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Two days later…
The sun warms my skin as we wander the grounds of Châteaudun Castle. Jess’s hand finds mine. Her gaze follows the intricate patterns of shadow and light cast by the towering spires against the cobblestone paths.
The air carries the scent of aged stone, mingled with the distant aroma of fresh bread and lavender from the village below.
All my troubles seem a million miles away. The armed attackers approaching the church as the wedding concluded are a distant memory.
“Why here?” I ask, genuinely curious about the magnetism of this place to her heart. “Of all the places in France, why did you want to make this our first stop?”
She turns to me, her eyes reflecting the azure sky. “My mother spent a whole summer here, researching for her medieval history book. She always said this place was where she felt closest to the past, like it was just a finger’s touch away from her.”
“How do you know she said that?”
“I have her research journals. She was always researching, traveling places. She brought back souvenirs, magnets, stickers, that kind of thing.
“She was going to give them to me when I was old enough. I asked my dad about them. He said he threw them all out when she died, said he didn’t want to look at them.” She looks up at me and manages a smile. “Guess he forgot about the journals.”
“How did those two end up together. They don’t exactly sound compatible.”
“Do we?” She smiles. “I don’t know for sure. I get the feeling Mom liked a bad boy.” Her smile turns into a broad grin. “I guess I can maybe see the appeal. He told me once he met her when he was on vacation in Italy. I don’t know if that’s true. She never wrote anything about him in her journals. For all I know, they met at a burger joint.”
“Any siblings?”
“Nope. Just me and my dad for most of my life. He told me once I look like my mom. I sometimes wonder if that’s why he seemed to hate me, because I reminded him of her.”
“I could still kill him for you. Offer’s open.”
She squeezes my hand. “I know you could, and romantic a gesture as that is, I’d rather you didn’t murder my father. For all his sins, he’s still my dad. I didn’t get chance to say in the church but I’m glad you let him live. Power isn’t about killing, you know? Real power is being able to but choosing when not to.”
My phone buzzes. I step away to answer it.
“Garibaldi’s gone to ground after we saw his goons coming to the church.” Tony’s voice a mix of frustration and determination. “Hiding in his compound, knows you’re waiting for a chance to get him back.”
“Shake the tree. Hit his operations.” I instruct. “Get him so pissed off he comes out into the open.”
I hang up before rejoining Jess, doing my best to shove thoughts of the vendetta to the back of my mind. It’s my honeymoon. I should be enjoying myself, not thinking of work.
* * *
In the sanctuary of our villa at the end of the day, I stand over Jess’s naked body. She’s laid on her front as my hands work massage oil into her shoulders. “What’s the occasion?” she asks as I push down into her knotted muscles.
“You seemed stressed,” I reply, my hands moving lower. “Something wrong?”
She turns her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine. “I keep thinking about the debt collectors,” she whispers, her voice tinged with a mixture of fear and wonder. “I know you’ll never let anyone hurt me, Alessandro. But it’s scary, knowing how close I came. If you hadn’t come in when you did, those men, they were going to…”
My hands pause, and I lean in, ensuring she sees the sincerity in my eyes. “I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
“I believe you,” she says, a small, brave smile gracing her lips. “It’s just a lot to take in, you know?”
“I do,” I acknowledge, resuming the massage, my movements a bit more purposeful now. “But remember, we’re in this together. No shadow can touch us when we stand united. Tony’s working on bringing Garibaldi into the open. Once he’s dead, it’s all over. We can go home.”
As I continue the massage, Jess’s voice, softer now, breaks the silence. “Alessandro, do you think maybe we could explore France for a while longer? See some more of the places my mom wrote about in her book?”
Her words catch me off guard, a pleasant surprise after what I’ve been busily planning. “Really? You’d like that?”
She nods, a wistful look in her eyes. “I’ve never really done anything like this before. It feels like the right time to discover those parts of her world, to connect with her memories. It’s like she’s a finger’s touch away. Or is that stupid?”
Leaning over, I pull her mother’s book from the nightstand, opening it to reveal the list I’ve been secretly compiling. “I’ve actually been thinking along the same lines. Look,” I say, showing her the marked pages. “These are all the places she wrote about. I made an itinerary. Starts tomorrow.”
