I pass a twin set of fountains and a fork in the path where a small sign in Italian points the way toward the guest house where Royce and the others are staying. I stroll past it, continuing on the main trail, slipping deeper into the mazelike hedges.

It’s obvious someone has taken great care with the garden, both in design and upkeep. There are little hidden gems around every corner: a butterfly and hummingbird sanctuary with overgrown wildflowers, copper birdbaths, and patinaed statues tucked in secret nooks.

Every now and then, laughter from the villa filters out into the quiet night, but other than that, my walk is dead silent until the crunch of gravel up ahead draws my attention.

I pause and listen for it again, searching for the source.

The ominous crunching continues, the gait of the person approaching slow and steady. A strange trickle of fear skates down the back of my neck as I realize I might have gone too far, too near the main road. I do know how to get back to the villa, I think. I turned at a triangular-shaped hedge a few yards back. I search for it now over my shoulder, but it’s too dark to make out.

My heart starts to race as I whip back around. There’s nowhere to go. With tall neat hedges on both sides of the path, I can only go forward or back, and something tells me I shouldn’t run.

Slowly, through the overwhelming blackness, a tall figure walks forward as if born from the night.

The distance between us melts away, and I stay frozen in place as Emmett’s distinctly handsome features take shape in the moonlight. Cut cheekbones, a finely chiseled jaw, eerily dark eyes. He’s wearing a black suit and shirt, open at the neck. His hair is neatly combed back. There’s no softness to him.

His gaze is on me, and I have no idea how long ago he spotted me, but he doesn’t seem nearly as shocked as I feel. Even knowing it’s him, my heart hasn’t calmed.

He walks right to me, stopping within reach.

“Lainey.”

He breathes life into my name.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” he says, lifting my chin, studying my features.

It’s impossible to keep from trembling at his touch. My fear is written all over my face. It’s the power of the dark, overriding common sense like this. Why did I feel like I was being hunted? Why did I almost run?

“You scared me,” I admit, my voice coming out so low it’s barely a whisper.

His gaze drops to my lips, and a fissure of awareness tightens my stomach. There’s a dreamlike quality to the moment, as if none of this is real, as if I summoned Emmett and he came for me.

To prove it to myself, I reach out and press my hand against his chest, just above his beating heart. His hard muscle flexes for a brief second, but then I feel the steady thump, thump, thump rhythm I was searching for.