Page 154 of Mission Shift

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

“Doting husband was an easy role to play,” he murmured. “Because it’s true.”

That made my stomach clench in a way that wasn’t from nerves.

I looked away, letting my gaze follow the curve of the horizon. “It’s strange,” I said. “Out here, everything feels so simple. I’ve spent my whole life with enemies around every corner, always waiting for the next mission, the next lie, the next moment someone would try to break me.”

Braxton reached over and rested his hand lightly on mine, intertwining our fingers.

“But out here, with you…” I said, “I’ve been able to just be. No directives. No one expecting me to play a part. It’s the first time I’ve existed without an agenda.”

“This is the real you,” Braxton said. “And I like her. A lot.”

I looked at him then, and there was something tight in my chest that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had always been there, but I’d pushed it down. Long ago, I’d learned to bury my emotions before they could be used against me.

But now I didn’t know what to do with them. With him.

He hadn’t told me he loved me.

I hadn’t told him either.

We’d said the words, while we’d been rehearsing for whatever questions the customs authorities might throw at us. We’d kissed and touched like we couldn’t get enough of each other. But the actual truth—the scary, open, exposed truth of how we felt—was still hanging there, just out of reach.

“Do you ever wonder if this is too good to be true?” I asked.

He blinked. “Too good?”

“This. Us. The ocean. The quiet. Feeling safe.”

Braxton studied me, his brows pulling together slightly. “It’s not too good to be true. It’s earned. You’ve bled for this peace, Daria.”

I wanted to believe that, but some part of me was still waiting for it to be yanked away.

“I only ever felt truly loved once,” I said quietly. “By my mother. And when she died, it shattered something in me. I think it taught me that love is dangerous, that it’s always followed by loss.”

Braxton nodded. He understood because he’d suffered the same sort of loss.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, “because when I’m with you, I feel it again—that thing I lost. And if I lose it again…”

His hand squeezed mine. “You won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” he said. “But I can promise I’ll fight like hell to make sure you never feel alone again.”

We sat there a while longer, the water gently slapping the hull beneath us as the sun began to set. Many things awaited us in America—Luca, Braxton’s brothers, the new life I hadn’t asked for—but out here, for just one more day, I had peace.

And I had Braxton.

Even if neither of us had said the words, I felt them in everything he did.

And maybe that was enough.

For now.

Braxton must’ve sensed I was spiraling, because the next thing I knew, he had risen from his chair and was tugging his shirt over his head. “C’mon,” he said, flicking his chin toward the hot tub. “We’ve got this view, the warm water, and no Nik breathing down our necks. Let’s not waste it.”

I looked at him for a second, trying to decide if my brain could shift gears. Then I stood. “Fine. But only if I get a seat with the jets.”

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