Page 110 of Reaper’s Wrath

Come morning, I’ll be executing a plan that could see months of work finally come to fruition. This mission could save countless lives if I get the information I need. It could also cost me my life. There are plenty of reasons for me to be strung tight as a guitar string. Instead, my rhythmic pulse is slow and steady, and my thoughts are peaceful—all because of the woman I hold in my arms.

After getting settled into our hotel room for the night, Isa and I crawled into bed. She nestles herself into my side, which has quickly become our routine, and the moment I feel her soft curves melt into me, I’m overcome with a sense of peace.

So long as we’re together, the noise generated by everything else fades into the distance.

We’re at home with one another.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a home. Since I’ve belonged to anyone. I’d forgotten how incredible it feels, and now that I’m reminded, I can never go back. I will cherish this bond we share so long as my heart continues to beat.

As I lay in bed and think about how lucky I am, a question comes to mind.

“I noticed the photo of your brother and me that you set on the desk back on the boat. Was that in the bags you’d packed?”

“I had grabbed it on my way to the church. It was Ario’s. The night before, I’d gone to his room—I think I needed his support. Something about the photo gave me the comfort I needed. When it came time to go, I couldn’t leave it behind.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes and no. I have lots of pictures of Ario.” She’s quiet for a moment while she collects her thoughts. “I think that photo in particular called to me because you were in it.”

I cup her head with my hand and place a kiss on her hair. My sweet, sweet Isa.

“El?” Her soft voice breaks the silence after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“That flower in your box—it’s a buttercup, isn’t it?”

Her question comes from left field and has me scrambling to catch up. “Flower in a box?”

“The pressed flower in that wood box you have hidden in the closet,” she clarifies.

Amusement tugs at my lips as I realize what she’s referencing. “Someone was snooping,” I tease.

“You locked me up in your bedroom. What did you expect?”

I can only chuckle because she’s right. “Yeah, it’s a buttercup. I saw a field of them on one of our stops many years ago. I dreamed about you for a week solid after that.”

“You weren’t in the US though, right?”

“That’s right. The Greek wasn’t a fan. We spent a majority of our time around Bermuda and the Azores, but we also made frequent visits to Greece and the UK. Everywhere but here, really.”

“Did you enjoy seeing other countries?”

“I did, but one of the things I loved most about our trips ashore was the chance to look for books. It wasn’t always easy finding them in English. The ones I did find, I read over and over. Reading got me through the longer stints at sea.” I didn’t have any money, so I had to steal the books, which I felt terrible about at first.

“I saw the old paperbacks and wondered about them. It’s a very … diverse collection of genres,” she says with a hint of teasing.

I smile, imagining her confusion as she perused the titles. “As I said, finding books in English wasn’t always easy. I took what I could get.”

She’s quiet for a beat. I assume she’s done and giving in to sleep when she pipes up again. “I can’t believe seeing the encyclopedia volume didn’t register with me.”

“Me either. I was baffled.”

Isa suddenly bolts upright onto her elbow, her wide-eyed stare finding me in the dark. “Calypso,” she breathes. “You named the boat Calypso.”

“The mythological Greek nymph who held Odysseus captive,” I confirm.

“And the encyclopedia entry where I always left my notes for you.”