Page 95 of 10 Days to Surrender

Ariel watches, equal parts amused and horrified.

I’ve seen this look before. The reporter cataloguing details: sunlight caught in wine-dark splashes, kids chasing each other with stolen clusters, Belle’s fingers grazing Marco’s stubble. I know what she’ll write tonight:There’s life here, real and unfiltered, pulsing through the veins of the vines.

“Don’t,” she says suddenly, back stiffening.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start with the—” She waves a hand. “The smoldering eyes. The ‘careful, Ariel, you almost look happy’ routine.”

I duck to steal a kiss on her cheek. “I can smolder. This isn’t quite that. But if you’d like…” My fingers slip beneath her sundress.

“Hands to self,” she says, shoving me away. But she’s laughing, I’m laughing, and the sun no longer seems quite so brutal.

Soon, we’re assigned to a crew and we get to work. The muscles in my back still protest as I hoist another basket, but the burn feels good. Like waking up and stretching after a long sleep. Two months ago, this would have torn my stitches and left me twitching in pain. Now, there’s just a dull ache where Dragan’s bullet carved its path.

“I can manage that one,” Ariel insists, reaching for a basket.

“Not a chance.” I shoulder past her, adding it to my stack. “Your job is to look pretty and supervise.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she falls into step beside me as we work our way down the row. The sun beats against my neck while my boots sink into earth softened by last night’s rain. It should feel like labor, but there’s something meditative about it—the repetitive motion, the whisper of leaves, Ariel’s quiet humming.

Her hands never stay idle long. She plucks grapes with surprising dexterity, adding them to my baskets whenever I set them down. When she stretches up to reach a higher cluster, I steady her with a palm against her lower back.

“Missed a spot,” I murmur, reaching around to swipe a bead of sweat from her temple. My fingers trail down her neck, lingering at her pulse point.

“You’re supposed to be working, not feeling me up,” she scolds.

“I’m excellent at multitasking.”

The better part of the morning passes with an easy rhythm. I’m surprised every time I reach just an inch beyond where I’ve allowed myself to go these last six months, and I find that there’s no pain waiting for me there.

I can bend.

I can stretch.

I canmove.

Kosti, wherever he’s wandered off to with Zoya, would tell me I’m pushing my body too hard, too fast. But for the first time since that bullet tore through me, I feel whole. Strong. Ready.

It’s not perfect, of course. But I’m not biting my teeth and sweating bullets from agony. No, it’s just the Tuscan summer that has me sweating the normal kind of bullets. I’m inwardly relieved when Marco hops up onto the wooden platform and claps his hands.

“Attenzione!”he cries out. All of the crews gather close.

With a flourish, he gestures to the half a dozen vats filled to the brim with grapes. “Any volunteers to begin?”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hide a smirk when Belle steps up.

She’s grinning shyly and batting her eyelashes. Ariel and Jasmine exchange glances that make me glad I never had a sister to conspire with.

“Verdict’s in,” Jasmine murmurs. “Mama’s smitten.”

For his part, Marco looks like he just won the fucking lottery.

He helps her up, her sundress hiked above her knees, and they immediately forget that the rest of the world exists. Laughing, I turn to Ariel. “I guess we’ll have to find our own way.”

“I don’t know…” She eyes the wooden rim of the nearest vat dubiously. “These ankles aren’t exactly Olympic-ready. More like bratwurst-ready.”

But I’m already moving behind her. “Would I let you fall?”

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