“Same,” I say. “And now that I remember my whole life, I can say that with authority.”
Her mouth twitches. But her eyes are bright, and she’s blinking more than she needs to.
“Well,” she says, voice a little unsteady. “That’s a very nice thing to hear.”
I look at her for a second. Then I say, “I care about you, Nat.” There’s no point dressing it up more than that. “A lot.”
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, like she needs something solid under her hand to make sure the words are real.
“I care about you too, Luca.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she said it.
The words land and stay there, warm as the fire, and I want to give her the rest of them, too. The big version. The real one. It sits heavy at the base of my throat, and I swallow it down because it’s too soon, too loaded, and she deserves to hear it somewhere that isn’t crowded with war plans, fathers, and everything still trying to tear us apart.
So I kiss her temple and pull the blanket tighter around us while the fire burns low.
Tomorrow is coming either way. Tonight, I let myself have this.
32
NATALIA
Luca iswarm against my back, one arm draped over my waist, his bare skin still carrying a faint trace of smoke from the bonfire. When I shift, his hand moves with me, tightening for a second before settling again.
The way he held me after we came inside, all that heat and steady weight, until my body finally unclenched and the noise in my head went quiet for a little while.
Apparently not for long.
Now I’m wide awake again, staring into the dark with Luca curled around me and my father back where he always ends up, elbowing his way into every decent moment of my life.
I ease out a breath and shift onto my back.
Beside me, Luca lifts his head off the pillow. “You okay?”
“Can’t sleep.”
He makes a quiet, dissatisfied sound and tips his head toward mine. Even in the dark I can feel him focusing on me.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”
For a minute, neither of us says anything. Moonlight lies pale across the foot of the bed, the curtains breathing faintly at the window. Luca’s hand stays loose over my waist, but there’s nothing sleepy about the silence now. It feels full. Like we’re both circling the same thing, waiting to see who says it first.
Then he asks, quietly, “What are you thinking about?”
“I keep thinking about what we said,” I tell him. “About my father. I have no idea what comes after this. How do we actually do it?”
Luca exhales through his nose. Not a sigh exactly. More like the sound of someone who’s been holding a thought and is almost relieved to let it out.
“Been thinking that too.”
“Because deciding is one thing. But my father...” I trail off, then make myself finish. “He’s not a careless man, Luca. He’s survived twenty years as Pakhan. People have tried before. He’s still here.”
“I know. I don’t think a direct move would work. He’s too insulated, too protected. You don’t come at a man like that head-on.” He lets that sit.
I turn in his arms so I can see him. The room is dim, but not black. There’s enough light for the line of his jaw, the dark mess of his hair against the pillow, the serious set of his mouth. He looks younger for exactly one second. Then the expression in his eyes catches up, and he looks like himself again.
“So what, then?” I ask. “We just agreed to something impossible?”
