I step forward when it’s my turn and place a single red rose on the casket. The sight of it—so stark against the pale wood—undoes me. Tears blur my vision, spilling freely down my cheeks.
Standing beside Sam, our fingers laced tightly, I glance around at the crowd. People linger, all of them waiting their turn to offer condolences or share a story, as if words could fill the void Bas left behind.
It’s endless. Although, eventually, the crowd begins to thin until it’s just the three of us—Alec, Sam, and me—along with a handful of stragglers.
31
OLIVIA
When Sandrine, Bas’s childhood friend, calls Sam over, he hesitates, torn between her and Alec. I squeeze his hand, urging him softly.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Go. Alec and I will be fine.”
Alec gives a faint nod, giving Sam permission. With one last look at us, Sam crosses the grass toward Sandrine, his head bowed, his posture heavy with exhaustion and grief.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Alec clears his throat, the sound sharp in the still air. “You don’t see it, do you?”
“Pardon?” I turn to him, confused.
“That boy has given you his heart.”
The words hang between us, solid and unyielding. I meet his gaze, startled by the quiet intensity in his voice. There’s warmth there, yes, but something else too. Weariness, maybe even disappointment.
I don’t know what to say. My mind scrambles for something that might make sense of his words, but all I can manage is silence.
“You may not know it,” he continues, his voice softening. “Hell, you probably didn’t even ask for it, but it’s yours.”
His eyes drift toward Sam, who now has Sandrine tucked gently beneath his arm, comforting her as she cries into his chest. The sight is tender, devastating.
“You’d better honor Bastien’s request,” Alec says quietly. “Take care of Sam’s heart. Of him. He’s the one thing Bas loved most in this world. He would’ve given up everything for that boy. He made me promise to look after him, though he knew he didn’t have to ask.”
He turns back to me then, and I see what grief has done. How it’s woven new lines into his face, how his eyes have lost their light.
“Olivia,” he says, voice trembling, “you have the power to destroy him. Bas will rise from the dead and haunt me if I let you hurt Sam.”
My throat tightens. “Alec…” I falter, the words stumbling out of me.
I want to say he’s wrong, that I’d never hurt Sam, but even as I try, the thought roots itself deep inside.
Idolove Sam or at least, I think I do. But what if I don’t? What if this is something else—comfort, companionship, the illusion of safety in a storm? I adore him. I crave him. I miss him the second we part. But love?
The question feels too big, too raw.
My stomach sinks as Bas’s words echo in my head, words I’d brushed aside when he first spoke them.Don’t waste time because of fear or uncertainty.
And now, standing beside Alec, hearing the same plea from the man who loved Bas most in the world, I realize this is what fear looks like.
It’s not loud or obvious. It’s quiet. Creeping. A whisper, telling you it’s safer not to fall.
But looking across the cemetery at Sam holding the woman who helped raise him, his grief etched into every line of his face, I know there’s no “safe” anymore.
I already fell.
Alec’s words echo through me long after he walks away. The idea that I could hold that much power over Sam—that I could destroy him—is overwhelming. Terrifying, even. I don’t want that kind of influence, and yet I can’t shake the weight of it pressing against my chest.
“Olivia.” Sam cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
Alec stands nearby, silent and still, his gaze fixed on me with a depth that seems almost assessing. Measuring. Judging. Maybe he’s just seeing through me.
