That pulled a broken little laugh out of Aurélie. “Merci,” she said. “I will add you to my list of designated scream partners.”
The atmosphere eased a fraction.
I cleared my throat and reached for the villa landline mounted on the wall. The concierge had left us a number the morning after we arrived, all smiles and assurances that we could order anything we wanted with a simple call. “I’m ordering breakfast,” I announced. My voice sounded more firm now, anchored in something I could do with my hands. “If we’re going to have a fight about doctors and contracts and bodily autonomy, we’re not doing it on empty stomachs.”
“Get the big spread,” Ivy said immediately. “Carbs help me strategize.”
“Eggs,” Kimi added. “Many eggs.”
“Fruit,” Lucy said weakly. “Vitamin C. For my feelings.”
“And bacon,” Marco croaked. “If we are going to confront systemic misogyny and corporate overreach, I require bacon.”
“And croissants,” Aurélie said. “If I’m going to let strangers poke at me, I deserve pastry.”
“Yes, baby, I know, ” I replied, punching in the number, “I would never forget your emotional support carbs.”
As the line rang and I started negotiating an obscene breakfast order in slow English with the sleepy concierge, I watched them out of the corner of my eye.
Ivy already had her phone out, thumbs flying as she drafted talking points and contingency plans. Marco leaned his elbows on the island, listening, unusually quiet. Kimi stood steady as a pillar, the one unshakeable thing in the room. Lucy’s shoulder leaned against Aurélie’s, small but solid, like she was lending whatever strength she had left after last night.
And Aurélie—bare legs, my shirt, ring, hangover, grief—stood in the center of it all, blinking against the morning light and still, somehow, ready to fight.
Resilient and so fucking radiant.
And I couldn’t wait to call hermy wife.
The resort stafflaid the platters out on the long terrace table like we were minor royalty instead of six idiots with wine-poisoned livers. Sunlight spilled across baskets of bread, turning steam into little ghosts. The sea glittered beyond the glass railing, all blinding blue and white. Somewhere below, waves kissed the shore like nothing bad had ever happened to anyone, ever.
It was almost rude, how pretty it all was.
“Mother of carbs,” Ivy whispered when the last dish was revealed. “Okay, I take it back. I can believe in God again.”
Marco, already reaching for the bacon, muttered hoarsely, “Pretty sure you were calling for divine intervention last night too, cara mia.”
The whole table stuttered to a halt.
Ivy’s head whipped toward him. She snatched the nearest bread roll and nailed him in the chest. “Marco Bianchi,” she whisper-yelled, “shut theentirefuck up. Use your indoor brain.”
He caught the roll against his sternum, wincing. I leaned over the armrest of my chair into Callum’s shoulder, grinning like a lunatic.Finally.
“Oh, so I guess he gave you time number three that he so rudely stole from you,” I mused, reaching for a croissant. “How kind.”
“I am being persecuted for speaking my truth,” he protested.
I squinted at her, the way you do when you’re looking for the breaking point in a slow-motion replay. Her oversized T-shirt had slipped off one shoulder, baring a strip of pale skin. And there it was—the faint shadow of a hickey blooming there, deep purple and red.
My girl didn’t miss a thing.
“Oh, youliars!” I croaked, stabbing a piece of pineapple and pointing it at both of them. “That is not a ‘no sex’ shoulder, chérie. That is a ‘someone got very bitey’ shoulder. Félicitations, numéro trois.”
Callum didn’t even look up from pouring juice one-handed, the other resting comfortably on my shoulder. “Tell me you at least found the clit this time, Bianchi,” he drawled. “I refuse to be associated with that kind of incompetence.”
Lucy made a strangled, full-body noise and buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. When she peeked up again, her cheeks were mottled red, blue eyes huge.
“It wasone time,” Marco hissed, a little too loud for everyone’s fragile heads. “One goddamn time, and I was very drunk!” He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows on a curse, forearms flexing, ink winding over tendons and veins.
Kimi didn’t even blink. Callum looked smug. I went momentarily speechless, because apparently the bastard hadeven more tattoos than I realized. Across the table, Ivy’s gaze snagged on the stretches of ink, her throat working on a hard swallow before her face went even redder. Busted.
