“I need you to believe those words now.”
Dean pulls me onto a train. People walk past us. Small bags hitched over their shoulders, luggage rolling around. He walks us into another cabin, all while keeping an eye out the window. Dean turns back to smile at me.
I’m a flower meeting the sun after a cold night. He brings me back to life.
“Sit here,” lowers me onto a window seat. When Dean lets go, he takes the empty seat to my left.
An announcement echoes through the speaker in German before translating in English. “Welcome onto the Gravity Express. We will be making our way to Zermatt in the next three hours. We are happy to have you with us on this trip. Don’t forget to stay in your seats until the flashing lights are turned off. Thank you.”
My eyes widen. “Dean…” This is no small runaway.
Something Dean Vuk—the man who avoids talking about himself—doesn’t do.
He looks with strong confidence. “You trustme.”
“I do, but?—”
“No buts. We trust each other and you need this. We need this.”
“They’ll be pissed.” The train starts moving.
“After they’ve been trying to separate us,” his voice thickens with anger. “Let them.”
Can’t argue with that.
“What’s the plan then, ogre?” I catch a glimpse of his chest exhaling.
“I didn’t think this through but for now,” he surprises me by curving a palm over my cheek and pulling it down on his shoulder. “Sleep.”
He then links our fingers together.
The buzz beneath my feet, and the warmth coming from Dean lull me into soothing darkness.
CHAPTER 23
Dean holds my hand when we get off the train.
He keeps holding my hand when we walk through Zermatt’s station.
And he doesn’t let go when bustling cars, smoke exhausts, and people’s chatter surrounds us.
Zermatt belongs in a fantasy novel. Brick walls, stone pathways, the inviting people around. Tourist upon tourist, children with their parents. Couples… there’s a lot of them here.
We walk for a while in silence. I tend to zone out when I’m with someone that can take care of me, and Dean’s written his name on that small list of people.
“So,” my palms are sweaty. “What’s the plan?”
Dean doesn’t let go of my hand when he takes his phone out. He taps it on. I catch a glimpse of his lock screen.
It’s a screenshot of his notes.
I point a finger at the screen. “Why do you have a checklist on taking care of someone with migraines?”
He barely glances when he says, “Because you have them.”
“How do you know that?”I’ve never told him.
“I’ve known for a while,” he clicks his phone off. “Before coming here.”
