“You belong here,” I say quietly. “More than half of them put together.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. Just a breath, shaky and soft.
And before I can stop myself, I lean in and kiss her.
It’s not desperate like so many times during this trip, not about hiding in shadows or stealing time. It’s steady, grounding, like I’m telling her with my mouth what I can’t with words:I see you. I want you. You belong here with me.
She kisses me back, arms sliding up around my neck, holding on like maybe she believes me for a second.
But when we pull apart, her eyes are shining in a way that makes my chest tighten. Doubt flickers there for a fraction of a second. And I wonder if it’s related to us—what comes next after this trip is over in a matter of days.
And the truth is, I feel it too.
Because no matter how right this feels, I can already sense the walls closing in—the group’s eyes, my family’s expectations, her fear of never belonging.
And I don’t know if we’re strong enough to carry all of it.
We start walking again, slower this time, gravel crunching underfoot. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. But I keep sneaking glances at her, at the way her shoulders have dropped a little, at how she’s chewing her bottom lip like she’s still replaying every word with Nicole.
I want to tell her again that she was perfect. That she didn’t need to explain herself to anyone. That the way she called Nicole out was the bravest thing I’ve seen in years, from anyone. But if I say it out loud, I’ll have to admit how much I needed to hear it myself.
And that terrifies me.
Because if she can face everything head-on, then what excuse do I have for not doing the same in my own life? What excuse do I have for ignoring calls from my parents, for leaving an email unopened because I’m afraid of the weight it carries?
We round a bend in the path, and the villa comes into view below, white walls glowing in the late afternoon sun. Laughter drifts faintly from the terrace, already back to normal like nothing happened.
Manuela exhales slowly, like she’s bracing herself.
I want to grab her hand. Tell her she doesn’t have to go back in there alone. That if she can stand up to Nicole, maybe I can stand up to my father. That maybe we’re stronger together.
But I don’t.
Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets, keep my eyes fixed on the house, and tell myself the timing isn’t right.
Even though I know it never will be.
33
CONNOR
The villa feelsheavy after the picnic, and it has nothing to do with the excessive amounts of food and wine we’ve been consuming. Conversation was bright enough on the surface, but underneath it all, something sharp lingered, and now the walls seem to carry it. Doors shut harder than they need to upstairs. Laughter drifts faint and uneven, like people are trying too hard. Even in the kitchen, the clatter of staff resetting for dinner sounds louder, more brittle.
I’m on the terrace, alone, a sweating glass of water untouched beside me. My phone sits face-down on the table, but I can feel it buzzing like an accusation. The vibration carries through the wood, faint but steady, every few minutes.
Missed calls from my father and at least seventeen texts from my mother.
Dad
Call him back. This can’t wait.
Connor, you need to respond to his email.
He’s giving you an opportunity people in your shoes only dream about.
Opportunity. Right.
I drag a hand down my face, tilt my chair back, and stare at the perfect line where the mountains meet sky. Blue stacked on a different hue of blue, endless and serene. Everything I’m supposed to want right now. A vacation in Switzerland. Time to connect with friends. A break from the constant grind of work and obligation.
