Page 109 of Shattered By Grace

She stayed where she was, feeling the cool rain on her skin, wondering what he was doing.

He pulled open the back storage compartment of the bike, a bottle of wine and two glasses emerging from the seat. His movements were smooth and fluid as he straightened, rain dripping from his hair and clothes. He returned to her, running back to the bike parked just outside the greenhouse door. With a cocky smirk, he strode toward her, as if the storm hadn’t even fazed him.

That was when she laughed, shaking her head, arms crossed as she watched him. “Was the restaurant just a distraction? A cover?”

His smirk deepened as he poured them each a glass. “Maybe.”

She took the glass he handed her, their fingers brushing for a brief moment. As they make their way back into the greenhouse, Tristan opened the wine, the satisfying pop of the cork making Victoria jump, the sound sending a thrill through her.

He pulled out a chair for her with an understated elegance, setting the glasses down on the table before offering his hand. She took it, letting him guide her into the seat. He poured the wine into her glass, his gaze never leaving hers as he handed it to her. She swirled the deep red liquid, eyes locked on him as she raised the glass to her lips.

Victoria took a sip of the wine, tilting her head as she studied him. “So, was the restaurant just a cover?”

“Maybe.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, swirling the deep red liquid in her glass. “What’s the real plan, Locke?”

He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping just enough to make her breath hitch. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Her pulse jumped, but she masked it with a scoff. “Mysterious. Very on-brand for you.”

Tristan just watched her, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a full grin. Then, just as the moment stretched between them, he abruptly pushed back his chair and stood.

“Wait here.” It was a command, not a request.

Victoria watched as he walked across the greenhouse, his movements fluid and sure, rain still dripping from his hair. He stopped at a counter she hadn’t paid much attention to before, one usually cluttered with gardening tools, but now repurposed. Warmers lined the surface, steam curling from beneath the lids.

She blinked.When the hell did he set this up?

He lifted a lid, the rich aroma of pasta filled the space, and plated a serving with precise, effortless motions. The glow of candlelight cast shadows over his face, sharpening the angle of his jaw and highlighting the intensity in his expression.

When he turned back to her, plate in hand, there was something in his gaze that made her stomach dip. Like he was enjoying watching her squirm. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

He set the plate in front of her and slid her wine glass closer before pulling out his own chair and sinking back into it with lazy confidence.

“Hope you're hungry.” The way he said it, it wasn’t just a suggestion. It was a challenge.

And damn it, she felt it all the way down to her bones.

Long after their plates were empty, they lingered in the greenhouse, talking about everything and nothing. Things theyliked, things they didn’t. Favorite songs, childhood memories, random facts neither of them thought they’d ever say out loud.

It was easy, surprisingly so.

Victoria swirled the last sip of wine in her glass, watching him as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. The candlelight flickered over his face, and for once, there was no guarded edge to him, no carefully crafted mask. Just Tristan.

Then the air shifted.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand through his hair, suddenly looking like he was at war with himself.

“I need to apologize.” His voice was quieter now, rough like gravel. He didn’t meet her eyes at first, staring somewhere past her shoulder. “For how I handled everything. When you tried to tell me about your dad, the notebook, your name.” His fingers flexed against the tabletop, the movement restless. “I didn’t want to hear it.”

Victoria watched him, waiting. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his throat bobbed like the words were a battle to get out.

Tristan let out a bitter laugh, finally looking at her. “Because the second you said it, I knew." His voice was rough, weighted. He dragged a hand through his rain-damp hair, exhaling shakily. "I knew it didn’t matter, none of it. Because I was already yours, and you were mine. And that scared the hell out of me."

Victoria observed him, the weight of his words settling deep. He looked away, jaw flexing, like he was still fighting the truth even as he said it.

“I’ve never had something…someone…I’d put above everything.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he was admitting it only to himself. “Not the fights, not the business, not even my family.” His lips pressed together, the conflict clear inhis eyes. “But then there was you. And suddenly, none of it felt like enough.”

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