"Yes," I confirm, because lying serves no tactical purpose and wastes time I do not have. "I love her. And I intend to inform her of this fact once I have confirmed she is not injured or in danger."
"Good." Monica nods sharply, the decisiveness of someone making a combat decision. "I'll handle Derek. You handle my sister. And Kruk?" She reaches out, squeezing my forearm with surprising strength for someone who weighs maybe a third of what I do. "Thank you. For being what she needed. Even if she's too stubborn to see it yet."
I do not waste time responding.
I drop my duffel behind the concierge desk for temporary storage, inform the night staff that I will be conducting a security sweep of the grounds, and exit into the descending darkness.
The vineyard spreads before me, row after row of grapevines creating shadowed corridors in the twilight. The main path winds through the center, well-lit and populated with guests taking evening strolls.
Colletta will not be there.
She seeks small spaces. Quiet spaces. Somewhere she can hide from judgment and shame and the feeling of being exposed.
I move through the vines with tactical precision, scanning for signs of disturbance, listening for sounds that do not belong to the natural evening chorus of insects and distant celebration.
Twenty meters into the eastern section, I found her.
She sits curled against an old stone wall that marks the vineyard's boundary, knees pulled to her chest, face buried in her arms. The position is defensive, self-protective, the physical manifestation of someone trying to disappear into themselves.
I approach slowly, making enough noise that she knows I am coming, giving her time to prepare for contact.
She does not look up.
"I told you to leave," she says into her knees, voice muffled and thick with tears.
"Yes," I correct, lowering myself to sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. "But I am no longer following those orders."
"Why not?" She still does not lift her head. "The contract is terminated. You're free to go back to your normal life."
"Because my normal life does not include you." I let the truth settle between us, simple and immovable. "And that is no longer acceptable."
She looks up, her face blotchy and wet, mascara smeared beneath her eyes in dark streaks. She has never looked more beautiful.
"Kruk, I ruined everything," she whispers. "Monica's going to find out I lied. Derek's going to tell everyone. The whole wedding is going to be about my pathetic fake relationship instead of her marriage, and I?—"
"Derek will not tell anyone," I interrupt, certainty threading through each word.
"You don't know that. He has the evidence."
"He has evidence of a contractual service agreement," I correct. "Which is not scandalous. What is scandalous is a Best Man who spent his time harassing and threatening the bride's sister instead of supporting the couple. Monica is currently handling that situation."
Colletta blinks, processing. "Monica knows?"
"She knows that we fought." I shift slightly, angling my body toward hers, drawn by the gravitational pull that has existed since the moment I first saw her three margaritas deep and radiating chaotic desperation. "She is addressing the Derek threat while I locate and secure her sister."
"I told you to leave," she says, but there is no force behind it, just confusion and hope warring in her expression.
"You did." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, tucking a wild curl behind her ear. "But earlier tonight you also told me you were falling in love with me. The mission parameters became unclear. I required additional intelligence before withdrawing from the operation."
A sound escapes her, half laugh, half sob. "You can't... this wasn't supposed to be real. I hired you. You were supposed to be fake."
"The contract was real," I tell her, my hand still cradling her face, thumb brushing away the mascara streaks with careful precision. "What developed between us is also real. These facts are not contradictory."
"Derek said?—"
"Derek is irrelevant." I lean closer, close enough to feel her breath against my face, to see the way her pupils dilate despite the tears. "I am no longer concerned with Derek's assessment of this situation. I am concerned with yours. You want me to leave, Colletta? Truly? Or do you want me to stay and finish what we started against that hotel door?"
Her breath catches, sharp and audible in the quiet darkness.
