Her gaze lingered on his, searching before her arms slid around his neck, and her head found his shoulder. His hands rose, one gliding up her back, the other threading gently into her damp curls, holding her.
What passed between them wasn’t clarity. It was a pause. A choice to stand together a little longer. For now, that was enough.
They lingered there for a few heartbeats, simply breathing the same moonlit air, reluctant to let the moment slip away. But they had to.
“We should get back,” he murmured.
Still silent, she nodded.
Together, they moved toward the steps, fingers loosely entwined. Before leaving the shadow of the falls, Rhys releasedher hand and took the lead. She fell into place behind him—Camille restored.
When they emerged dripping, they scanned the grotto for towels.
“Apparently, we drip-dry,” he said.
Right on cue, a housemaid appeared, nearly tripping in her haste, arms full of plush white towels and two glasses beaded with condensation. Too quick. Too well-timed.
Rhys passed a towel to Gaby. She turned her back, bringing her hair forward so she could wrap it around her shoulders.
The servant inhaled sharply. “Farfalla,” she whispered.
The word charged the air. They both turned to her slowly.
“What did you say?” Rhys asked.
The servant swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Gaby’s back, and retreated a step.
“My tattoo,” Gaby pressed. “You recognize it.”
The servant shook her head quickly. “Not that one. Red.Rossa.”
Rhys stepped closer to her. Not threatening, just present. Impossible to ignore. “Where?”
Fear darted across the servant’s face. “I shouldn’t say—”
“Too late,” Rhys intoned. “You’ve already spoken.”
Gaby’s breath left her in a rush. “Please. She’s only nineteen. Where can we find her?”
A shadow of guilt, maybe pity, changed her expression. Convinced, she whispered, “The east wing.”
“Behind the metal gate?” Rhys asked.
“Si. That is where he keeps them. I must go,” she said, already fleeing up the rock steps.
Gaby stood frozen, swaying slightly. “She’s here,” she said at last.
Rhys’s hand settled briefly at her back, a steady, reassuring touch. But she could tell his mind was already three movesahead. Everything had changed. Witness verification meant probable cause. Phase Two was no longer theoretical.
He pulled her with him to their discarded clothes. “Dress quickly,” he said, pulling on his pants and shirts without bothering with the towel. Her hands were shaking, and he had to help her with her dress, clinging to her damp skin like plastic wrap. He retrieved his boots without putting them on and grabbed her hand.
“Walk with me,” he murmured.
They moved past the pool and into the trees.
“This way,” a voice said from the shadows. Mateo.
“Where are we going?” she asked, confused as they followed him.
