Silent love

Chapter 58

On the previous chapter...

"You talk in your sleep". I added. "But you shoot in mine".

She exhaled through her nose, then leaned back against the headboard.
"In my dreams". She said slowly. "It ends like this, Valerio on the ground. I shoot him in the dick first".

A pause. A grin. The first real one I'd seen from her all day.

"Then in the head".

I blinked. Then laughed once, low. She tilted her head toward me.
"And my brother's still alive. Somehow".

Her voice had gone quiet again. Not soft, just... distant.

She looked at me. Calm, composed. But her eyes were glassy and dark like riverstones.
"And you?" She asked. "How does it end for you?"

I swallowed.

"I don't know yet".

She reached for another shirt, folded it.

"Well. Maybe France has answers".

Oh it will. For sure.

I nodded slowly, and we kept packing. Quiet again. Neither of us said it, but we both knew.

France wasn't going to be just a return.

It was the beginning of something else.

                  ʚ YAQUELINE'S POV ɞ

The ricotta was everywhere.

On the counter. On my wrist. Somehow, in my hair.

"You're the only person I know who makes lasagna like she's building a bomb". Rico laughed, standing behind me with his hands on my hips, steadying me like I was about to tip over. "Slow down".

I huffed, wiping a spot of sauce off my cheek with the back of my hand. "I am slowing down".

"No, princess. You're attacking the pasta sheets like they owe you money".

He reached over me, effortlessly layering the noodles with a kind of reverence that made my frustration feel absurd. He always did that, made me slow down, made the world softer by simply existing in it. His hands moved with ease, spreading béchamel like it was some sacred ritual. I watched him, my irritation fading into something else.

"I just want to do it right". I muttered.
"You will". He said, then tapped the tip of my nose with a flour-covered finger. "But you're not a machine. Lasagna needs heart. Not precision".

I rolled my eyes, but smiled. "You're ridiculous".

"You married me anyway".

"Unfortunately. It's not like I had a choice".

He leaned down, kissed the back of my neck.
"Fortunate for both of us". He whispered.

And for a moment, the kitchen was the whole world warm, messy, safe. Just us. Just home.

Then-

A sound. Sharp and real.

I blinked.

The scent of tomato and basil was gone.

Replaced by the cold, filtered air of the jet.

The hum of altitude.

The subtle, metallic click of a seatbelt being adjusted beside me.