Page 54 of His Untouchable Heart

“To surprises,” Gabrielle said.

Juliette raised hers, too. “And to fake Picassos. May they rot in gallery hell.”

We laughed, and for the first time in weeks, the sound didn’t feel like a break in the tension.

It felt like peace.

As Juliette got momentarily distracted by her phone, I leaned closer to Gabrielle and kept my voice low, just for her.

“I love you,” I said. “I’ve loved you for a while. I just didn’t know how to say it out loud without screwing it up.”

Her smile faltered—only for a second—before it widened. She blinked fast, then reached for my hand and squeezed.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And thank you… for finally letting go of your guilt and grief. I was starting to wonder if you ever would.”

I laughed, shaking my head as she grinned at me.

I looked at her—a beautiful woman I hadn’t realized I needed until she was suddenly the center of my world—and I knew, with absolute clarity, that I would protect her, protectus, with everything I had.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something to brace for.

It felt like something to meet head-on.

Juliette turned back toward us just then, phone in hand, eyes gleaming. “That was Lina in Switzerland,” she said, slipping her phone onto the table. “She’s got what we need.”

CHAPTERTWENTY

Gabrielle

The front door clicked shut after we stepped in, the sound unusually loud in the quiet that greeted us. After the buzz of the restaurant, the apartment felt like it had exhaled—dim, still, familiar in that way only home could be.

Juliette groaned as she kicked off her sandals and dropped her bag onto the armchair. “If I don’t get horizontal in the next five minutes, I’m going to start sleepwalking,” she muttered.

“That would be a first,” I said with a smile.

She gave me a lazy wave on her way toward the hallway, pausing just long enough to raise a brow at Anthony like she was silently saying,don’t mess this up. “I’m out. Don’t let the view of palm trees keep you up.”

Anthony chuckled, the sound low and warm, as she disappeared behind her bedroom door. Then he leaned down to tug off his shoes, moving with that easy, unhurried grace he had when he wasn’t trying to be anyone but himself. Watching him now—barefoot in my apartment, the corners of his mouth still curved from something Juliette said—it struck me how easily he seemed to belong here.

I crossed the room and slid open the lanai door. The night breeze slipped in, carrying the soft scent of gardenia and the distant rustle of palm fronds.

“You want to sit outside for a bit?” I asked, already stepping into the warm air.

“Yeah,” he said, brushing past me, close enough for my arm to catch the heat of his. “Night’s too nice to waste.”

We settled into the cushioned chairs Juliette and I had bought together from a clearance rack—faded fabric, a squeaky leg, and years of memories embedded in the threads. The ceiling fan above spun in lazy, half-hearted circles. Somewhere beyond the screen, a car turned onto the street, its headlights briefly lighting up the curve of the sidewalk.

I tucked my legs beneath me, curling into the seat, and Anthony stretched beside me. His socked foot brushed against mine beneath the table and didn’t move away. I didn’t either. We just sat there, surrounded by the soft sounds of the city at night, the unspoken something stretching between us like a question I wasn’t quite ready to answer.

Anthony leaned his head back, eyes half-lidded. “That place was good,” he said. “Remind me to take you there again.”

“Mm-hmm,” I murmured.

But I wasn’t there. Not really.

He turned toward me slightly, his voice quieter. “You’ve gone somewhere.”

“Not far,” I said.

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