Page 43 of The Slug Crystal

The water shifts suddenly as Ben surfaces near my raft, close enough that I can see individual water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, the flecks of gold in his green eyes. He rests his arms on the edge of my float, his weight tipping me slightly toward him.

"Penny for your thoughts," he says, his voice lower than his usual boisterous tone. "You look a million miles away. "

I trail my fingers through the cool water, creating tiny whirlpools between us. "Just thinking how weird this all is. Two weeks ago, I didn't know any of you except Jake. Now we're..."

"A dysfunctional family on the world's strangest vacation?" he suggests, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Something like that." I meet his eyes, suddenly aware of how close we are, how the water magnifies the slight pressure of his arms against my float. "It's nice, though. This moment. Almost makes me forget why we're really here."

His expression sobers slightly, eyes flicking toward Alex's terrarium. "We'll figure it out, Emma. Between the five of us, there's got to be a solution."

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. Ben usually hides behind humor and deflects with sarcasm. This unguarded moment feels more intimate than his flirtation ever has.

Before I can respond, Luca's voice breaks the spell. "Ben! Stop monopolizing our judge and get back to the competition! I've invented a new dive I'm calling 'The Italian Stallion.'"

Ben rolls his eyes dramatically but pushes away from my float with a wink. "Duty calls. Can't let the Italian show me up."

He swims away with powerful strokes, calling over his shoulder, "Watch this one, Emma. I'm dedicating it to you."

I smile despite myself, settling back on my float as Ben pulls himself from the pool once more. The sun warms my face, the water cradles my body, and for just this afternoon, I let myself believe that everything might turn out alright.

Monday, 12:07PM. Insomnia finds me at midnight.

My body is tired, but my mind is racing with paths not taken and witches not found.

I lie awake in the unfamiliar bedroom, moonlight spilling across the cool sheets, before finally surrendering to restlessness.

The tiled floor whispers beneath my bare feet as I navigate the darkened villa, heading toward the kitchen in search of a snack or distraction or both.

The soft glow of a single pendant light guides me like a beacon, and I find I'm not the only one haunting the villa in the midnight hours. Ben stands at the granite island, wrestling with a corkscrew and a bottle of red wine, his profile cast in gold and shadow.

"Can't sleep either?" I ask, and he looks up, appearing slightly startled but mostly pleased, as if he'd been waiting for me all along.

"My brain won't shut up," he admits, finally conquering the cork with a satisfying pop. "Thought some more wine might help. Care to join me?"

The kitchen feels intimate in the limited light, despite its vastness.

It’s a cavernous space of stone and tile made smaller by the limited circle of light from the single pendant.

Pots hang from a rack overhead, catching occasional glints like subdued stars.

The marble countertops reflect our movements in hazy, dreamlike echoes.

"I shouldn't," I say, even as I slide onto a barstool across from him. "But since we're both awake anyway..."

Ben's smile flashes in the dim light as he reaches for a second glass, pouring generously. His fingers brush mine as he passes the wine, a brief point of warmth that lingers longer than it should. The first sip blooms rich and velvety on my tongue, tasting of dark berries and something earthier.

"Expensive stuff," Ben comments, studying his glass. "Luca made us sample a bunch of wine earlier, while you were sleeping. His uncle has good taste." He looks up, catching my gaze. "Though that seems to run in the family."

The comment hangs between us, laden with meaning I'm not sure I'm ready to acknowledge. I take another sip instead of responding, letting the wine warm me from the inside out .

"So," Ben says after a moment, his voice lower than usual in the quiet kitchen. "Jake, Luca, Marco... and now me. You're collecting quite the group of admirers on this little adventure."

Heat rises to my cheeks, unexpected and unwelcome. "I'm not collecting anyone. I'm trying to fix Alex."

Ben's laugh is soft, without mockery. "I know. That's what makes it interesting." He moves around the island, glass in hand, to lean against the counter beside me. "You're not trying at all, and yet here we all are, orbiting around you like planets around a sun."

"That's ridiculous," I protest, but the wine makes the words less convincing than they should be. Ben is echoing the very thoughts I had a few days ago.

"Is it?" Ben takes another sip, his eyes never leaving mine. "Jake follows you like a faithful shadow. Luca shows off like a peacock whenever you're in sight. Even Marco, for all his scholarly detachment, can't keep his eyes off you when he thinks no one's watching."

"And you?" The question slips out before I can stop it, the wine loosening my tongue.

Ben sets his glass down, turning to face me fully. "Me? I'm just waiting for you to notice I've been here all along. Since day one of meeting you. I’m waiting for you to make your way back to me."

Something shifts in the air between us, a current of electricity that makes the hairs on my arms stand up.

I should leave now. Go back to my room, back to the safety of solitude, back to worrying about Alex and Sarah and all the problems that brought us here.

Instead, I take another sip of wine, holding Ben's gaze over the rim of my glass.

"I notice you," I say quietly, setting my glass on the countertop. "It's hard not to."

He moves closer, his body radiating heat in the cool stone kitchen. "And what exactly do you notice, Emma? "

Another full glass appears in my hand when I move to pick it up, though I don't remember finishing the first. The wine tastes better now, or maybe it's just that everything feels softer around the edges, more immediate and yet somehow distant at the same time.

"I notice how you always make everyone laugh, even when things are falling apart," I begin, surprising myself with the honesty.

"How you're actually kind underneath all that sarcasm.

How you watch people when you think they're not looking, figuring them out. How, after our first… encounter, you didn’t just turn into a jerk or bail.

You stuck around to help. Brought in your cousin to help. "

Ben steps closer still, close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath, the lingering chlorine from the pool on his skin. "What else?"

My throat feels suddenly dry. "I notice the way water runs down your back when you climb out of the pool. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you really smile. The way you look at me sometimes when you think I won't catch you."

His hand finds my waist, warm and steady. "And how do I look at you, Emma?"

"Like you're looking at me right now."

The distance between us collapses in an instant.

Ben's lips find mine with urgent precision, tasting of wine and want and days of building tension.

His hands tangle in my hair, angling my face up to deepen the kiss.

I respond with equal fervor, weeks of stress and fear, and complicated emotions channeling into this single point of contact.

He corners me against the counter, his body pressing against mine in a way that makes rational thought impossible.

My hands explore the contours of his chest, the same muscles I've been watching all day, now firm beneath my fingertips.

His kiss grows more demanding, hungrier, and I match him beat for beat, nipping at his lower lip until he groans against my mouth.

"Been thinking about this since the hot tub," he murmurs, his lips trailing down my neck, finding the sensitive spot where my pulse races beneath the skin. "Since I first saw you in the bar with that damn blue snail, looking so determined and so lost at the same time. If I’m being honest."

His hands slide under my thin sleep shirt, callused palms rough against the smooth skin of my back.

I arch into his touch, letting my head fall back to give him better access to my throat.

The cool edge of the marble counter presses into my lower back, a sharp contrast to the heat of Ben's body against mine.

With impressive strength, he lifts me easily onto the counter, stepping between my legs as they wrap instinctively around his waist. The marble is cold against my bare thighs, making me gasp into Ben's mouth.

He swallows the sound, his hands pushing my shirt higher, exposing my skin to the cool air.

My fingers fumble with the buttons of his sleep shirt, one I think he borrowed from Luca.

I want, no need, to feel more of him. He helps, impatiently yanking the fabric open, buttons clinking against the tiled floor.

The sound seems impossibly loud in the quiet kitchen, but I can't bring myself to care as Ben's hands find my breasts, his touch sending electricity through my nerve endings.

His mouth returns to mine, the kiss deep and demanding, wine-flavored and intoxicating in its own right.

My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard evidence of his desire pressing against me through thin layers of fabric.

My hands explore the planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle, the line of hair that disappears beneath his waistband.

"Emma," he breathes against my lips, my name a prayer and a plea simultaneously .

"Well, this is an interesting development." The voice, Marco's voice, cuts through our haze of lust like a bucket of ice water. Ben stiffens against me, his forehead dropping to my shoulder for a brief moment before he turns, keeping his body positioned to shield my disheveled state from view.

Marco leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression caught between amusement and something harder to define. In the dim light, it's difficult to read his eyes behind his glasses, but the tilt of his mouth suggests he's not entirely surprised by what he's interrupted.

"I was looking for a glass of water," he says, his academic tone at odds with the tension in the room. "But it seems the kitchen is... occupied."

Ben's hand remains at my waist, steadying me, his touch now protective rather than passionate. "We were just?—"

"No explanation necessary," Marco interrupts smoothly. "The human need for connection is perfectly natural, especially in high-stress situations." His eyes meet mine over Ben's shoulder. "Though timing and location are considerations worth noting."

Heat floods my face, embarrassment mixing with the lingering effects of desire and wine. I adjust my clothing as discreetly as possible, grateful for Ben's solid presence between me and Marco's too-perceptive gaze.

"I'll find my hydration elsewhere," Marco continues, his voice neutral. "Buonanotte." He turns to leave, then pauses, adding without looking back, "The guest bathroom has a lock, should you wish to continue with fewer interruptions."

He disappears into the darkness of the hallway, his footsteps fading away, leaving Ben and me in a silence heavy with unspoken questions.

Ben turns back to me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "We could take his suggestion," he says, his voice rough with lingering desire. "Find somewhere more private."

His body is still warm against mine, still tempting, but the spell has been broken. I place my hands on his chest, gently creating distance between us.

"Ben," I say softly, "that was... amazing. But I can't."

Disappointment flashes across his face, quickly masked with understanding. "Jake?"

I shake my head. "Not just Jake. Or Marco. Or Luca. Or even Alex." I slide off the counter, my feet finding the cool tile floor. "It's complicated enough without adding this to the mix. I need to focus on why we're really here."

Ben steps back, giving me space, though his hand lingers at my waist. "So, what was this then?" he asks, gesturing between us.

I straighten my clothes, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "This was... a moment. A beautiful, wine-soaked moment between friends." I meet his eyes directly. "But it's not that kind of hook-up. It can't be, not with everything else going on."

His thumb traces a small circle against my hip before he finally lets his hand drop. "For the record," he says, a hint of his usual humor returning, "that 'beautiful, wine-soaked moment' was heading somewhere spectacular."

Despite everything, I laugh. "I don't doubt it."

I pick up my empty wine glass, placing it in the sink with deliberate care. "Goodnight, Ben," I say, moving toward the doorway.

"Emma," he calls softly as I reach the threshold.

When I turn, his expression is more serious than I've ever seen it.

"For what it's worth, I think you're handling this whole impossible situation better than anyone could expect.

Snail boyfriend, witch hunt, four guys falling for you. You're taking it all in stride."

The simple validation touches something in me, making my throat tight with unexpected emotion. "Thank you," I manage .

"Anytime," he replies, the word carrying more weight than its casual usage should allow.

I leave him standing in the pool of light, his shirt still unbuttoned, half the buttons missing and littered on the floor, and the wine still open on the counter.

As I navigate the darkened hallways back to my room, I can still taste him on my lips, still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on my skin.

But beneath the lingering physical sensations, there's a clearer certainty.

Whatever connections I'm forming with these four men, they'll have to wait.

Alex comes first. Fixing my mistake and returning him to human form is my top priority.

Everything else, kisses in Venice, starlight in Assisi, wine-flavored encounters in midnight kitchens, those are all complications for another day.