Chapter 125
The bakery was tucked into a narrow stone street just below the village square.
Tiny.
Warm.
The sort of place tourists almost missed because there was no sign advertising itself beyond a faded blue awning and the smell of fresh bread drifting into the street.
Alina had walked past it dozens of times.
Luc had apparently been visiting it since childhood.
Which meant the owner greeted him immediately.
“Luc p>
The elderly baker emerged from behind the counter carrying a tray of pastries.
“Finally bringing your beautiful girlfriend instead of talking about food all day p>
Luc sighed.
“Good afternoon to you too, Henri p>
Henri ignored him completely.
“Are you feeding her properly p>
“Henri p>
“She’s too thin p>
“Henri p>
“Do you have eyes p>
Alina laughed before she could stop herself.
The baker immediately pointed at her triumphantly.
“See? She agrees with me p>
“She absolutely does not p>
Henri waved him away.
“Sit. I’ll bring something p>
Luc looked genuinely defeated.
Alina found it adorable.
Dangerously adorable.
They settled at a small outdoor table overlooking the sea.
The late afternoon sun painted everything gold.
Stone walls glowed softly.
Flowers spilled from window boxes overhead.
The Mediterranean stretched endlessly below them.
Beautiful.
Almost painfully beautiful.
Alina stared at the horizon for a moment.
Trying not to think about how many of these views she had left.
Luc watched her quietly.
He’d been doing that a lot recently.
Observing.
Thinking.
Not pushing.
Just noticing.
Which somehow made it impossible to hide.
Henri returned carrying enough food to feed a small army.
Croissants.
Fruit tarts.
Fresh bread.
Two coffees.
And something involving chocolate that looked medically irresponsible.
“Henri,” Luc said.
“No p>
“I didn’t say anything p>
“You were about to p>
The baker walked away before Luc could argue.
Alina laughed again.
“You’ve known him forever p>
“Since I was six p>
“That explains everything p>
“What does that mean p>
“You’ve been bullied by elderly French people your entire life p>
Luc considered this.
“That’s probably true p>
A comfortable silence settled between them.
One of the things Alina loved most about Luc was that silence never felt threatening.
With some people, quietness demanded filling.
With Luc, it simply existed.
Like breathing.
Like sunlight.
Like the sea below them.
He tore a piece of bread and handed it to her.
She accepted it automatically.
Their fingers brushed.
The touch lasted perhaps half a second.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing cinematic.
And yet.
Something inside her chest tightened.
Because suddenly she realized how many tiny habits they had built together.
Small things.
Meaningless things.
The sort of things people only notice when they’re about to lose them.
The way he always handed her the first piece of bread.
The way she automatically stole his coffee when hers cooled.
The way they walked close enough for their shoulders to touch.
The way he always knew when she was tired.
The way he never asked for more than she was willing to give.
The thought hurt unexpectedly.
Luc noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
“You disappeared again p>
Alina blinked.
“What p>
“You’re thinking too hard p>
She smiled faintly.
“You say that like it’s unusual p>
“It isn’t p>
He took a sip of coffee.
“But lately it feels different p>
The smile faded slightly.
There it was again.
That careful concern.
The same concern she’d been seeing in Elodie.
In Isabelle.
In Camille.
Apparently everyone could tell something was wrong.
Everyone except the people she actually needed to fool.
Which was both comforting and irritating.
The sea breeze moved through her hair softly.
Below them, boats drifted lazily across glittering water.
Tourists laughed somewhere nearby.
A church bell rang in the distance.
The entire world felt suspended.
Like time itself was slowing down for her final days in èze.
Luc reached across the table.
Not dramatically.
Just naturally.
His fingers settled over hers.
Warm.
Steady.
Grounding.
Alina looked down at their joined hands briefly.
Then back up at him.
His gaze was calm.
Patient.
Waiting.
Not demanding.
Never demanding.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.
The question landed directly in her chest.
Because nobody else had phrased it that way.
Everyone else asked what was happening.
Luc asked what she feared.
Alina stared at the ocean.
How could she possibly answer that?
I’m afraid of becoming the person I used to be.
I’m afraid of winning.
I’m afraid of what happens after.
I’m afraid that if I walk back into that world, I’ll lose this one.
Instead she said quietly:
“I don’t know p>
Luc didn’t call her a liar.
Which meant he knew she wasn’t lying entirely.
Maybe she genuinely didn’t know.
Maybe fear had become too tangled to name.
He squeezed her hand gently.
And let the subject go.
For now.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through èze.
No plans.
No destination.
Just walking.
The village seemed determined to show off for her final week.
Every corner looked beautiful.
Every street looked nostalgic.
Every view felt sharper somehow.
As if her mind was already turning everything into memory.
They stopped to watch an artist painting the coastline.
Bought fresh peaches from a market stall.
Shared a bottle of lemonade.
Argued about whether one ancient stone staircase was older than another.
Luc insisted it was.
Alina claimed he was inventing facts.
“You only think I’m wrong because you’re American p>
“I’m not an annoying American p>
“Close enough p>
“That is deeply offensive p>
He laughed.
The sound echoed warmly through the narrow street.
God.
She loved that laugh.
The realization hit suddenly.
Unexpectedly.
Terrifyingly.
Not dramatic love.
Not desperate love.
Not all-consuming love.
Something quieter.
Something more dangerous.
The kind that slips into your life so naturally you don’t notice until it becomes essential.
They eventually reached the cliffside path overlooking the Mediterranean.
The sun was beginning to descend.
Everything turned gold.
Then amber.
Then soft orange.
Luc sat on a stone wall overlooking the water.
Alina sat beside him.
Their shoulders touched.
The sea stretched endlessly below.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Neither needed to.
A gull drifted overhead.
Waves crashed against the cliffs far beneath them.
The air smelled like salt and summer.
Home.
The thought appeared instantly.
Home.
Not New York.
Not Paris.
Not any specific apartment.
This.
This feeling.
This peace.
Luc leaned back slightly.
“You know,” he said.
“Hm p>
“The first time I saw you, I thought you looked angry p>
Alina laughed.
“That’s flattering p>
“I’m serious p>
“Was I angry p>
“Very p>
She considered it.
“That’s fair p>
“You also looked exhausted p>
Also fair.
Luc smiled faintly.
“And now you don’t p>
Something tightened inside her chest.
Because she knew what he was really saying.
You healed.
At least a little.
The silence returned.
Longer this time.
Softer.
Then Luc spoke again.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Like someone approaching something fragile.
“You’ll come back, right p>
The question shattered her.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
But internally?
Completely.
Because she had prepared for business questions.
Travel questions.
Logistics questions.
Not that.
Not him asking with that specific softness in his voice.
Not him sounding like the answer mattered.
Alina opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
A second passed.
Then another.
Then another.
And suddenly the silence itself became an answer.
Luc felt it immediately.
She saw the exact moment.
The exact moment concern shifted into something else.
Understanding.
Not of the truth.
But of the uncertainty.
Because if she truly believed she was coming back—
she would have answered immediately.
The pause said everything.
Alina looked away toward the ocean.
“I want to p>
The words came out almost as a whisper.
Luc’s expression softened.
Which somehow made it worse.
Because he wasn’t angry.
Wasn’t hurt.
Wasn’t demanding reassurance.
Just listening.
Just trying to understand.
“I didn’t ask if you wanted to p>
God.
That was unfair.
She swallowed carefully.
The horizon blurred slightly.
“I don’t know p>
There.
The truth.
Or at least part of it.
Luc stared out toward the sea beside her.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
The sun dipped lower.
Golden light spilled across the water.
Beautiful enough to hurt.
Finally he nodded once.
As though he’d already suspected the answer.
“Okay p>
Just okay.
Nothing more.
No guilt.
No pressure.
No demands.
Which somehow made her want to cry.
Because this man kept giving her freedom when part of her wanted someone to tell her to stay.
To choose this.
To choose him.
But Luc had always understood something important.
Love offered.
Love never trapped.
His hand found hers again.
Their fingers intertwined naturally.
Familiar.
Comfortable.
Painfully precious.
And together they sat there watching the Mediterranean glow beneath the setting sun.
Neither of them mentioning New York again.
Neither of them mentioning White Clover.
Neither of them mentioning boardrooms or acquisitions or Darius Voss.
For one final evening, they simply existed.
A man.
A woman.
A cliff above the sea.
And a future neither of them could quite see clearly.
Yet.
Far away in Manhattan, Helena Ashcroft was preparing for war.
And here in èze, beneath a sky turning gold and violet, Alina was beginning to understand exactly how much she stood to lose.