FIFTEEN

FIFTEEN
SOPHIA

Two weeks later...

“This suite probably costs more per night than I earned in two months,” I murmur into the phone. “I can't even begin to guess how much he’s dropped on me already.”

“Your Mr. Right Now really came through, huh?” Pamela chuckles. “Where are you today? I swear, I can’t keep up anymore.”

“Monaco.”

It looks like something out of a film. The sea breeze curls through the open window, lifting my hair as I lean into the view of the Mediterranean below. “We’re staying for a couple of days.”

“Must be nice.”

“My biggest decision each day is picking what to eat. And honestly, he usually handles that too. I just... unwind.”

“You're positive you're okay? He hasn't done anything sketchy, right?”

“Nothing. I feel completely safe.”

“Good.” Her voice softens. “Look at you—married, jet-setting across Europe, living the dream. Bet you haven’t touched your reading list though, have you?”

“Actually, I’ve made a bit of progress. He gets tied up with work calls now and then, so I sneak in a few chapters. He even got me a new Kindle for the trip.”

“Of course he did.” She laughs. “Didn’t you have one of those ancient ones?”

“Something like that. How’s Tess doing? I keep trying to reach her but the line’s always busy.”

“I dropped by yesterday. She’s been on the phone with her therapist for hours at a stretch. Seems to be helping though—she’s not sleeping the days away like she was.”

“That’s something, at least. She’s messaged me a few times, but tell her to ring me, yeah? I miss her.”

“Will do. So... have you made up your mind yet?”

“About staying married?” I pause. “I’m not sure. Everything’s moving so fast. He’s... I don’t know, there’s just something about him. Sometimes I catch myself feeling anxious, and I can’t even figure out why.”

“You mean you’re nervous around him?”

“No, not him. Just... a general unease. It’s hard to explain.”

“I think I get it,” she says gently. “You’ve always been the one taking care of everyone else. Now someone’s actually looking after you for once—it’s unfamiliar. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong. And anyway, you’ve still got time, right? He gave you six weeks?”

“Yeah.” I exhale and run my fingers over the wrought iron railing. “Some days, I think I could stay. This life—it’s easy to get used to. But then he’ll go quiet. Like he’s angry with himself just for feeling anything. Like he’s embarrassed to let me see he cares.”

"Sound familiar?"

I squint at the glimmering bay where a yacht slices lazily through the waves. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You and him,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Control freaks, both of you. Classic lovers in denial, straight out of a vintage paperback romance—except with real baggage and no happy ending guaranteed.”

I snort. “And that’s your professional diagnosis? Backed by what, exactly? A history of flings and fanfiction?”

“Hey, my track record with fiction is flawless. And I’m telling you—you’re not spiraling. You’re surrendering. But not like giving up. You’re choosing to let go, with him. That’s the difference. You’re not being dragged through Europe. You’re walking it, hand in hand.”

There’s a beat of silence, her words sticking deeper than I want to admit. “It’s not just about him,”

I murmur, eyes following the horizon. “This world he lives in—it's like another planet. Mayors shake his hand like he’s royalty. Drivers wait at every curb. His name gets whispered with reverence. And me? I’m the girl who used to schedule her life down to laundry days. This... isn’t me.”

I turn away from the view, exhaling hard. “What happens when he realizes I don’t belong here? That I’m just... not enough?”

“What if he never does?” she says softly, her laughter like sunlight over the line. “What if six weeks turns into forever? I’m not saying it’s guaranteed. But I haven’t heard you sound this at peace in... well, ever.”

Before I can answer, my phone lights up. One message. Just his name.

“I’ve got to go. He wants me to meet him. Casino.”

She gasps. “A casino? God, you are living a Bond girl fantasy. Next thing, you'll be breaking into safes and sipping champagne off diamonds. Promise me one thing—call me. I need details. Everything. Size, stamina, altitude—leave nothing out.”

I laugh. “Fine. Preview? Big. Not busy. Oral only.”

“No full sex yet? You’re kidding.”

“I told him I needed time.”

“Time, or protection from falling any deeper?”

I hesitate. “Maybe both.”

Her voice softens. “Sweetheart, you’re already in it. Just enjoy the damn freefall.”

“I'll try. And thanks, really. For this weird therapy session.”

“Now go. Let him take you for a wild ride. Literally. Preferably with his—”

“Enough. I get the imagery.”

“You’re welcome.”

I end the call and step out into the hallway, glancing at my reflection in the mirrored elevator walls. Dress? Courtesy of him. Makeup? His favorite. The girl staring back feels unfamiliar—sharper, softer, both at once.

Two weeks gone. Four to go. And I’m terrified of how fast they’re flying. Because when the clock runs out, what happens next?

Can I go back to being the one in charge, the fixer, the planner? Who’s going to be there for Tess, for my father, if I let someone else hold the reins?

The elevator doors part with a soft chime, spilling me into a rush of lights and noise. Laughter, clinks of glass, cards shuffling.

The casino is alive, a monster dressed in glitter. Each table hums with tension and thrill, like mini universes colliding.

I spot him easily. Of course I do. He commands attention without trying—staff hover like satellites, their smiles too sharp, their movements too practiced.

He’s both admired and feared, and somewhere in the space between, I’ve found myself watching him like a puzzle I want to solve.

He catches my eye and gestures me over. I take the seat beside him, my fingertips brushing the cool leather.

The roulette wheel gleams like something sacred.

“Ever played?” he asks, handing me chips like it's nothing.

I roll them between my fingers, unfamiliar weight pressing into my palm. “Oh, totally. I moonlight here on weekends. They call me the queen of chance.”

He lets out a low chuckle—rough, almost amused—and it sends a tremor straight through me. "Let’s raise the stakes, hmm? Pick a number."

I hesitate. The table’s a whirl of color and movement, but my gaze finds the one that matters. Nineteen. Tess’s age. I say it before I can second-guess myself. "Nineteen."

Without a word, he places the chip. The croupier sets the wheel in motion, a blur of silver and spinning chance.

For a heartbeat, I hold my breath. The ball bounces—once, twice—and lands nowhere near nineteen. Not even close.

I laugh. Really laugh. Something about the absurdity, the recklessness of all this loosens me. "Well, beginner’s luck is a lie," I say, glancing at him. "How bad was that?"

He doesn’t flinch. "Five grand."

My eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Not even slightly," he says, still watching the wheel like it might owe him something. "But I've had more than enough wins lately."

I follow his gaze and spot a man in a stark white suit leaning against a column, his eyes locked on us. A ripple of unease rolls down my spine.

I lean closer, speaking into Luca’s ear. "He’s here again."

He doesn’t shift. "White suit? From Paris?"

"Yeah. Who is he?"

Luca’s jaw ticks. "A lingering nuisance." Then, without another word, he pushes back his chair and walks straight toward the man.

I stay seated, watching as the warmth between us vanishes into tension. I can’t hear them, but their body language screams.

The other man shrinks, his stance wilting as Luca closes in. Whatever’s said is quick and quiet. The man starts backing away, eyes darting, hands twitching.

And then—he bolts. Elbows through a group of tourists, knocking over someone’s champagne, and disappears out the door.

Luca strolls back like it’s nothing. Cool. Calm. But something sharp lingers beneath the surface.

"Handled," he says.

I search his face. "Handled... how?"

He offers me a smile—too polished, too smooth. "It was business. Not your concern."

But I feel it. The ripple. The cold gust through something that used to feel safe. "You didn’t answer my question. Why is he following us?"

His silence says more than anything else.