My head snaps up to find him standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his dark slacks, watching me with an expression I can’t read.
He’s wearing a charcoal suit jacket over a white shirt, the top button undone and his tie loosened—the most casual I’ve ever seen him look.
The afternoon sun catches in his dark hair, and he looks unfairly handsome.
It makes my treacherous body respond despite everything my mind knows to be true.
Ihatethat I notice.
Ihatethat even now, crying in a garden over an injured bird while my life crumbles around me, some part of me registers how attractive he is.
“I–I didn’t hear you approach,” I manage to say, my voice thick from crying.
“That was the idea.” He moves closer, his footsteps barely audible on the stone path. “Cruz said you’ve been out here for a while. I came to check on you.”
“To make sure your prisoner hasn’t escaped?” The bitterness in my tone is evident.
“To make sure you’re not planning something foolish,” he corrects, but there’s no heat in it. His dark eyes drop to the bird in my hands, and something shifts in his expression. “Another one?”
“Broken wing. Probably flew into a window.” I swipe at my face with my shoulder, trying to clear the tears without dropping the sparrow. “I just found him.”
Luca settles onto the bench beside me—not touching, but close enough that I can smell him, that woodsy expensive scent that’s become permanently associated with captivity and confusion and unwanted attraction.
He leans forward, studying the bird with genuine interest rather than dismissal.
“Can you fix it?” he asks quietly.
I shift uncomfortably. “Maybe. The break isn’t compound, and there’s no sign of infection yet. If I can set it properly and keep the bird still long enough for it to heal…” I trail off, looking down at the tiny creature trembling in my hands. “But even if I fix the wing, what then? Let it go so it can get caught by a cat? Fly into another window? Die in some other meaningless way?”
The words come out more raw than I intended, and I realize I’m not talking about the bird anymore.
Luca is quiet for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle in a way I’ve never heard from him before. “You’re not talking about the sparrow.”
“I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore.” Fresh tears spill over, and I don’t have the energy to stop them. “I’m losing my mind, Luca. Two weeks of this and I can barely remember who I was before.” I sniffle. “I don’t know if my father’s alive or dead. I don’t know what happens to me tomorrow or next week or?—”
My voice breaks completely, and the sobs I’ve been holding back finally overwhelm me.
The sparrow chirps in distress at my shaking hands, and I force myself to breathe, to stay calm for the bird’s sake if not my own.
“Here.” Luca’s hands appear in my vision, steady and sure. “Let me hold it while you set the wing.”
I stare at him, certain I’ve misheard. “W-what?”
“The bird needs to be still for you to work,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’ll hold it. You fix it.”
There’s no logical reason for him to help me. No strategic advantage, no political gain. But he’s offering anyway, and I’m too broken to question the mercy.
I transfer the sparrow to his cupped hands and watch as this man who’s destroyed my life holds the tiny creature with surprising gentleness.
His large hands cradle the bird carefully, thumbs stroking its back in a soothing rhythm while I dig through my medical supplies for splinting materials.
“Talk to him,” I instruct, my voice still shaky. “Keep him calm.”
Luca obliges, his voice dropping to a low murmur I can barely hear.
The bird settles slightly in his hold, and I take advantage of the stillness to carefully examine the wing.
The break is clean, thank god. Fixable if I’m careful.
