I cannot deny that the vacancy in the grotto has left me barren in spirit. Barren of hope.

Fred made me no promises, of course. I refused to let him speak them, put my hand to his mouth when he tried. So, he didn’t try. Just held me, enveloped me in his embrace, healed now, strong, capable and I knew in my being that he would make it to freedom.

Perhaps that is enough.

In my mind, I have us wed, have us consummating what we began in the olive grove.

It is my shame that I was not the one who hesitated. “We will not find freedom in our regrets,” Fred said.

“I have no regrets,” I said.

“You might. And I have vows I’ve made to God,” he said.

His words burned in me, for I had forgotten God.

And until Fred arrived, I feared that God had forgotten me.

Perhaps not. Perhaps it is as my father once said. The Lord is near to those who call on him. He fulfills the desires of those who fear him.

I desire that we grow old in this land of my family, and perhaps that is naive, but war changes things. And I care not what the town of Lucca thinks about Fred’s status as an American, nor the color of his skin. I only see that he is mine. And I am his, if not in flesh, in spirit.

“I love you, Angel.” Fred whispered the words more than once, into my ear, against my neck, his lips brushing my skin, and they found their way to my soul. “Come with me.”

I said no, of course. This land holds me. This land, this family.

Tory.

Someone must protect him. The Obergruppenfüehrer Heinlein has searched the grotto and Fred must have hidden Tory’s equipment well because they turned up nothing. But Tory has not returned, either, from his last midnight escapade and I fear the worst.

But by day, I tend the vines, with Arturo and Bertie, and prepare food for the Obergruppenfüehrer and his men, and lock my door at night and pray.

I pray that Tory is safe.

That this terrible war will end.

That Fred will return to me.

I pray for miracles.

RJ savored the rich black coffee, eying another piece of soft bread, trying to focus on Logan as he spelled out their mission, all while Angel’s story played in the back of her mind.

That, and York’s question. “Let’s get married. I mean—now. Today —”

Yes.

“We know he’s left the Delafield Hotel in Port Fressa. Checked out this morning,” Logan was saying

They were seated around the kitchen table, the morning sun just barely gilding the terracotta floors. Tessa had left them for the garden, having already served them a breakfast of baked eggs and crusty bread, fresh blackberry jam.