cooked, he eats quickly.
Then he buries the remains and extinguishes most of the flame, leaving only enough heat to warm the stones.
He dresses in his dry trousers but leaves the shirt near the embers.
I sit beside the dying fire and watch orange sparks rise.
Luca studies me.
“I’ll get you out of here.”
The words reach inside me and touch the exhaustion I’ve been holding back.
Suddenly, my limbs feel heavy.
My throat aches.
I stand too quickly and sway.
Luca’s hand catches my waist.
“Easy.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m going to sleep.”
He releases me slowly.
I enter the shelter and curl onto the layered branches and thermal blanket.
The stone wall blocks most of the wind, but cold still slips through the opening.
I pull my knees toward my chest.
Everything hurts.
My body.
My arm.
My head.
The thought of my family believing I’m dead.
The knowledge that someone wanted me isolated badly enough to sabotage an aircraft.
I press my face into my hands.
Outside, Luca moves quietly around the shelter, checking the perimeter one last time.
Then his footsteps approach.
He ducks inside.
The space immediately becomes smaller.
Warmer.
He spreads the second thermal blanket over me, then adds his suit jacket across my shoulders.
“You need it too,” I murmur.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s my line.”
“You use it badly.”
I’m too tired to argue.
Luca settles near the entrance with his back against the stone, positioned between me and anything that might approach.
Even here, he makes himself a shield.
My eyes drift closed.
The last thing I feel is his hand briefly touching the edge of the blanket near my shoulder, making sure I’m covered.
The last thing I hear is his voice in the darkness.
“Sleep, Simone.”
For the first time since the plane began falling, I feel safe enough to obey.