Page 67 of Lunar Crest University

We’re stuck behind people once again as we wait to board the plane, and I roll my lips between my teeth. The only thing my mind can focus on is sitting down and closing my eyes. That’s all I want to do.

I clear my throat, and it feels like fire erupts in my esophagus. “Yes.”

He hums in response, but it sounds skeptical. I drop the handle of my small suitcase as I scowl at him over my shoulder, sniffling faintly and realizing my nose is stuffy. Between him acting like this and the way my body feels, it’s just too much. My hat is making my forehead itch; I swear, I can feel the tag of my sweater rubbing my neck, and holy crap, did someone turn the heat on in here?

“You don’t think she’ll keep her word,” I assume.

“You do?”

“Yes, Luca,” I snap at him, and I twist my head to discreetly cough into the crook of my elbow.

Just when I expect him to keep pushing, he gently puts his hands on my shoulders and makes me face him. If I didn’t feel like I was seconds away from the grave, I would glare up at him, but all I can manage is a weak pout. His thumbs caress underneath my eyes before sweeping my cheekbones, cupping my face as he gives me a sympathetic look.

“You’re not feeling well.”

I shake my head.

The line starts to move, and he pulls his hands from my cheeks. Any ounce of comfort that I had fades away with his touch. Grabbing our things, we finally step foot onto the plane and find our seats. Genevieve sits near the window this time, and I realize she’s sitting there instead of in the middle, where she was assigned.

“I thought Professor Serrano could sit in the middle, and you could have the end,” she explains with a knowing look. “You know, just in case you need to yack.”

How generous.

Gripping the nearest headrest, I steady myself as I wait for Luca to load our stuff into the compartments above us beforesliding down into the middle seat. When I finally plop down, I slouch down until my knees hit the back of the seat in front of me. My eyes burn with the fever that looms over me, so I close them and pull my hat down further to obscure my face.

I wish more than anything he had reacted differently, but he’s being realistic. I’m not. He can think rationally, whereas I’m blinded byhim. He has so much more to lose than I do… Maybe that means this really is over.

Maybe we’re over.

As if we were ever anything to begin with.

It was all a mirage inside of my head, wasn’t it? I saw what I wanted to see, heard what I wanted to hear, and ignored the rest. I ignored every red flag, every warning sign that said this wasalways going to end up this way. It’s a punch to the gut, but how could I be upset by it when I knew deep down that there was no other way it could go?

Stupid. So, so stupid.

Chapter Twenty-Six

LUCA

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 29TH, 2023

Finley doesn’t speak for the entirety of the flight home. She just slouches down in the seat, and I even hear her soft snores every now and again. Her arms are wrapped around her body, which trembles faintly as she sleeps. She’d take a sip of water here and there, clear her throat, and then sink down into the same position again.

It was obvious she was getting sicker by the hour, and I wanted more than anything to drape my jacket over her to keep her from shaking, but it would only add fuel to the fire.

Genevieve fuckingknowsabout us.

That’s all my mind can focus on as I sit between the two of them. It’s like the elephant in the room—a flashing red sign pointed straight at me. I trust Finley, of course I do, but she’s clearly not the best judge of character. This could cost both of us everything, especially more so on my end. The job, the money—all of it is at stake here. It’s bad enough that I’ve already been killing Javier’s men—I could only run under the radar for so long before he put the pieces together. I can’t lose the money too. IfI have the money, then maybe I have leverage when the time comes and all of this implodes.

Because it fucking will.

When the plane lands, it feels like it takes an extra ten hours to get off and retrieve all our luggage from baggage claim. Everyone around us seems to be in no hurry to get where they’re going, and from the way Finley is moving around sluggishly, I know we need to at least make it back to campus sooner rather than later so I can drive her home. She’s in no condition to drive with the way she can barely hold her tired eyes open.

But as I go to load our bags onto the bus to take us to the university, I can tell she isn’t going to make this easy. She’s clearly still mad at me.

She may not feel good, but she manages to attempt to load her giant suitcase into the compartment on the outside of the bus herself. When I try to take over, she grumbles under her breath and crosses her arms over her chest as she watches me haul it in with ease. Her nostrils flare as I peek over at her after before she stomps onto the bus without another glance. She’s so damn cute when she’s mad; I have to swallow down the grin that fights for a spot on my face as I climb onto the bus after her. Instead of sitting near her like I want to, I slide down into a seat at the front to give her some space.

How do I always manage to upset her like this?

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