The cottage was still, but Elena could feel the aftershock of Lucía's visit hanging in the air like smoke after a storm. She wasn't angry, not exactly. But her heart was working overtime trying to make sense of what had just happened. What Lucía had said. What Marco hadn't.
She moved back to the bedroom, sat at the edge of the bed, and exhaled slowly. Her fingers brushed the robe's tie at her waist, but she didn't untie it. Not yet.
Marco stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. His shirt was still unbuttoned, the tension still visible in the lines of his shoulders.
"She was my past," he said quietly. "You're… something else."
Elena looked up at him. "What am I to you, Marco?"
There it was. The question hanging between them since their first dinner. Since that first touch. Since the kiss in the kitchen.
He didn't hesitate. "You're the first person who's made me feel like I want a future again."
That answer hit her deep in the chest. And this time, when she stood and crossed to him, she wasn't hesitant.
She kissed him softly. Then again. And again—until her lips grew more urgent, her hands exploring the edges of his shirt. He responded instantly, pulling her close, the heat of his body melting into hers.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his hands sliding along the small of her back as she leaned into him, trusting, breathless.
There was no rush this time. No fumbling or frantic need. This was something slower. Deeper. Intimate.
He took his time, easing the robe from her shoulders, letting it slip down her arms and fall to the floor like silk. She stood before him, bare, vulnerable, and unafraid.
His eyes never left hers.
"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured. "You don't even know."
She smiled, shy but sure. "Then show me."
They sank into the bed together, the sheets cool beneath them. His hands mapped every curve of her body, pausing to memorize the places that made her shiver, sigh, whisper his name.
She touched him in return—learning him, tracing the lines of his chest, his stomach, the rough stubble along his jaw. It was a language neither of them had spoken fluently before, but now it came easily, like instinct.
There were no words after a while. Just the sound of breath, soft moans, and the creak of the bed as they moved together. The world outside didn't exist. Just this room. This night. This heat.
When it was over, he held her close, both of them slick with sweat and wrapped in silence that wasn't awkward—it was full.
Elena rested her head on his chest, eyes closed. "That felt… real."
Marco kissed the top of her head. "That's because it was."
They lay like that until the air cooled and the room dimmed. But just as Elena began to drift off in his arms, a buzzing broke the peace.
Marco sat up, frowning. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his phone. His expression changed.
"What is it?" she asked, sitting up, concerned.
He hesitated, then showed her the screen.
It was a message.
Unknown Number:"You really think you can run Bellamy's without me? We're not done. Check your back door."
Elena's stomach dropped. "Who is that?"
Marco's face hardened. "Someone I thought I left behind in Rosehill a long time ago."