Until my Last Breath

65

Salzburg, Austria

The clink of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversations around us fill the warm, rustic restaurant tucked away in the heart of Salzburg. The table is set elegantly, a candle flickering between me and Marina, who-per usual-sits with the serenity of someone not forced onto a private jet at 6 a.m. with zero context.

I, on the other hand, am still reeling.

"Are you gonna tell me who we're meeting?" I ask for what has to be the tenth time, my voice low but sharp as I stir the untouched coffee in front of me. "Because dragging me out of bed at two in the morning just to sit in some fancy Austrian restaurant with no answers is starting to feel a lot like kidnapping and I have to be back in Barcelona as soon as possible."

Marina gives me that look. The manager one. The one that says "shut up and trust me" without actually saying it.

I huff. "At least give me a hint."

She raises a perfectly sculpted brow and takes a sip from her wine glass instead of answering.

I groan and throw my head back against the booth dramatically, my foot tapping anxiously beneath the table. "You're infuriating."

"I've been called worse," she says, unbothered.

I roll my eyes and reach for the bread basket, just as the bell over the entrance jingles lightly. My eyes flick toward the door instinctively-ready to go back to my carb-based coping-until I see him.

And my hand freezes mid-air.

Oh.

He's here
He's talking to the hostess, head turned slightly toward our table. Marina smiles. I go completely still, a rush of nerves crackling down my spine like static electricity.

"Marina... what's going on?" I whisper, but it comes out as more of a desperate squeak.

She just smiles again and picks up her menu, like this was always part of the plan.

Because it was.

And I-I have no clue what's happening.

***

Andorra
The road to Andorra winds like a lazy ribbon through the mountains, its edges glazed in a soft haze of melting snow and pine. It should've been peaceful, just the two of us, windows slightly cracked, letting in the crisp air, music low-but I can feel the weight of my own silence clinging to the air between us.

Gavi is stealing glances at me every few minutes from the passenger seat, his hand resting on the console, tapping faintly with the beat. I know he's trying to read me, maybe even trying to find the right words. He's been patient. Too patient. And that's what kills me.

I haven't said a word about Austria. Not a single thing. I didn't want to-couldn't. Not yet. I'd barely even had time to process it myself. One minute I was asleep in my bed and the next, Marina was waking me up with a plane ticket and a dress code. A meeting that could change the trajectory of my life sat heavy in my chest, but all I wanted today was to focus on this lunch with my family. Introduce him.

But still, the nerves twist inside of me.

He shifts in his seat a little, finally turning his body toward me with a breath that sounds more like surrender than anything else.

"You don't have to do this today, you know?" he says gently, his voice laced with uncertainty. "If you're having second thoughts... I get it."

The red light up ahead catches us, the brake gently tugging us to a stop. I take the opportunity and glance over at him-really look at him. His brows are slightly drawn, eyes darker than usual, like he's bracing himself for something painful.