When her eyes opened, they were bright—almost shining.
"What did you see?" I asked, my heart pounding.
"You and Quentin." Her voice was warm, certain. "Not the restaurant—I already told you about that. This was different. Further out." She squeezed my hand. "I saw light. Warmth. The two of you laughing together—real laughter, the kind that comes from your belly. You were cooking something, and he wasteasing you about the mess you'd made, and you threw flour at him."
Despite everything, I felt myself smile. "That sounds... domestic."
"It was beautiful." Serenity's expression turned serious. "Julia, I can't promise you the future. I don't see everything, and what I do see doesn't always come to pass exactly as I envision it. But I can tell you what I felt."
"And what did you feel?"
"Love. Real, deep, lasting love." She squeezed my hand again. "The kind that survives the hard things. The scary things. You're going to face a lot in the coming days—more than just the restaurant. But you'll make it through. Together."
My throat tightened. "You promise?"
"I promise that what I saw was real. The path to get there might be rough, but you will find your way to each other. You already are."
I blinked back tears. "Thank you. For telling me. For—" My voice cracked. "For giving me hope."
"You don't need me for hope." Serenity released my hand, but not before patting it gently. "You already have it. You just needed someone to remind you it's okay to believe in it."
She pulled her gloves back on, gave me one more encouraging smile, and headed back toward the elevator.
I stood there for a moment, hand still tingling from her touch, heart feeling lighter than it had in days.
We were going to make it. Through the shootout. Through the danger. Through the complicated mess of feelings and families and mob politics.
Quentin and I were going to find our way to each other.
Really find each other.
I walked to my car with that thought warming me against the cool night air. Slid behind the wheel. Started the engine.
And for the first time since leaving New York, I felt like I could breathe.
Tomorrow might bring the restaurant. Danger. Fear. Maybe blood.
But beyond that?
There was flour and laughter and love.
There was us.
And somehow, that made all the difference.
∞∞∞
The drive home felt longer than usual.
Maybe because I was alone with my thoughts for the first time all day. Or maybe because those thoughts kept circling back to the same impossible questions.
Was I really considering marrying Quentin Vanetti?
A man I'd known for less than two months?
A man I'd lied to?
A man who somehow still looked at me like I mattered despite everything?
