Petty was totally out of it, barely able to hold her head up. Franco scooped her into his arms and her head lolled against his chest.
He carried her away from the terrace, down the staircase, moving with purposeful, unhurried steps. The staff was waiting quietly at the bottom, already used to scenes like this.
The faint thrum of a helicopter drifted through the night. The staff knew Franco would be leaving with Petty again, just like before. After they left, everyone here would pack up and go too, only returning to this island every so often to clean, look after the house, and care for the gardens.
Especially that lake—the one Petty loved most.
It had always been this way, for as long as anyone could remember.
“Franco,” the staff greeted him together, their voices soft in the cool night air.
He walked steadily, arms wrapped around Petty, and held her so gently she didn’t stir at all. She could have been sleeping in her own bed, swaddled in safety.
Outside the villa, silver moonlight washed over them, and a salty breeze brought the scent of flowers swirling around. The gardens were full of rare blossoms. If Petty had been sober, she would have recognized the same notes from the perfume she wore at lunch.
Franco carried her toward the waiting helicopter.
Suddenly, Petty mumbled something, her words thick and sleepy. “Did I ever… have I…”
Franco stopped in his tracks. His arms tightened around her, breath catching for a moment.
He glanced down at her, those sleepy, unfocused eyes searching his face as if for an answer only he could give.
Her voice was muffled, coming from somewhere near his heart.
“…have I been here before?”
Under the glow of the moon, Franco stood there holding Petty, lost in a sea of swaying flowers. The petals brushed against them, carried by the breeze. Not far off, a crescent-shaped lake shimmered in the moonlight, glittering where the wind rippled the surface.
Franco pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“You have,” he whispered.
This is your third visit, Petty.
…

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