CHAPTER TEN

They were on the last ferry back to the island.

After pizza, the boys wanted to go to the Space Needle, and the aquarium, since they "rarely left the island and did anything fun" as Jake put it.

Both kids were exhausted and fast asleep in the back of the truck. Vica and Wyatt quietly chatted in the front seats of the truck waiting for the ferry to arrive at the terminal with the last load of passengers off the island.

"Tell me more about your parents," Wyatt said. "We need to talk about our pasts, about our lives, for the immigration interview when it happens."

Sipping on the watermelon-mint lemonade they grabbed at an adorable little bistro called the Lilac and Lavender, Vica smiled. "Well, my parents were both Italian, obviously. My mother was catholic and my father Jewish, which was a huge scandal in her family—and his. So they were pretty much disowned by their parents. But they didn't care. They were madly in love."

"How'd they meet?"

"In college. My dad was an architect, my mother studied economics. According to him, it was love at first sight. My mother said she found him annoying and never understood why she agreed to a second date because it took until the third date for her to find him charming."

Wyatt chuckled and sipped his own lemonade. "Your mom sounds like a fun woman."

"She was. She loved to sing and dance. She always had music on in the house, especially when she was in the kitchen cooking. My father would come home from work and the two of them would dance, with her in her apron and him in his nice dress shirt and pants. Then they'd press their foreheads together when the song ended, and he'd tell her how much he missed her smile."

"A genuine love story."

Vica smiled as her throat grew tight. "It really was."

"How did she die?"

"We were out of town on a family vacation and too far from a hospital. She had diabetes from childhood and for whatever reason, she ended up suffering from an insulin overdose. We couldn't get her to the hospital in time. She died in the car on the way."

"Oh, Vica," he reached for her hand, "I'm so sorry."

"I was six. Lorenzo was almost nine." She smiled through the threat of tears. Even though it'd been nearly three decades since her mother had passed, the memory of that night still caused her a lot of pain to relive. Sitting in the backseat of their family station wagon as her father drove wildly down the twisty back road, panic in his eyes as he glanced in the rearview mirror. Lorenzo held Vica the whole time and just kept kissing her forehead telling her everything would be okay. That "Papa would save Mama." That it would all work out.

They were still holding hands in the cab, and as the emotions flooded her, she really hoped Wyatt wouldn't let go.

Clearing his throat, he drummed his free hand on the steering wheel. "Okay, favorite color?"

She smiled, grateful for the change of subject. "Green. But not just any green. Green like color of the trees when you walk through the forest. Like dark-green."

"Mine's blue. But not just any blue."

She smiled at his imitation of her.

"Blue, like the Pacific Ocean. Dark and deep. "

"Favorite food?" she asked.

"This is going to sound really bad coming from a chef, but honestly, it's pizza."

That made her grin. "This is going to sound bad … or maybe good, coming from an Italian, but it's mine too. Like I told Griffon, there really isn't anything better than a wood-fire cooked Margherita pizza."

"Yeah, you can say that. Your people invented pizza."

"The Greeks claim they did, but they're lying."

He chuckled. "Ever broken any bones?"

She held up her left arm and pointed to her ulna. "Fractured it when I was twelve. I fell off my bicycle after I tried to keep up with Lorenzo and his friends. I crashed into a big garbage can and had to wear a cast for the rest of the summer. What about you?"

That made him grin wide and mischievous. "So many bones. So, so many. Pretty much all of them, really. Makes me worried for the boys." He scratched his chin. "Though, by the time I was Jake's age, I'd already had three casts and he hasn't had any yet. So maybe I'm just accident prone." He glanced into the backseat at his snoozing sons. "However, if either of them is going to break bones, my money is on Griff. Kid is a lunatic."

"A sweet lunatic though."

Their eyes met again, and something passed between them warm enough to make her nipples pebble in her bra and the butterflies in her belly to wake up out of their pizza coma.

They were also still holding hands.

"Ferry's here," he said, pulling her out of her smitten fugue.

They watched the big vessel dock and the cars onboard unload. Soon enough, it was their turn, and they followed the car in front of them onto the ship where they then parked again and waited to cross. Unlike some ferries, the ship to San Camanez Island wasn't so big that it had a passenger deck. It had a bridge for the captain and such, but passengers were expected to stay in their vehicles for the short crossing. Of course, there was a small, covered area for walk-on passengers, but nothing fancy or comfortable like larger vessels Vica had boarded in the past.

"Favorite animal?" she asked, not liking the silence between them.

He remained staring straight ahead for a moment before smiling and turning to face her. "Octopus. They're so intelligent. I refuse to serve it at the restaurant, and I won't eat it. Squid, on the other hand, I'll eat and cook all day long. They're assholes and delicious."

His answer had her giggling. "Mine would have to be an owl. Specifically, the tawny owl. There was a mated pair in the trees of the cemetery across the street from my house growing up, and I just loved hearing them talk to each other. They mate for life too."

"You grew up across the street from a cemetery?"

She shrugged. "Quiet neighbors. No loud parties."

"You weren't spooked as a kid?"

Frowning, she shook her head. "Not really. As sad as death is, it doesn't scare me. I obviously don't want to die right now, but death is also a part of life. There were a couple of headstones with recipes on them as well. So every year on the person's birthday, my brother, dad, and I would cook the recipe on the headstone—usually something sweet—and go sit with that person at their gravesite and eat their most treasured dish. We didn't know them, but we liked to think they were family since we didn't really have any."

"I actually really love that."

She smiled. "My dad taught us to not only not take life for granted, but to also not forget that when we die, just because our body is gone doesn't mean our energy or legacy is. When our physical form leaves this earth, hopefully, we made a lasting impression. Either a contribution to society, a legacy of family, or friends, or in the case of Gia Bianchi, a really delicious pasticciotto. "

"I love the way you say that. ‘ Pasticciotto.'"

The conversation between them right now was wonderful, but the added element of touching him would just make it all so much better. She missed holding his hand and wished they could go back to that "You're not quick to trust, are you?" he asked, after a moment of companionable silence passed between them.

She tilted her head to the side and studied him in the darkness of the truck cab. "Not really, no."

"Does it come from growing up in a house of men who were mostly emotionally closed off?"

Her eyes widened. "In addition to a chef and marine, are you also a therapist?"

That made him chuckle. "No. But I grew up with four brothers, don't forget. Not a lot of talking about our feelings went on. Once, Bennett's wife called us all emotionally stunted and it's something I've really thought about, particularly as of late. I don't want to raise my sons the way I was raised, unable to express or talk about their feelings. It's okay for a man to cry, for a man to show joy and sorrow. I struggled with my grief when Sheila died, and I think it was a detriment to my sons in some ways."

As if he couldn't get more perfect, the man was also incredibly self-aware and striving for self-improvement. She resisted the urge to sigh, but swooned big time on the inside.

"I have been on my own without any family for so long it's been hard to find anybody I trust the way I trusted my father and brother. Even though we didn't talk about our feelings much, not having them has still forced me to shove all my emotions down to my toes."

Until now.

He reached for her hand again and she got a little giddy. "You can trust me. You don't have to hide your emotions from me. Feel them all. I can handle it."

Swallowing, she studied his lips. They were full and damn, the man could kiss.

"I just never want to be a burden to someone else," she went on. "Emotionally, physically, mentally. I have seen how women can come across as needy and I never want to be one of those women. I am independent and self-sufficient—"

"And stubborn and unwilling to see when people want to help. You do know that being needy and having needs, are two different things. Right?" All he did was lift his brows in question at her. "Having needs are valid. Having someone, or people, you can trust is a basic human need. It's not being needy. And I definitely don't think you're needy."

All she could do was blink at him. He was so right, her mind was blowing up over and over again.

Then he shrugged. "Just something to think about." He broke their eye contact and stared straight ahead. "Almost home." It was totally dark now, and all that was visible were the terminal lights and the stars.

It'd been a long day, but a fantastic one.

An unconventional one, but then again, not much about Vica's life at the moment was conventional.

They chatted more about their likes and dislikes, about his life growing up with four brothers, and moving around because his father was in the military. He only briefly touched on his time in the marines, but he spoke no more about his late wife, even though Vica was incredibly curious.

Within minutes, the ferry had docked and come to a complete stop. They were behind a few vehicles, but it didn't take long until it was their turn to unload. Wyatt started up the truck again and off they drove, back onto the island.

Was it weird that it felt like coming home?

This wasn't her home … not really.

And yet …

"You really do look lovely today, Vica," he said softly as they headed up the hill and away from the harbor. "A truly beautiful bride."

Her cheeks heated. "And you are a very handsome groom. Thank you for … well, for marrying me. For saving me from deportation. For all of it. I've never met a man like you, Wyatt. "

"Wasn't that big of a sacrifice on my part." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and his crooked smile held so much playfulness, Vica was incapable of not smiling too.

Despite the turmoil bearing down on her from the police, Wyndham Croft, and immigration, she was happy. Wyatt, the boys, and San Camanez Island made her happy.

In her own little, joyful world and still smiling at Wyatt, she didn't see the headlights coming at them until it was too late.

Another vehicle slammed into the side of Wyatt's truck on the passenger side, throwing all of them to the left.

Immediately, Vica's mind went to Jake in the backseat behind her.

The force of the other vehicle shoved them into the ditch, pinning Wyatt's door up against a tree. The airbags all deployed, and headlights blinded Vica.

"Jake!" she called out. "Griffon!"

"Vica?" came Griffon's groggy little voice. "What happened?"

"Don't move, Griffon. Stay still. Don't move. Can you see your brother?"

"Vica?" Oh, thank God.

"Jake? It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay."

"Were we in an accident?" he asked.

"That's how Mom died," Griffon said, terror in his little voice. "I don't want to die. I don't want to die in a car like Mom."

"Nobody is dying today," Vica said glancing over at Wyatt who was unconscious beside her, laying against the airbag.

Carefully, she did a quick inventory of her body, and nothing seemed broken. So she reached over and nudged Wyatt. "Wyatt! Wyatt! You need to wake up." She shoved him harder and harder until he finally started to rouse.

"Wh-what?" He lifted his head, his eyes going wide as he realized that happened. "Jake! Griffon!" Panic filled his tone. "Boys!"

"We're here, Dad," Jake said.

He exhaled in relief. "Oh, thank god. "

Vica tried her door, and surprisingly it still opened, despite the impact from the other vehicle. She needed to see if the other driver was okay. Unbuckling her belt, she was very cautious as she stepped out and into the ditch. "Just stay still. I'm going to check on the other driver. Be right back."

"Vica, don't leave," Griffon begged.

"I'll be right back, Griffon. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay."

Leaving the truck door open, she squinted and shielded her eyes from the bright headlights of the other car. "Hello?" she called out. "Is everyone okay?"

That's when she heard the gunshots.