Page 64 of The Slug Crystal

Sleep is impossible. My mind won't stop churning with thoughts, so I've come seeking the universal comfort of a midnight snack, with Alex's terrarium clutched against my chest.

I place his glass home carefully on the counter, positioning it where he can see me but far enough from the edge to be safe. He’s active despite the late hour, methodically exploring the walls of his enclosure as if searching for an exit that doesn't exist. I know the feeling.

"What do you think, Alex?" I whisper, opening the refrigerator door.

"Cheese? Leftover pasta? What cures the realization that your ex-boyfriend might be permanently transformed into a snail?

" The light from inside spills across the stone floor, illuminating my bare legs beneath the oversized t-shirt I stole from Luca yesterday. I’m wearing it as a nightgown, again .

Alex offers no opinion, continuing his slow circumnavigation of his glass world.

I'm reaching for a container of olives when a shadow falls across the refrigerator light.

I turn to find Marco in the doorway, his tall frame backlit by the hallway sconce.

He's still dressed in the clothes he wore earlier, though his shirt is wrinkled and his hair stands slightly askew, as if he's been running his hands through it repeatedly.

"I thought I heard someone," he says softly. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"My brain won't shut up," I admit, pulling out cheese, olives, and the remains of this morning's bread. "Food seemed like the next best option to actual rest."

Marco steps further into the kitchen, the light from the fridge reflecting off his glasses as he adjusts them. "A reasonable strategy. The digestive process redirects blood flow away from the brain, potentially reducing cognitive activity."

Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. Even at midnight, he can't help giving out miscellaneous facts. "Is that your way of saying a full stomach makes you sleepy?"

"Less elegant, but accurate." His returning smile is gentle as he moves toward the counter. "May I help?"

Before I can answer, another figure appears in the doorway. It’s Luca, wearing nothing but low-slung pajama bottoms, his chest bare and hair artfully tousled. He leans against the doorframe with practiced nonchalance, though his eyes are alert, scanning the scene with quick intelligence.

"Kitchen party?" he asks, voice deliberately light. "I hope there's enough for three."

"Just scavenging," I reply, gesturing to my modest spread. "Nothing fancy."

Luca pushes off from the doorframe, moving into the kitchen with the fluid grace that characterizes everything he does.

"Let me contribute, then." He opens a cabinet and produces a bottle of wine, examining the label critically before nodding in satisfaction.

"This will pair nicely with whatever you've found. "

While Luca searches for glasses, Marco quietly arranges the food on a wooden board he finds in a drawer, his movements precise and methodical. I watch them both, grateful for their presence yet uncertain what to say. The weight of our most recent discovery hangs between us, unspoken but palpable.

"So," Luca begins, uncorking the wine with practiced ease, "Bali." He says it casually, as if discussing a potential vacation spot rather than the location of our last hope.

I stiffen, but force myself to respond. "Bali," I repeat, the word still bitter on my tongue.

Marco places the arranged food on the island counter, his scholarly detachment slipping as he gives me a sympathetic glance. "It's not an insurmountable obstacle," he offers. "Difficult, certainly, but not impossible."

"It feels impossible," I admit, accepting the wine glass Luca hands me.

Our fingers brush in the exchange, a brief moment of warmth that lingers on my skin.

"Even if we somehow get there, find this Spiritual Lotus place, locate Sarah.

.. what then? What if she refuses to help? What if she can't help? What if..."

"What if we take one problem at a time?" Luca interrupts gently, leaning against the counter beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his bare skin. "Starting with hunger."

Marco nods in agreement, pushing the food board closer to me. "Nutrition first. Strategic planning second."

The simple practicality of their approach loosens something tight in my chest. I take a piece of cheese, savoring the sharp tang as it melts on my tongue.

Marco and Luca join me, the three of us forming a small triangle around the island counter, our bodies gradually shifting closer as we share the impromptu meal .

"I called the hangar," Luca says after a comfortable silence, swirling wine in his glass. "Just to inquire about logistics. The jet could be ready within fourteen hours, eight hours ago. So by morning."

I look up at him, surprised by this concrete step. "You're serious about flying us to Bali?"

His gray eyes meet mine over the rim of his glass.

"I'm serious about helping you, Emma. About helping Alex.

" His gaze flicks briefly to the terrarium where the blue snail continues his endless exploration.

"Whatever that requires. However, I unfortunately do not have any connections in Bali. Not a single, distant relative."

"The financial considerations are significant," Marco adds, reaching for an olive at the same moment I do. Our fingers touch, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "But not prohibitive if we pool resources."

"You'd all really do that?" I ask, the question emerging more vulnerable than I intended. "Travel across the world on what might be another wild goose chase?"

Marco's hand finds my shoulder, his touch gentle but sure as he begins to knead the tension there with careful fingers. "Of course we would."

"We're in this together now," Luca adds, sliding imperceptibly closer until his arm brushes mine. "All of us."

I take another sip of wine, letting its warmth spread through me.

The kitchen feels different now, with the knowledge that while I was decompressing, these men, my men, were discussing Bali and committing to continuing our journey.

The shadows feel less threatening, and the silence is comfortable rather than oppressive.

Marco's fingers work deeper into the knots of my shoulders, drawing a small sigh from my lips. Luca watches, his eyes darkening slightly at the sound.

" You're carrying all your stress here," Marco observes, his voice dropping lower as his thumbs find a particularly tight spot at the base of my neck.

"Let us help," Luca adds, reaching for the last piece of bread at the same moment I do. Our fingers tangle, neither of us pulling away. "With everything."

The meaning beneath his words is clear, echoed in Marco's continuing massage and the way both men have moved closer, creating a pocket of warmth around me in the cool kitchen. I should feel crowded or overwhelmed, but I feel sheltered and coveted instead.

"I don't know what happens next," I admit, looking between them. "With any of this."

Marco's fingers pause on my shoulders, his scholarly precision giving way to something more personal and passionate. "Perhaps we don't need to know yet."

"Perhaps," Luca suggests, his free hand coming to rest lightly on my hip, "we just need to live in the moment.

Here. Now." Luca's hands settle more firmly on my hips, his breath warm against my ear as he leans forward.

"I know other ways to release tension," he whispers, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below my earlobe.

"Much more enjoyable than a massage, though Marco's technique is admittedly impressive. "

A laugh escapes me, soft and unexpected. After hours of despair, the sound feels foreign in my throat. Luca smiles against my neck, clearly pleased with himself for drawing out the sound.

"I'm open to suggestions," I reply, turning my head slightly to meet his eyes. The invitation in my words is unmistakable.

Marco's hands pause on my shoulders, and I feel him shift to see my face. "Emma," he says, my name a question in his mouth. "Are you certain?"

I turn toward him, appreciating his care even as desire pools low in my belly. "I am," I tell him, reaching up to remove his glasses with deliberate slowness. "I want this."

Something shifts in Marco's scholarly demeanor. It’s a softening, a surrender to something more primal than intellect.

Without his glasses, his eyes appear more vulnerable.

He leans forward, closing the distance between us with careful purpose.

His lips meet mine in a kiss that starts gently but deepens as I respond, his approach methodical yet thorough. It’s exploring rather than claiming.

Behind me, Luca's hands slide under the hem of my t-shirt, tracing patterns on my bare skin as he waits his turn. When Marco and I break apart, Luca spins me gently to face him. His kiss is entirely different. He’s confident from the first press of his lips against mine, then playful in the way he nips at my lower lip.

His hands are already roaming my body with purposeful intent, while his mouth connects with mine.

"You taste like wine and possibilities," he murmurs against my mouth.

Marco moves behind me, his hands replacing Luca's on my hips, steadying me as my knees weaken.

The sensation of being between them, Marco's solid presence at my back and Luca's body pressed against my front, sends a shiver of anticipation through me.

Unlike the competitive energy that sparked between Jake and Ben, there's something complementary in how Marco and Luca move together, anticipating each other's shifts with an unspoken synchronicity.

Luca's fingers find the hem of my shirt again, this time lifting it with clear purpose. "May I?" he asks, his usual cockiness tempered by genuine consideration.