Chapter 10 #2
Instead I stand motionless in the center of the heart-shaped bed's gravitational pull, staring at the indent in the mattress where Colletta slept last night, curled into a small defensive ball on her side while I remained on mine, hyperaware of every breath she took.
My phone vibrates. A text from an unknown number.
"Saw you leaving. Good riddance. Colletta doesn't need some hired thug pretending to care about her. She needs to grow up and face reality like an adult. - D"
I deleted it without responding.
Then I draft a new message, sending it to Colletta's number.
"Contract fulfilled. Payment received. If you require future protection services, my contact information remains available."
Professional. Detached. Exactly how a properly terminated engagement should conclude.
I stare at the message for five seconds before deleting it unsent.
Because it is a lie.
What I mean is: You are not pathetic. You are brave and chaotic and you taste like strawberries and fear, and watching you fall apart in that vineyard while I could do nothing violated every instinct I possess.
What I mean is: Come back to the room. Let me hold you the way I did against the door. Let me prove that this stopped being fake for me the moment you wrapped your legs around my waist and looked at me like I was something more than a weapon.
What I want to say is: I love you, and I do not know what to do with that information because it was not in the contract terms.
But I am a professional.
And professionals do not send such messages to former clients.
I shoulder my duffel, take one last look at the heart-shaped bed that offered poor tactical visibility but excellent proximity to the asset, and walk out of the Lover's Loft for the final time.
The elevator ride down feels longer than it should. The doors open onto the lobby and I see Monica, the bride, standing near the concierge desk, gesturing emphatically while the concierge nods with practiced sympathy.
She spots me before I can redirect to the stairs.
"Kruk!" She hurries over, her expression frantic, worry lines creasing her forehead. "Have you seen Colletta? She's not answering her phone and someone said they saw her crying near the vineyard but when I went to look she was gone and—"
"We had a fight. She requested I leave the premises."
Monica's face goes through several expressions in rapid succession: confusion, concern, dawning horror. "What? No. Why would she... what happened?"
Behind her, through the windows overlooking the gardens, I can see Derek holding court with a group of groomsmen, his phone out, probably sharing the footage he captured.
"Your Best Man happened," I say, nodding toward the window. "He threatened us, I guess he really needs an ego boost."
"That fucking asshole." Monica's voice drops to a vicious hiss that reminds me sharply of her sister's rare moments of fury. "He's been obsessed with humiliating her ever since she broke up with him. I should never have let him guilt me into making him Best Man."
This is new tactical information.
"Colletta ended the relationship," I clarify, recalibrating my threat assessment of Derek from "petty ex-boyfriend" to "vindictive rejected suitor."
"Obviously. He was cheating on her with his dental hygienist." Monica's hands clench into fists at her sides, her wedding manicure glinting in the lobby lights.
"She found out, dumped him, and he's spent two years telling everyone who'll listen that she was 'too uptight' and 'couldn't handle his success.
' When I told her he was going to be at the wedding party, she promised me she was fine, that she'd bring her new boyfriend and everything would be okay. "
The pieces fit with tactical clarity.
Colletta lied to her sister about having a boyfriend. Not out of pathetic desperation, but out of protective love, not wanting Monica to worry or feel guilty about including Derek in the wedding.
She hired me not because she needed intimidation, but because she needed armor.
And I failed to provide it when it mattered most.
"Where is she now?" I ask, already calculating search patterns, probable locations, the most efficient method of locating someone who does not wish to be found.
"I don't know." Monica's voice cracks, genuine fear threading through the anger. "She does this thing when she's upset where she just... disappears. Finds somewhere small and quiet to hide until she can put herself back together. But it's getting dark and she's been drinking and what if—"
"I will find her," I interrupt, the words a vow, a mission parameter I assign myself. "And I will ensure her safety."
"But I thought you said you guys fought?"
"Yes." I adjust the duffel on my shoulder, already running scenarios, mapping the vineyard's layout in my mind, identifying potential hiding spots that would appeal to someone seeking solitude and darkness. "But I can’t leave her here, alone."
Monica studies me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression, understanding blooming across her features. "You love her."
It is not a question.
"Yes," I confirm, because lying serves no tactical purpose and wastes time I do not have. "I love her. And I intend to inform her of this fact once I have confirmed she is not injured or in danger."
"Good." Monica nods sharply, the decisiveness of someone making a combat decision.
"I'll handle Derek. You handle my sister.
And Kruk?" She reaches out, squeezing my forearm with surprising strength for someone who weighs maybe a third of what I do.
"Thank you. For being what she needed. Even if she's too stubborn to see it yet. "
I do not waste time responding.
I drop my duffel behind the concierge desk for temporary storage, inform the night staff that I will be conducting a security sweep of the grounds, and exit into the descending darkness.
The vineyard spreads before me, row after row of grapevines creating shadowed corridors in the twilight. The main path winds through the center, well-lit and populated with guests taking evening strolls.
Colletta will not be there.
She seeks small spaces. Quiet spaces. Somewhere she can hide from judgment and shame and the feeling of being exposed.
I move through the vines with tactical precision, scanning for signs of disturbance, listening for sounds that do not belong to the natural evening chorus of insects and distant celebration.
Twenty meters into the eastern section, I found her.
She sits curled against an old stone wall that marks the vineyard's boundary, knees pulled to her chest, face buried in her arms. The position is defensive, self-protective, the physical manifestation of someone trying to disappear into themselves.
I approach slowly, making enough noise that she knows I am coming, giving her time to prepare for contact.
She does not look up.
"I told you to leave," she says into her knees, voice muffled and thick with tears.
"Yes," I correct, lowering myself to sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. "But I am no longer following those orders."
"Why not?" She still does not lift her head. "The contract is terminated. You're free to go back to your normal life."
"Because my normal life does not include you." I let the truth settle between us, simple and immovable. "And that is no longer acceptable."
She looks up, her face blotchy and wet, mascara smeared beneath her eyes in dark streaks. She has never looked more beautiful.
"Kruk, I ruined everything," she whispers. "Monica's going to find out I lied. Derek's going to tell everyone. The whole wedding is going to be about my pathetic fake relationship instead of her marriage, and I—"
"Derek will not tell anyone," I interrupt, certainty threading through each word.
"You don't know that. He has the evidence."
"He has evidence of a contractual service agreement," I correct. "Which is not scandalous. What is scandalous is a Best Man who spent his time harassing and threatening the bride's sister instead of supporting the couple. Monica is currently handling that situation."
Colletta blinks, processing. "Monica knows?"
"She knows that we fought." I shift slightly, angling my body toward hers, drawn by the gravitational pull that has existed since the moment I first saw her three margaritas deep and radiating chaotic desperation. "She is addressing the Derek threat while I locate and secure her sister."
"I told you to leave," she says, but there is no force behind it, just confusion and hope warring in her expression.
"You did." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, tucking a wild curl behind her ear. "But earlier tonight you also told me you were falling in love with me. The mission parameters became unclear. I required additional intelligence before withdrawing from the operation."
A sound escapes her, half laugh, half sob. "You can't... this wasn't supposed to be real. I hired you. You were supposed to be fake."
"The contract was real," I tell her, my hand still cradling her face, thumb brushing away the mascara streaks with careful precision. "What developed between us is also real. These facts are not contradictory."
"Derek said—"
"Derek is irrelevant." I lean closer, close enough to feel her breath against my face, to see the way her pupils dilate despite the tears.
"I am no longer concerned with Derek's assessment of this situation.
I am concerned with yours. You want me to leave, Colletta?
Truly? Or do you want me to stay and finish what we started against that hotel door? "
Her breath catches, sharp and audible in the quiet darkness.
"I want you to stay," she whispers. "But I don't want you to stay because I'm paying you. I want..."
"What do you want?" I ask the question rough, urgent, needing to hear her say it.
"I want you to stay because you want to," she breathes. "Because this is real for you too. Because I'm not just a mission."
"You stopped being a mission the moment you giggled at my threat assessment of the valet," I tell her, absolute truth in every word. "You became something I did not have operational parameters for. Something that required me to adapt, to improvise, to feel things the contract did not account for."
"Like what?" Her hands find my chest again, palms flattening over my heart the way they did in the vineyard.
"Like pride when you caught the egg I threw." I cover her hands with mine, holding them against the evidence of my racing pulse. "Like fury when Derek attempted to diminish you. Like fear when you ordered me to leave, because I did not know how to exist in a world where I could not protect you."
"Kruk..."
"Like love," I finished, the word foreign and perfect on my tongue. "I love you, Colletta Fears. That was not in the contract terms. But it is the current tactical reality."
She stares at me for three heartbeats, eyes wide and wet and full of something that looks like wonder.
Then she kisses me.