“And I did seriously consider not helping him,” I point out.
Gus tilts his head at me as if to question whose side I’m on.
Grace is laughing harder, proper big belly laughs. “This is brilliant!”
“Right. Thanks for your useful input, Grace. We need to go since we’re currently stuck in Montenegro.”
“Sorry,you’re what?”
“I’m not saying another word. We just need to get to Italy as soon as possible.”
The laughter intensifies.
“Sara, please steal my number from his phone and message me if you need someone to bitch to about him,” Grace says.
I smile. “Thanks for the offer.”
“Any time! Oh, and Gus. Do you want the update or not?”
A shadow passes over his face, the light in his eyes dimming. He lets out a steady breath and says, “No. I think it’s best I wait.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me.”
“Alright. But be warned, the news might find you.”
He nods like it’s a given but doesn’t expand. “Bye then.”
“Love you,” she sings.
Gus rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Love you too. Now bugger off.” He hangs up and sighs, watching me with an amused look on his face. “Well, that’s Grace. Luckily, we have too much shit on each other for her to dob me in.”
“At least now you know they’re tracking you.”
“Oh yeah. That does put my mind at ease,” he jokes.
Now that we’re off the phone, the waiter comes over to take our food and drink order. “I’m Petar by the way. You are a beautiful couple.”
“Thank you,” Gus says with a huge smile before I can correct him. “Hey, you don’t happen to have any ideas on how we can cross that,” he says, pointing at the sea, “and get to Sicily by tomorrow, do you?”
Petar holds a tray in one hand, his other on his hip. He frowns and it makes his forehead scrunch up. “Right now? There is a storm coming, you’ve not heard?”
“Yeah, we know. But it won’t be that bad, will it? It’s summer.”
We all once again stare at the blemish free skies above us.
“You would be surprised. The storms. They hit hard and fast.” He frowns for another second before holding a fingerin the air. “Hang on, I may have an idea. I will speak to my cousin,” he says, striding back towards the kitchen.
“Gus,” I lean forward, “what if he’s in the Mafia?” I whisper.
He laughs. “What makes you think he’s in the Mafia?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the way he said cousin. What if this restaurant is just a front for some kind of smuggling.”
“Right. And now we’re about to be… what? Smuggled across to Italy by the Mafia?”
I screw up my face. “Well, fine. When you say it like that…”
