Page 112 of The Slug Crystal
"Less elegant, but accurate." His returning smile is gentle as he moves toward the counter. "May I help?"
Before I can answer, another figure appears in the doorway. It’s Luca, wearing nothing but low-slung pajama bottoms, his chest bare and hair artfully tousled. He leans against the doorframe with practiced nonchalance, though his eyes are alert, scanning the scene with quick intelligence.
"Kitchen party?" he asks, voice deliberately light. "I hope there's enough for three."
"Just scavenging," I reply, gesturing to my modest spread. "Nothing fancy."
Luca pushes off from the doorframe, moving into the kitchen with the fluid grace that characterizes everything he does. "Let me contribute, then." He opens a cabinet and produces a bottle of wine, examining the label critically beforenodding in satisfaction. "This will pair nicely with whatever you've found."
While Luca searches for glasses, Marco quietly arranges the food on a wooden board he finds in a drawer, his movements precise and methodical. I watch them both, grateful for their presence yet uncertain what to say. The weight of our most recent discovery hangs between us, unspoken but palpable.
"So," Luca begins, uncorking the wine with practiced ease, "Bali." He says it casually, as if discussing a potential vacation spot rather than the location of our last hope.
I stiffen, but force myself to respond. "Bali," I repeat, the word still bitter on my tongue.
Marco places the arranged food on the island counter, his scholarly detachment slipping as he gives me a sympathetic glance. "It's not an insurmountable obstacle," he offers. "Difficult, certainly, but not impossible."
"It feels impossible," I admit, accepting the wine glass Luca hands me. Our fingers brush in the exchange, a brief moment of warmth that lingers on my skin. "Even if we somehow get there, find this Spiritual Lotus place, locate Sarah... what then? What if she refuses to help? What if she can't help? What if..."
"What if we take one problem at a time?" Luca interrupts gently, leaning against the counter beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his bare skin. "Starting with hunger."
Marco nods in agreement, pushing the food board closer to me. "Nutrition first. Strategic planning second."
The simple practicality of their approach loosens something tight in my chest. I take a piece of cheese, savoring the sharp tang as it melts on my tongue. Marco and Luca join me, the three of us forming a small triangle around the island counter, our bodies gradually shifting closer as we share the impromptu meal.
"I called the hangar," Luca says after a comfortable silence, swirling wine in his glass. "Just to inquire about logistics. The jet could be ready within fourteen hours, eight hours ago. So by morning."
I look up at him, surprised by this concrete step. "You're serious about flying us to Bali?"
His gray eyes meet mine over the rim of his glass. "I'm serious about helping you, Emma. About helping Alex." His gaze flicks briefly to the terrarium where the blue snail continues his endless exploration. "Whatever that requires. However, I unfortunately do not have any connections in Bali. Not a single, distant relative."
"The financial considerations are significant," Marco adds, reaching for an olive at the same moment I do. Our fingers touch, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "But not prohibitive if we pool resources."
"You'd all really do that?" I ask, the question emerging more vulnerable than I intended. "Travel across the world on what might be another wild goose chase?"
Marco's hand finds my shoulder, his touch gentle but sure as he begins to knead the tension there with careful fingers. "Of course we would."
"We're in this together now," Luca adds, sliding imperceptibly closer until his arm brushes mine. "All of us."
I take another sip of wine, letting its warmth spread through me. The kitchen feels different now, with the knowledge that while I was decompressing, these men, my men, were discussing Bali and committing to continuing our journey. The shadows feel less threatening, and the silence is comfortable rather than oppressive.
Marco's fingers work deeper into the knots of my shoulders, drawing a small sigh from my lips. Luca watches, his eyes darkening slightly at the sound.
" You're carrying all your stress here," Marco observes, hisvoice dropping lower as his thumbs find a particularly tight spot at the base of my neck.
"Let us help," Luca adds, reaching for the last piece of bread at the same moment I do. Our fingers tangle, neither of us pulling away. "With everything."
The meaning beneath his words is clear, echoed in Marco's continuing massage and the way both men have moved closer, creating a pocket of warmth around me in the cool kitchen. I should feel crowded or overwhelmed, but I feel sheltered and coveted instead.
"I don't know what happens next," I admit, looking between them. "With any of this."
Marco's fingers pause on my shoulders, his scholarly precision giving way to something more personal and passionate. "Perhaps we don't need to know yet."
"Perhaps," Luca suggests, his free hand coming to rest lightly on my hip, "we just need to live in the moment. Here. Now." Luca's hands settle more firmly on my hips, his breath warm against my ear as he leans forward. "I know other ways to release tension," he whispers, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below my earlobe. "Much more enjoyable than a massage, though Marco's technique is admittedly impressive."
A laugh escapes me, soft and unexpected. After hours of despair, the sound feels foreign in my throat. Luca smiles against my neck, clearly pleased with himself for drawing out the sound.
"I'm open to suggestions," I reply, turning my head slightly to meet his eyes. The invitation in my words is unmistakable.
