Page 155 of Mine Again
And it’s awfully familiar.
It couldn’t be. No way.
Curious, I rise slowly from the bench, my legs stiff, and start toward it.
The grass muffles my steps as I cross the range, past the target, untilI reach the tree.
Up close, the statue of the archer girl is even more striking. And it’s exactly as I remember it.
I first saw her in a book when I was fourteen. A single black-and-white photo tucked between pages about classical sculpture. She was poised and elegant, her body caught in that perfect moment of tension as she drew the bow, aiming at something out of frame. There was strength in her stance, but also grace. Confidence.
I must have stared at that picture for hours.
It made archery look effortless. Beautiful. Like power and control could exist in the same breath.
That was the moment I wanted to try it for myself.
And I did.Wedid. Luca and I. It became our thing after that.
On my fifteenth birthday, he gave me the statue as a present.
He never told me how he tracked it down, only smirked like it was obvious. But it shouldn’t have surprised me. If I loved something, Luca always found a way to give it to me, no matter how obscure. No matter how impossible.
We had our first kiss in front of this statue.
I remember the way his hand trembled ever so slightly as he touched my cheek. The way his eyes searched mine, as if asking for permission even though we both already knew the answer. The air was thick with summer heat, and nothing had ever felt so electric. So right.
Later that year, when we made the little cottage on Luca’s family vineyard our hideaway, we took the statue there. He placed it near the front door so I’d see it the moment I arrived.
She stood like a sentinel, guarding our secret world with her drawn bow and steady aim.
Not that it helped in the end.
I stare at the statue of the archer girl I believed lost.
How is she here?
I saw her get broken.
Soft green moss is growing near the base, but the rest of her is pristine. No leaves are caught in the folds of her dress. No birddroppings or streaks of dirt mar the pale stone.
She’s been cared for.
Luca must have been tending to her, keeping her upright, brushed off, respected.
Like she still meant something.
And just like that, the ache claws its way back up.
Some things should stay gone. But Luca never lets go of the things he loves, not even when they’re shattered.
My pulse stirs, unsure if it’s from confusion or the way old memories suddenly feel fresh again.
I’m so focused on the statue that I don’t hear Luca approach until he’s nearly beside me. The crunch of leaves under his foot pulls me back.
“How do you have this?” I ask without preamble. “I saw De Marco’s men destroy it.”
“You were there the day they discovered our hideaway?” His voice tightens with alarm.
