THE PLAN WAS SIMPLE ENOUGH: PLAY NORMALLY, KEEP UP THE CHARADE, AND THEN, WHEN THE TIME COMES, SLIP OUT OF HERE.

Nothing could help me feel the heavy weight of what we were about to do.

If Grandma Bianca's men were to get wind of our scheme, it might turn out to be a nightmare disguised as a vacation.

Still, the thought of being imprisoned on Teodoro island under constant surveillance was claustrophobic.

In removing myself from the drama and play-acting, Lucien appeared to understand it far better than anyone else did.

I gazed at him as we walked down a path toward the water. He looked almost tranquil, but I knew better.

In all that cool mask, he was as tightly coiled as I was. We'd danced all day, straining our perceptions of perfect, loving couple to show Nonna's boys what they so desperately wanted to see - us in love, connected to the very soul, ready to provide her with those great-grandchildren she nagged us about constantly.

The beach lay out before us, the sun beginning to set toward the horizon.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few locals in the distance lounging around. There was even laughter that came with the carry of waves.

Lucien and I looked at each other.

This is it.

We hit the shoreline, kicked off our sandals, and my toes sank into cool sand. "Ready?" I whispered, barely above a whisper.

He nodded. "Follow my lead," he said.

We waded into shallow water so I could see Bianca's men lying nearby, not paying too much attention.

That was good; we'd spent the whole day putting on the show they wanted and now were relaxing because they'd assumed we were simply enjoying the beauty of the island.

Lucien turned to me, reaching for my waist as we splashed around in the water. "Have to make this look real," he muttered under his breath.

I nodded, my heart pounding. We were pretty much surrounded by Grandma's eyes, and even if they seemed lazy, one wrong move could give us away.

I wrapped my arms around Lucien's neck, laughing lightly, genuinely, as he twirled me around. So far, none of the guards seemed suspicious; our act was working.

I leaned in closer to his ear, my lips nearly touching. "When do we move?" I asked quietly.

"Soon," he said, speaking in a low, steady voice. "Just a few more minutes. Let them think we are just two lovebirds enjoying the water."

We played in the water a little while longer, keeping up the charade, but that adrenaline was flowing through my veins like crazy.

I scanned around the beach, keeping my focus at the corner of my eye for a flicker in the behavior of the guards.

They didn't appear to have stirred; they were just lounging there, chatting amongst themselves. One of them had even dozed off. How fabulous.

Lucien pinched my hand: time. I turned and followed his gaze to the waterjets queued up beside the dock.

We just had to get to them without drawing any attention.

I pushed myself closer to him, another laugh falling from my lips, sounding more carefree than I felt inside.

"Let's take one of those out for a spin,"

I proposed loudly enough for those people around us to hear, making it sound like just now the idea had come into my mind.

Lucien smirked, playing along. "Good idea."

My heart was pounding against my chest, as we approached the waterjets, walking as if interested in one another, headed for our supposed destination.

Now or never. I glanced around to get a final look back at the guards, barely believing what my eyes were seeing.

They were totally engrossed in their own conversation and looked away from both of us.

Lucien hoisted himself up onto one of the jets and motioned for me to swing on behind him.

By the time I straddled the seat and wrapped my arms around his waist, I would barely hesitate to remind myself that this was probably a terrible idea. My heart quickened with the excitement of the adventure we were on.

"Are you ready?" he asked with a half-excited, half-nervous tone.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied in a whisper, tightening my grip on him.

Then he flicked his wrist to life, the engine roaring on and shooting forward through the water-slicing through it, the wind ruffled through my hair as salty spray from the ocean misted my skin.

We were moving fast-fast-faster than I had anticipated and couldn't help grinning at the sheer force that was propelling us along.

But as we sailed further and further into the sea, the island dwindling behind us, the thrill of freedom set in.

"How far do you think we'll get before they notice?" I screamed above the hum of the motor.

Lucien glanced back at me with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Let's hope they keep their minds on the conversation for awhile. We're doing well."

The island of Teodoro receded now, and ahead of us the rocky cliffs of Santorini loomed closer.

We had planned to make our way to the lovely island, a tourist haven where we could lose ourselves for a while.

I could hardly wait to get away to something as brilliant as Santorini.

"They may crack on soon," Lucien said, deftly steering the waterjet.

"But by then we'll be far enough that it won't matter anyhow."

I felt a weight lift from my chest as the volcanic landscape of Santorini appeared on the horizon.

This was our time—this was our break from all the pressure, the games, and the expectations.

But for an hour, it was almost like fresh air, even if it was only for that little while.

Lucien slowed the waterjet as we came closer to shore. 

He guided it into a tiny little cove encircled by walls on three sides, facing a mountain side.

The cliffs of Santorini tower above us, making perfect cover against curious eyes.

I jumped off the waterjet and waded in shallow waters, pulling it in on sand.

My legs were shaking, half adrenaline and half relief at having gotten away.

"Do you think they'll follow us?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder to the distance that held Teorodo island now tiny in the horizon.

"Eventually," Lucien said, running a hand through his damp hair. "But we've got some time. Let's blend in with the tourists and enjoy ourselves while we can."

I couldn't help it; it was utterly ridiculous to laugh out loud at such a thing.

Here were mafia royalty sneaking out of a private island like rebellious teenagers. Ridiculous as it was, it was exhilarating too.

We pushed the waterjet into a rocky crevice, climbed the path up to the main part of Santorini.

Narrow streets full of tourists, whitewashed houses with colourful blue rooftops.

It was the first time we'd ever been without our names. It felt like eons had passed.

The waves kissed the shore, a cool breeze running over my skin as the sun set into the horizon. It was almost too perfect, too serene for what was going on in me.

I turned my head to Lucien. He was silent, his mind elsewhere, but I could sense it. There was that weight there, and that exhaustion.

We'd been faking it in for far too long—faking to be this perfect couple under the eyes of Nonna's men, faking that all of this wasn't suffocating us.

I slowed my walk, letting the silence fall between us before I finally said, "Lucien," My voice was biting through the soft hum of the ocean. "We don't need to pretend we're stuck to each other every day."

He looked at me, furrowing his brow in a way to comment that he would not know what I was talking about.

I stopped my step and turned to him. Let the air of the evening carry my words. "Let's just leave each other alone for a while. Enjoy this place alone. I mean, look around." 

I pointed at the rolling waves, palm trees swaying in the wind, the endless horizon. "It is beautiful here. And we're stuck playing this part but for what? We are exhausted. You are exhausted, Lucien. We deserve little space."

Lucien stared at me, still trying to catch up with what I was saying. A tiny pinch to his jaw, followed by relaxation, and he half-smiled, his lips curling with a faint smile of understanding.

"You want us to split up?" he asked almost incredulously. "On this island? Alone?"

"So what?" I shrugged. "I am not saying we have to run anywhere. We have had it shoved down our throats for so long and all this charade. It's too exhausting. Want to breathe for a couple of hours."

I froze, my mind letting the words puncture into my subconscious. "Let's meet by the jet, five in the morning, okay? Till then, a little fun, eh? No need to stand in my face, and neither do I need to be in yours".

It was then that Lucien looked at me, as though his eyes were scanning my face. I knew he got the idea of what I wanted to try and say to him.

It was then that Lucien looked at me, as though his eyes were scanning my face. I knew he got the idea of what I wanted to try and say to him.

We both needed this. Space to be alone with our thoughts.

Away from prying eyes.

He finally nodded. "Okay. Fine. We can call each other if there's an emergency."

"Of course," I said, relieved he was on board. "No strings, no eyes watching us, just. freedom."

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I saw glints of humor dance in his eyes. "Okay," he said, a lighter tone seeping into his voice. "Just don't get into any trouble."

I chuckled, turning back towards the water. "Trouble? Me? Never."

He laughed, and for just the moment, it was almost, for the first time in months, normal between us.

Like two humans, not judged every minute, two who didn't have to be on for someone else's sake.

Perhaps for several hours we could forget who we were and just enjoy the damned place.

It had cut through the waves like a knife, and when we hit Santorini, the island bathed in soft golden light of evening. A saline breeze ran through my hair, cooling down my face. And for a moment, I felt, as if I am really breathing.

Really breathing.

The kind of breath where your chest feels light, unburdened by the weight of the world you're supposed to carry.

We made it.

I helped Serafina from the jet, the dampness of the ocean clinging to our clothes, and we exchanged a glance.

It wasn't said, but it hung in the air: for the next few hours, we wouldn't be husband and wife, certainly not henchmen in some high-stakes mafia caper.

We'd be just two island people running from everything.

Serafina was smiling at me, her hair tumbling loose from the curls she'd tied up-the wind was fierce today-and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I saw something raw in her eyes.

I nodded to her, barely more than a tilt of my head, and she caught the message. We were on our own now.

No pretending.

No expectation.

We parted for the night, gave each other elbow room to roam around, to breathe. "We'll meet at the jet at dawn, five in the morning," she had said, and I had agreed, this strange sense of excitement bubbling in my chest.

I watched as she disappeared into the streets, a figure that vanishes within the evening shadows, and with her gone, silence wrapped around me, like some comfortable blanket embracing me.

This was new. Walking around without eyes on me, without titles or responsibilities clawing at me. Strange but liberating in ways that I hadn't realized I needed.

I was no heir of the Beauchene family tonight. I was no husband to Serafina. I was no lover to Eleanor.

Tonight, I was only Lucien.

The first thing I had to do was get rid of these damp clothes clinging to my body.

I wandered through the town, looking at each quaint shop perched on cobblestone streets.

Food was wafting through the air: fresh bread, grilled fish, and something sweet-honey.

There were some who laughed, some who talked; I suddenly understood how long it had been since I'd been around such simple, unashamed joy.

At last I spied a tiny shop-this was the only kind that probably existed in this city for centuries.

The shopkeeper-a silver-haired woman to whom I felt an instant attraction-waved to me as she continued to run her eyes over the racks.

Light, easy linen-somehow, just what I needed for the night ahead.

I put on trousers and a shirt, ran my fingers over the soft, smooth fabric.

Plain, bare.

I undressed in the back, left behind me wet clothes, and when I came out into the night air, so cool it felt like autumn,

I felt lighter.

As if finally having shed soaked clothes, I shed something heavier off my shoulders.

So, I stroll down the street, I guess; though I do feel fine.

My feet, of course, had agendas; they were the reason to take me down windy alleys and past small cafés where locals and tourists sip and laugh, knowing not a word of what world I come from.

They knew not who I was, and for once, that not knowing was a gift.

The farther I walk, the more I feel myself unraveling.

It was like the tight coil of tension that always wound itself around me unfurled with every single step I took.

I wasn't thinking about my responsibilities or how, in this moment, danger stalked the shadows of my life. I was just. here.

I passed by a bar at the edge of the street, with live music spilling out into the night.

The place was minuscule: the kind of setting that feels small to whosoever enters it, where the patrons know the bartender by name, and the excitement of laughter is found in the vibration of a guitar strumming sound. Hardly ever thinking, I stepped in.

The bartender nodded at me and I sat on the stool; the buzz of chatter and music wrapped itself around me like a warm blanket.

I ordered a drink; something local, something that was going to burn down the pipes. He didn't ask questions and I did not offer up any answers.

And there I sat, sipping my drink and letting my guard down in a way I hadn't managed for years with tension unwinding from my shoulders like the constant weight of expectations leaking out of my mind.

Not tonight am I Lucien Beauchene. Not tonight am I anyone's heir, anyone's husband.

Free, I was. All this was not about family name, legacy, or the decision multitudes that fed through the daily facts, the fear that some wrong motion would break everything.

I just sit in a bar, drinking and listening to the music.

Locals would be laughing around me, low hum of satisfaction, and I'd be thinking for a minute how nice it would be to live such a life.

Wake up every morning with no family legacy weighing upon the shoulders.

Just to be.

That made me smile, though a touch of sadness accompanies it. 

That life would never be mine. But tonight, I could pretend.

I finished drinking, got up, placed a sufficient amount of money on the counter for a tip, and went out.

The bartender nodded to me - a silent nod of acknowledgment to the passing man.

I walked out into the coolness of the night, refreshing the air against my body.

And thus, I recall walking in the streets, feeling that I was walking to the beach. The low moon in the sky cast a pale light on water; waves broke calmly on shore, their steady rhythm soothing.

There I stood for a little longer, letting the sound of the ocean wash over me, letting the peace of the night sink into my bones.

I then realized that those moments were very few in my life.

Moments where I was not living by others' definition.

I wasn't constantly calculating what was my next step forward or watching my back for them. It was pure freedom.

I thought of Serafina. She was right to take this time off. 

We were killing each other, shackled by the roles and responsibilities we hadn't chosen.

There, on this island, we could just. exist.

For a moment I closed my eyes; the sound of waves drowned everything out. 

A thought did not even surface about Eleanor and Serafina and the family.

I did not think about tomorrow or the day after; how I was going to survive all of this.

I was here in the present-and for once that was enough.

Eventually, I hauled myself up out of the sand and began walking back through the town.

There was time yet till dawn, time yet till I would meet Serafina at the jet.

I spotted a tiny still-open café, of the mismatched chairs and tables scattered out front variety. I sat, got a bowl of Greek salad, and watched the rest of the world.

The first time in such a long time, truly and deeply at peace.

And sitting there sipping on my coffee, I may have realized that maybe me and Serafina were an awful lot more alike than I'd ever wanted to admit to myself.

Both of us needed this, this escape, this moment to just be.

Tomorrow we would go back to our lives and the parts we were required to play and the decisions we were forced to make.

But tonight, for these hours we were free

And it seemed like salvation.

I leaned back in my chair letting soak into my bones the uncommon stillness that crept over the small café.

The strangeness of sitting here alone with the evening air.

There were no expectations, no looming responsibilities.

I wasn't Lucien Beauchene, the next capo, the dutiful fiancé for even once.

I was just me. And damn did it feel good.

Taking a bite of my salad, I let my mind drift. It's been just too long since I could just sit and think about things without the weight of a million other things on my shoulders.

Serafina's been right, this break was just what I needed. Don't tell her that, though.

The sea scent, the chatter of natives, the simple rhythm of life-it was all so far removed from the world I left behind.

No alliances, no maneuvering for power, no twitchy nerves on high alert because you couldn't trust anyone. Just life. I envied this kind of simplicity.

"Hey, man," a voice came through my thoughts.

I looked up to see a man standing by my table. He was tall and dark-haired, with an easy, slack smile. He was the kind of guy who'd never had to deal with anything more complicated than trying to figure out what to eat for dinner. For a second, I envied him.

"You got any change? I'm short for the coffee," he said holding out a few coins.

I eyed the cash, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure." I pulled out a few coins, and tossed them over to him. "No worries," he said, dropping down opposite me without so much as a by-your-leave. Bold move. "I'm Alex, by the way."

"Lucien," I said, settling back a little, now that someone was sitting across from me. Most people would've just taken the change and mucked off.

"You local, or just passing through?" he asked, sipping his coffee as if he couldn't possibly be somewhere he needed to be.

"Just passing through," I said vaguely, no need to go into details with a stranger

"Same here," he said, eyes lighting up. "I'm here conducting research for a project."

"I'm a chef and a writer," he said. "I figured combine the two-travel around, taste new things, and write about it."

A chef. And now that was interesting.

"You a professional?" I asked, feeling myself finding interest in the conversation far greater than I had anticipated.

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "Ran a few kitchens, but I'm trying something different now. What about you? You into food, or just like coffee?"

I laughed, surprised at myself. "Actually, I cook. It's kind of a passion."

"No shit," Alex said, leaning forward. "What's your specialty?"

"Escargot, mostly. French, of course," I said, feeling some rare ease discussing something to which I genuinely cared.

"Man, French food. there's nothing like it," Alex said, shaking his head. "You ever think about opening your own place?"

I thought about it for a second. "I have, but. my life doesn't really leave much room for that."

"Shame," Alex said, his voice candid. "You're the kind of guy who could run a hell of a kitchen."

I couldn't help it; a smirk crossed my face; I wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or not. Yet somehow the conversation flowed easily enough.

It was nice just to talk about something simple for once. No drama. No blood. Just food.

In a little while, he says, "Hey, you up for a drink? There's a bar just round the corner that's meant to be okay."

I thought about it. I hadn't got anything else planned for till the following morning, and the idea of sticking around a bit longer in the evening seemed soothing. "Yeah, why not?"

The music was getting louder and closer as we walked, and I could see the glow of the beach bar ahead.

"There is some sort of party going on here," Alex said, scanning the crowd.

There was the smell of saltwater mixed with alcohol and sweat as we walked in.

People were dancing, and the bass thumped through the floor.

I had this weird tug-in-one that was so familiar but still different.

Chaos was for fun, not survival.

We drank two beers and leaned against the bar.

We were scanning through the crowd. It felt good to just just be a face in the crowd for once.

No one knew who I was here. I wasn't anyone cool or anything. I was just another guy at the bar.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red. 

I turned, and there was Serafina, laughing with a group of girls, raven hair spilling over her shoulders.

She looked. Free. I hadn't seen her that way in years.

She didn't smile at me, and for a moment, I just stared at her, wondering if she felt even remotely the same way I did in that moment - unmoored, even if it is only for a moment.

Alex followed my gaze and grinned. "You know her?"

"No."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't pry on it.

"Well, she's having some fun.", he said, chugging down the last of his beer.

"Yeah," I muttered, taking a swig of my beer.

I had considered trying over there for a moment, but something held me back.

This is probably good enough. She's over there doing her thing and I'm doing mine. 

We both needed it anyway, and I wasn't about to drag some semblance of reality into it in order to bring it down.

For now, I was just Lucien, and I wanted to hold onto that for a while longer.