Page 156 of Mine Again
“You know Father confiscated my phone and laptop—”
“Yeah, I watched him come into your room, demanding you hand it over,” he cuts in. “And I was aware you went to get the laptop I left in the cottage, but I didn’t realize it was the day they ransacked everything. That was incredibly dangerous, Isa.”
“I had no way of knowing,” I reply, a tad defensively. “And when I saw the men coming through the vineyard, I left right away. I’m not stupid, Luca. I realized I’d be in deep trouble if they caught me there. So I climbed a tree a few yards away and hid until they left.”
The memories of that day replay like an unwelcome movie I never wanted to see again.
“It was awful. They upended everything, clearly searching for something and destroying it all in the process. Then they set the cottage on fire.”
“They were hunting for clues. Trying to figure out where we’d gone. As if I’d ever be that amateurish to leave a trail behind.”
“They pushed this statue over before they went inside,” I sayquietly, my fingers brushing the long arc of her hair. “I saw it break.”
The memory tightens my chest. It was like a stab to the heart, one more thing being taken from me. “So how is it here? Especially since it was a one-off?”
“It’s a replica,” he says simply.
“But it looks exactly like the original.”
“I hacked into the artist’s computer,” he admits without remorse. “Downloaded every photo, every sketch he had. Then I commissioned a Canadian sculptor to recreate it. Because I knew how much you loved it.”
Of course he did.
I already suspected that’s why the statue is here. And if the original had still existed, I have no doubt Luca would have moved heaven and earth to bring it back to me.
This devotion of his is unwavering. It always has been.
Not only when we were together, but, I realize, even more so in our years apart.
The evidence surrounds me. Not only in grand gestures like this but in the small, almost invisible ones.
The perfectly chosen jacket by the door. The espresso with the right amount of milk. The way the statue is positioned, not as a memory but as a welcome.
Something soft and slow flutters to life in my chest.
I exhale, and it feels different from before. Less like escape, more like surrender. The kind that comes not from giving up but from letting something in.
The tightness behind my ribs eases. The spin in my head slows.
For a moment, everything that’s been clawing at me takes a step back.
And in its place… butterflies.
Not the panicked kind, but the gentle flutter of deeply remembering everything we were.
“Now,” Luca says, nodding toward the bench, “I brought two compound bows and a quiver full of arrows.”
I follow his gaze. Sure enough, the equipment is neatly laid out, gleaming in the soft light.
“Let’s see if you can beat me these days.”
We walk back to the bench, a small but genuine smile tugging at my lips.
I’m excited. Luca and I have always been competitive with target practice.
“Well,” I say, reaching for one of the bows, “since you’ve been watching me for years, and apparently not only in my bedroom, you must have seen how deadly accurate I’ve become.”
His mouth twitches. “Oh, I’ve seen your form. The grouping. Very clean. But I’m not worried.”
