The doctor, nurse, clinician—whoever he was—forced a smile. Duncan squinted to read the name on his tag—Feodor.

“I am sorry, Mr. McAllister. But your bag—the bag that was found on the other gentleman—is being detained. And so are you.”

Duncan sat up. “I’m sorry, what? Detained? Brilliant. That bastard takes my bag, knocks me the fuck out, and you’re detaining me?” He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked hard, trying to clear his vision only to realize it was the swelling in his left eye that was making things all wonky. “Show me where my bag is being held bloody prisoner, and I’ll prove to you lot that it’s mine, and then I’ll be on my way. To get married.”

The resolve in Duncan’s voice impressed even him. It’s not like he was having second thoughts, but give a bloke a minute or two to collect himself when he’s up and leaving one home for another. That’s all he had done when he got off that plane, and look where it had gotten him. But he was sure now, no doubt in his mind, that this was where he belonged. Greece was where he belonged. Because Greece was where Elaina was, and she was his new home.

He scrambled for his phone in his front pocket. At least that wasn’t detained with everything else. When he unlocked the screen, he cursed at himself when he saw his nearly dead battery. Elaina insisted he wait until Greece to get a new phone on a local carrier, which was all fine and good except that his old phone barely held a charge anymore. Of course he had his charger with him—in his bag. Duncan wasn’t sure what Elaina was thinking at this point, but he had to let her know he was all right, that he was on his way. He saw he’d missed a call from her, but there wasn’t enough battery to check his voicemail and get a message to her, so he opted for the text.

Forgive me. I couldn’t get on the second plane.

The battery flashed red. Fuck. He wasn’t done typing, but he had to hit send and hope this was enough until he got to her.

It was more than an hour after he was supposed to get on that second plane when Duncan could finally walk without fear of blacking out again.

“It’s my bag,” he insisted as soon as he was seated across the table from the man who’d stolen it.

The security bloke, the one he vaguely remembered from before he was knocked bloody unconscious, slid his bag toward him on the table. Duncan squinted with his good eye at the guy’s name tag—Kostas.

“Then I’m sure you can unlock it,” he said to Duncan. “This one says he shouldn’t have to without us providing him with legal aide, but if you feel differently—”

Duncan snatched the bag. Of course he felt differently. He’d open it, show everyone his passport, and end this bleeding cock-up of a morning.

He rolled the numbers into place, giving himself a mental pat on the back for programming the lock’s combination to tomorrow’s date, his wedding date.

The thirty-first of December. New Year’s Eve, the last time they’d be Duncan McAllister and Elaina Tripoli. The day she’d take his name.

3-1-1-2. And click.

Where was the click?

He reset the lock and rolled the barrels into place again. 3-1-1-2.

Nothing.

He tried reversing the order. Maybe he’d done it the American way with the month first.

1-2-3-1.

Duncan gave the lock a violent yank. He shook the bag. My fucking bag.

“Cut it off,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s broken. Cut the thing off, and I’ll show you it’s mine. I can tell you everything in there, including my bloody passport. Just cut. It. Off.”

Kostas retrieved the bag.

“That’s the next step, sir, since it looks like your bag doesn’t want to open for you. But I have to find a tool that will cut a small padlock.”

Duncan ran a hand through his hair, wanting to yank it out. “A bolt cutter. You need a bleedin’ bolt cutter.”

Kostas nodded, and Duncan was sure the kid had no clue what a bolt cutter was or where to get one. This was a joke, right? A pre-wedding laugh at his expense. Yet no one was smiling.

“I should get a phone call, aye? One call?” This would be his last chance to get word out to someone who could end this ridiculous morning.

Kostas raised his brows and said, “Yes! Like an American crime show!”

“My phone is dead,” Duncan told him. “I’m going to need yours.”

Kostas seemed all too eager to hand Duncan his phone, enjoying what must be the most excitement he’d had since starting his job.

Duncan rolled his eyes, but to be honest, that’s where the idea of the phone call came from. All that mattered was that Kostas said yes. As much as he wanted to phone Elaina and explain everything to her, she had the whole wedding party to attend to. He couldn’t ask her to help him. But he could call Griffin. Griffin would be getting to Thessaloniki soon, if he wasn’t already there.

Shite. What was his number? Duncan’s phone was crap with international calls, so he always had to type the number in when he used his international phone card. He squeezed his eyes shut, head and cheek still throbbing, and concentrated. He wasn’t even sure he’d get through, but he had to try.

“Yes!” he yelled as the numbers came to him, and he tapped the keypad furiously as Kostas and the bloke from 23A stared on.

The call went right to voicemail, but Griffin would have to be in range soon, right?

“Oi, mate,” Duncan began. “I’m in a right mess at the moment and was hoping you could help. Athens airport, security holding cell number one. I owe ya one. I’ll explain when you get here. If you get here. Shite, can you get here?”

Duncan ended the call but snuck in a quick text to Noah as well, his brain suddenly swimming with numbers, Elaina’s included. He could go for broke if Kostas didn’t notice, try to explain the situation, to assure her he was only delayed but that he was trying to get to her.

But how did he put it all in a text from someone else’s phone? What would he say? That he let his nerves get the best of him, enough so that he didn’t see his bag being stolen by the wanker still claiming it was his?

He had spent years proving to Elaina that he wasn’t the boy who stole a birthday kiss that night in the pub. He was the man she’d always known he could be. But if she saw him right now, she’d run in the opposite direction, and he couldn’t blame her. Only a boy could fuck up as much as he had in such a short amount of time, and if he didn’t get that bag back, there would be no point in showing up in Thessaloniki today. There’d be no point in any of it.

But before he could even type out her number, Kostas snatched the phone back from him.

“One call,” the lanky git said. “How about you?” Kostas asked the real thief, but the guy just grunted out a no.

This was it. Duncan was so close to where he needed to be yet so very far away. All he knew was that nothing about today felt like home.

Chapter Six

Maggie

Maggie adjusted the small airplane pillow against the window and stretched as best she could in the confined space. It took her a few blinks to open her eyes completely, and when she did, Griffin’s soft gaze was on her, those caramel eyes drinking her in.

“What?” she asked, sure that he’d caught her snoring or drooling, which really wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He’d seen her at her worst and still taken on the challenge of loving her. Maggie had to remind herself that she didn’t have to be anyone but herself with him. She could just be.

He lifted the armrests that formed the barrier between them, then took her left leg and draped it over his right. Griffin let out a sigh and smiled.

“Don’t move,” she said, and then pulled her camera from the seatback pocket. Something about the way he looked at her made her want to capture this moment.