Page 122 of Mine Again
Seriously. What a lunatic.
And how the hell did he manage to mark me?
Unless he found a tattoo artist in Vegas who didn’t mind working on unconscious customers, Luca must have done this himself. The font is sleek and elegant, like something you’d see on a luxury watch or an expensive bottle of cologne. Clean. Precise. Possessive.
It’s a neat job.
Kidnapper, pilot, and tattooist. What’s next?
I really don’t know him anymore, do I?
The anger that had been burning through me dims into something else. Something heavier. Sadness creeps in.
I feel so betrayed. And not just by Luca.
What was it he said about Sebastian?
That he targeted me? That our meeting wasn’t a coincidence and our relationship was part of some twisted plan?
No. That can’t be right.
Sure, our engagement was fast, but surely Sebastian wouldn’t use me like that.
We genuinely liked each other. We both admitted it wasn’t love yet, but the potential was there.
Did I ignore the signs?
If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t want to overthink it because it suited me.
Did I see only what I wanted to see?
What else in my life isn’t what it seems?
A twig snapping behind me pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I whip my head around, my heart slamming into my ribs.
Luca is walking up the trail.
Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s approaching a skittish animal. Like I might bolt if he moves too fast.
He stops a few paces away and doesn’t speak. Just stands there, letting the moment stretch.
I don’t say anything either. I can’t. My mouth is dry and my throat too tight.
For the first time since he came out of the bathroom and ripped the rug out from under my life, I really look at him.
I don’t want them to be there, but butterflies wake up in my stomach.
The boy I used to love is all man now.
His shoulders are broader, his jaw sharper. There’s more of him somehow… more presence, more weight.
He carries himself differently too, more grounded, more dangerous, like someone who’s had to fight to stay alive.
His hair is longer now, thick and dark, falling in tousled waves that skim his forehead and curl near his ears. Not styled. Not messy. Just… him. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t be so devastating.
He’s not clean-shaven anymore, either. There’s a few days’ worth of stubble along his jaw, and I can’t tell if it’s intentional or from being too busy kidnapping his ex-fiancée.
And that mouth… it still curves the same way, like he’s always on the verge of either a smirk or a command.
