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 lovelanguage.
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 thatboneless 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.”
