After we’d walked back down, we explored St. Michaels Cave and the Great Siege Tunnels before heading into town for lunch. Over two plates of fideos al horno, which was nothing more than a fancy macaroni, I showed him all the pictures we’d taken. “Look at this one,” I gushed.
“These are brilliant,” Ollie shook his head with a mouth full of food, “I want them in my next poetry book.”
I set my camera down as heat rushed to my cheeks with the same smile I always wore whenever he was around. “Ollie, you don’t have to say that just because I married you.”
“I’m saying it because they’re seriously good. My next book, my poetry, and your photography. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before.” As Ollie took his next bite, a shriek belted from my throat when a monkey snatched my camera from the table beside me and took off through the town. Ollie dropped his fork and bolted from the chair, taking off after the uncanny thief. But not shortly after, I snatched our backpack off the ground to run after Ollie.
“Ollie, don’t, he will bite you!” I shouted, more than fifteen feet from behind.
By the time I caught up, Ollie had the monkey cornered with a crowd surrounding him, and he crouched down as the small ape examined the camera in his little hands. “Give me the camera, mate,” he firmly stated, and I crossed my arms over my chest, holding in laughter.
“He’ll bite,” a bystander said, shaking a finger at the monkey, and I wanted to say, “I told you so” until the man standing beside her intervened, “No, he’s British. He’s good.”
The two went back and forth, bickering about Gibraltar being under British control when Ollie turned to hush the crowd. The people silenced, and Ollie held out his hand to the little guy. “Hand the bloody thing over.”
“He’s not going to just hand it over because you asked,” the lady mumbled to herself.
Ollie and the monkey entered a staring match, his outstretched hand between the two of them, and the crowd stood frozen with a curbed breath, waiting. And after a few beats of suspense, the monkey dropped the camera beside Ollie’s hand over the rock pathway. Ollie scooped the camera into his hand and stood, and the monkey took off into another direction. Probably the same one from the night before. I remembered that look in the monkey’s eyes. He had it out for us.
The crowd cheered, and Ollie slipped the strap over my head and planted a kiss on my lips.
“Told you.” The man rolled his eyes and held up his palm. “It’s because he’s British,” he explained to his wife standing beside him.
Later, we met up with Liam and Jake at the hotel after a much-needed nap. It was our last night in Gibraltar, and we spent it sitting over the beach with our toes curled in the sand. The enormous cliff laid to our right as the sunset painted pinks and purples over the sparkling water. Jake danced over the sand by himself with the beat of a band playing from a nearby hotel as I retold the story of Ollie and the monkey.
“Oh, yeah. Our tourist guide talked about it today,” Liam said with utter fascination brewing in his eyes. “Legend says, the monkeys alerted the British during a surprise attack, which prevented the French and Spanish from ever gaining control of Gibraltar. So, as long as the monkeys remain, so do the British. An unspoken bond between them,” he lifted his brows, “Pretty cool, yeah?”
“Ah,” I looked back at Ollie, who was sitting beside me, “Now it makes sense.”
“So, the monkey just handed over your camera?” Jake asked through heavy breathing.
I lifted a shoulder. “More like dropping it beside his hand.”
“Dodgy little bastard,” Ollie muttered.
We’d returned to the UK the same way we came, but this time, Liam had driven straight through from Gibraltar to Bilbao as the married couple cozied up in the backseat. The four of us had to spend one last night in Spain before taking the next available ferry across the Bay of Biscay to the United Kingdom. We could have simply flown back, but had left Ollie’s car at the port anyway and didn’t mind the ride. Ollie and I were made for adventure, our only home within each other.
Exhausted, Ollie pulled the car in front of our cottage but laid his hand over my thigh as I went to get out. “Mia, wait,” he stated, and I turned back to face him. “I know what you’re probably thinking right now, that once we get out of this car, it’s back to the real world. One with the Links and Dex and Leigh—”
“Ollie …”
“No, listen to me for a second.” He threaded his fingers with mine. “No matter what happens, we’re going to get through it. Look at how far we’ve come. We’re a force, love. A force no one will be able to withstand. As long as you’re by my side, I’m not scared, are you?” Biting my lip, Ollie smoothed his hand down my hair before clutching the ends as I slowly shook my head. He kissed my forehead before saying, “I’ll get us out, Mia. I promise to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, and me out of this fucking mess.”
The temperatures were below fifty in the night as we exited the old car. I had to give it to him, though. The beater managed to survive many miles so far without any problems. Ollie grabbed the luggage from the trunk, and we walked through the gate of our unnamed cottage. When we made it through our front door, he flipped on the light and released a long exhale. “Home sweet home,” he said through a sigh, but all my attention narrowed to the gift left in our living room.
Over our coffee table sat a dozen pink roses in a vintage glass vase, and I walked over to the flowers and picked them up at the base. “Oh, Ollie, they’re beautiful. Did you have Travis leave these?”
Looking over, I caught Ollie scratching the back of his head. “I don’t think so.”
I arched a brow. “You don’t think so?”
“Mia, I’m so tired, I honestly don’t remember, but it does look like something I’d do.”
Laughing, I examined the flowers for some sort of note or card. “There’s no note,” I said, and Ollie yawned from the entryway before I set the vase back over the table. “Alright, Romeo, let’s get you off to bed.”
“I’ll call Travis in the morning.”
HALLOWEEN HAD PASSED, yet the spooky vibe lingered among the streets of Surrey as I drove to Thurrock to meet Dex for a job. Between traveling and working on preparing for a new volume of poetry, I’d blown off most of Dex’s calls.
I couldn’t keep this up, and Dex only grew more annoyed with where he stood on my list of priorities.
The group of men huddled around the bar at Jack’s Pub, and I spotted Adrian with an easy smile and glazed eyes. Dex and his two other men pushed drunken Adrian around in amusement, and I stood over them, most of the blokes shorter than me, to assess the situation.
Smith, one of his men, noticed me first and squeezed my shoulder. “Nice of you to show up, mate.”
“I was busy,” I said, my voice vacant. There were a million other things I’d rather be doing right now.
Dex stood from his barstool, and the men subconsciously took a step back. “How was the wedding?” he asked with an all-knowing grin. Bloody hell, he knew. And if it were up to me, and under entirely different circumstances, the whole world would know Mia Rose was my wife. I’d climb the tallest mountain with a smile and six-pack of Red Bull to chisel our two faces into the rock with those exact words etched above our heads. But this very news was enough for Dex to know how deep my love for Mia ran. It meant another card in his back pocket, and another lure to keep me coming back. His sinister gaze confirmed it. “Ah, I understand. Our friend here gets married,” he turns back to face me with a hand over my shoulder, “and what happens in Gibraltar, stays in Gibraltar.”