Page 66 of The Slug Crystal
"Sleep well, Emma," he says, his hand on the doorknob. "Tomorrow is another day to search."
When the door closes behind him, I lie back on the pillows, my mind a jumble of confused thoughts. The contrast between Luca's passionate advances in the pool and Marco's tender care in my room creates a dissonance I can't reconcile. Both approaches moved me, both men intrigue me, yet in completely different ways.
As sleep begins to claim me, Luca's words from the pool echo in my mind: "Who's really winning here?" Perhaps there's truth in that perspective—a truth I'm not quite ready to acknowledge.
I drift off with the image of four very different menorbiting around me like planets around an uncertain sun, and somewhere in my dreams, a blue snail watches it all unfold with quiet, incomprehensible judgment.
16ALWAYS BRING YOUR HANDKERCHIEF
Sunday,7:03AM. The next morning brings a pounding headache and the taste of regret on my tongue, an unholy combination of limoncello and chlorine. I sit up slowly in bed, fragments of last night returning in flashes, and I groan. I never make good decisions when I drink.
The terrarium on my nightstand holds Alex, his shell gleaming in the sunlight that filters through the thin curtains. The sight of him centers me, reminds me why we're really here—not for romantic entanglements, but to fix my magical mistake.
A soft knock at my door signals the day's beginning, whether I'm ready or not. And I’m definitely not ready.
I pull on clean clothes, wincing as the movement jostles my tender head, and open the door to find Jake leaning against the wall opposite, arms crossed, eyes searching my face with practiced concern. "Rough night?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral, though I detect the question behind the question.
I nod, gathering Alex's terrarium. "Nothing a coffee and some aspirin won't fix." As I glance around the room, I realize the guys must have crammed into our other room together,and a pang of gratefulness hits my chest at their thoughtfulness in giving me my own space.
We join the others in the pensione's courtyard, where Ben is already halfway through a pastry, crumbs catching in his beard. Marco sits with perfect posture, reading something on his tablet, while Luca lounges in his chair, tilted back on two legs, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. His smile widens when he spots me.
"The sleeping beauty awakens," Ben calls, raising his coffee cup in salute. "We were just debating our next move."
"Our vote is Siena," Marco says without looking up from his tablet. "The P.O. box you found on Sarah's website is our most concrete lead so far."
I settle into an empty chair, gratefully accepting the espresso Jake places in front of me. "What about the journal at that shop?"
"A dead end," Luca says, finally dropping his chair back to all four legs and leaning forward. "Unless you would like to rob the shop owner."
"She won't sell us the journal," Jake adds, sliding into the chair beside me. "I went back to make an offer. She refused."
I sip my espresso, the bitter liquid shocking my system awake. "So, Siena it is." The words come out more resigned than I intend, but the chase is already wearing on me.
"We have the rental car for three more days," Marco offers, finally setting his tablet aside. His eyes meet mine with quiet understanding, no hint of awkwardness about last night's tenderness. "Siena is only an hour's drive."
“Let’s do it,” I agree. “To Siena!”
Ben whoops excitedly, and I grimace. My head hurts, and it’s just too early in the day for joy.
Within the hour, we're packed into the rented Fiat, a vehicle clearly not designed for five adults and a snail terrarium. Ben calls shotgun, leaving me sandwiched between Jake and Luca in the back seat. Marco is at the wheel, navigatingthe chaotic Florence traffic with unexpected skill. Alex's terrarium rests on my lap, the blue snail seemingly unconcerned with our human dramas as he explores a fresh cucumber slice.
Luca's thigh presses warm against mine, a deliberate pressure that reminds me of his whispered suggestion in the pool. His cologne, something expensive and subtle, mingles with the car's leather scent. On my other side, Jake maintains a careful distance despite the cramped quarters, though occasionally his hand brushes mine when the car turns.
The Italian countryside unfolds around us as we leave Florence behind—rolling hills bathed in golden light, vineyards stretching toward the horizon, and ancient farmhouses standing sentinel amid the sparse trees. It's breathtaking, or would be if I could focus on anything beyond the complications of my current situation.
"Almost there," Marco announces as a medieval city appears on the horizon, its terra cotta rooftops and stone towers rising from the landscape like something from a fairy tale. Siena.
The city welcomes us with narrow, winding streets and buildings the color of burnt honey. We park near the famous shell-shaped Piazza del Campo, and I'm momentarily awestruck by the sweep of the open square and the imposing central tower reaching toward the cloudless sky. It's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache, this evidence of human creativity and perseverance across centuries.
"The address from the P.O. box is this way," Marco says, consulting his phone. He shoulders his bag, then carefully takes Alex's terrarium from my hands. "I'll carry him for a while. You've been his primary caretaker too long."
The gesture is small but thoughtful, typical of Marco. I thank him with a smile that he returns, the gold flecks in his hazel eyes catching the sunlight.
I follow him through labyrinthine alleys, the stonesuneven and old. Ben and Luca walk ahead, arguing good-naturedly about the best gelato flavor, while Jake remains beside me, his stride matching mine automatically.
"How are you holding up?" he asks, his voice pitched low for my ears only.
"I'm fine," I lie, the words automatic. Then, reconsider. "Actually, I'm exhausted. And scared we'll never find her."
