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“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I whisper.

He takes my hand in his, and this time, I don’t pull away. His touch is familiar and comforting.

“Believe this.” He presses my palm to his chest, over his heart. I feel it beating beneath my fingers, strong and steady. “Believe that I love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

My breath catches in my throat. I love him, too. Even now. But I don’t know if I can trust him if I can… What if he leaves again?

I draw back my hand and start eating, watching the clouds drift by.

After I’m done, the stewardess cleans up and leaves us alone again.

“You might want to lie down, Blue. There’s a bed in the back.” He points towards a little room in the back.

“Thanks.” I rise on unsteady legs and make my way there.

Lying down, I close my eyes, but images of Chris and Connor dance behind my lids. How is Chris? Is he like in the messages? What kind of person must he be to do that to me? To others?

I’m lucky Connor was watching over me.

Footsteps approach, and I know it’s him. My stalker. I open my eyes to find him peering down at me, a frown on his face.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“I’m fine.” Another lie.

He nods and turns away. But something inside me breaks at the widening distance.

My voice is barely above a whisper, “Connor.”

He pauses, peeking over his shoulder.

“Stay?” My request hangs fragile in the air, a single thread of hope stretched taut.

He hesitates, then moves closer, perching on the side of the bed with a careful distance still intact. I reach out, clutching his wrist.

He understands and eases down beside me, strong and sure, a counterpoint to my disarray.

We lie there, not speaking, the warmth of his body seeping into my chilled skin. He brushes his lips against my hair so gently it could be a dream, and for the first time since everything, I let myself believe that everything might be okay.

Connor is the one I love. I feel safe with. I want to have by my side.

“Mary… we’re about to land.” Connor gently rubs my shoulders, stirring me from the depths of a dreamless sleep.

My eyes flutter open, and for a moment, I’m disoriented, the soft hum of the private jet’s engine in my ear.

Right, we’re flying to Italy.

We’re curled up together under the blankets. His arm is draped over my waist and his breath warm against my neck filly my chest with a bittersweet ache.

“We need to get back to our seats.” His eyes meet mine, holding a quiet strength I find myself leaning into despite the chasm of hurt between us.

“Okay.”

The landing is smooth, almost imperceptibly so. As we disembark, the Italian air greets us with its balmy embrace of citrus and sea, but it does little to ease the tightness in my chest.

Connor’s hand comes to rest on the small of my back, guiding me toward a sleek black car. “The prison is about an hour’s drive from here.”

“Prison?”

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