Her breathing speeds up.
She nods, hugs Mila, Katya and Viviana goodbye, and we leave.
“Breathe,” I murmur as we walk.
“I can’t,” she whispers.
We reach the room. I close the door, and she lets out a shuddering breath.
“Promise me something,” she says, pulling her dress down from her shoulders.
“What?” I ask.
“If we ever have kids… we will never send them to a boarding school.”
I blink. “What?”
“Mila,” she says softly. “She was sent away at eight. England. She only saw her family twice a year. Even in summers she stayed. She barely knows her brothers.”
Autumn’s eyes lock onto mine, unblinking.
“Promise.”
“I’d never send mini Flynns anywhere,” I joke.
She rolls her eyes, but it cuts through some of the tension.
“She told us it was horrible,” Autumn whispers. “Her parents didn’t care enough to keep her close.”
Her voice cracks a little.
Not for herself.
For Mila.
That’s Autumn, feeling something deeply for someone she just met.
That’s the kind of softness that makes men like me violent.
She points at my suit pocket, hands shaking, her voice barely a whisper. “Did he text anything else?”
I pull her phone out, turn it on.
One new message.
“You shouldn’t have married him.”
She gasps.
“Oh my God, Flynn, he’s going to come for you.” Her voice rises, panic igniting like a fuse. She starts pacing, hair bouncing, breaths sharp and uneven. “He’ll wait for you somewhere; he’ll stab you or shoot you—I don’t know; he’ll do something—Flynn,he—”
She’s talking too fast, hands moving, spiralling.
I step right in front of her, take her freezing hands, and pull her against my chest.
“Breathe.” My voice drops low, firm. “You’re about to have a panic attack, and I don’t want to drug you, baby.”
Her eyes lift to mine, huge and wet, pupils blown wide with terror. She’s panting, lips parted.
