10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Crossed the Line
Luca
The anger consuming me tonight is unlike anything I’ve felt before.
And I would know.
I’ve spent half my life angry at the world and everything it took from me.
But this is different.
It moves through every muscle and nerve, burning beneath my skin each time my mind flashes back to that random asshole leaning toward Simone.
Worse—to Simone leaning toward him.
It isn’t only anger.
It’s something darker.
The kind of fury that comes from seeing someone reach for something that isn’t theirs.
Someone who shouldn’t be mine.
But some primitive, treacherous part of me already thinks she is.
I can still picture him.
The ridiculous lime-green jacket. Cropped blond hair. Crooked teeth. Eyes that traveled over Simone’s mouth, breasts, and legs as though she were something displayed for his consumption.
He licked his teeth like he’d won a prize.
Even without Simone saying it, I knew she wanted space after leaving the booth.
So I gave it to her.
As much as I could.
I remained far enough away to keep her from accusing me of hovering, but close enough to watch.
I saw the stranger notice her at the bar.
Watched him study her for twenty seconds before approaching like a man who had made a decision.
He looked at her like something waiting to be claimed.
And she is a prize.
Just not for some nameless fucker she met five minutes ago.
What is her obsession with men she doesn’t know?
The stranger stared at her mouth from the moment he sat down. His intentions were obvious.
So was mine.
I wanted to break his jaw before he touched her.
I wanted to shut down the entire club so no one else could look at her.
And the rage still simmering beneath my skin has nothing to do with brotherly concern.
It’s jealousy.
White-hot, irrational jealousy.
The fact that another man came that close to her made me want to destroy something.
And the fact that I’ve lost that much control only makes me angrier.
I can barely look at her.
But I can feel her.
I’ve always been able to.
I hear each short breath from the passenger seat. Feel the heat of her body beside me.
Without turning, I can picture her perfectly.
Arms folded.
Mascara smudged.
Eyes narrowed.
Red lips pursed in irritation.
Lips that man nearly touched.
My fists tighten around the steering wheel.
I don’t know what infuriates me more.
That he intended to take advantage of her condition.
Or that she appeared willing to let him.
Silence fills the car, hot and suffocating.
I want to leave it alone.
Pretend the night never happened.
My responsibility is her safety—not who she kisses, sleeps with, or uses to forget whatever she’s trying to escape.
But Simone is so reckless that the words force themselves out.
And doesn’t she supposedly have a boyfriend?
Whatever Adrien is to her.
“You were seconds away from letting a complete stranger put his mouth on you.”
I keep my gaze on the road.
“So?”
Her response is casual.
“It’s a private club. No cameras. No reporters. No headlines tomorrow morning.”
She shifts in her seat.
“That’s the point. No consequences. Just fun.”
“Fun.”
“You heard me.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I’m tipsy.”
She turns toward me, and I feel the force of her glare.
“You’re overreacting because it bruised your ego.”
A humorless laugh tears from my throat.
“My ego?”
“Yes. Your ego.”
She gestures toward herself.
“I was having fun before you marched into the club and ruined it. I was having fun before you told everyone you were my date.”
Her voice rises.
“And then you—”
She laughs in disbelief and shakes her head.
“You’re such a hypocrite.”
I finally look at her.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Stop acting innocent.”
She twists fully toward me.
“You were having a wonderful time with my friends fawning all over you. Laughing. Flirting. Touching you.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“Livia had her hand halfway up your sleeve.”
“I moved away.”
“Eventually.”
Her cheeks are flushed.
“Then I try to have a little fun, and you throw me over your shoulder like I’m a piece of luggage.”
“What was his name?”
She scoffs. “Why does that matter?”
“What was his name, Simone?”
“I don’t know.”
She throws up one hand.
“I don’t remember, and I don’t care. I don’t need a man’s full biography to sleep with him.”
My jaw locks.
“So that was the plan? Sleep with a stranger because you saw one of your friends touch my arm?”
Her eyes flash.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“Bullshit.”
“You think everything has to do with you.”
“No. Just the things you do specifically to provoke me.”
She laughs again, but there’s no amusement in it.
“You really believe I select sexual partners based on how much they might annoy you?”
“The hotel stunt suggests exactly that.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Because I wasn’t actually going to sleep with Adri.”
Her words come too quickly.
The confirmation should make me feel better.
It doesn’t.
“So you admit it was a performance.”
“I never denied that.”
“You let me believe—”
“Oh, please.”
She points at me.
“You knew. You said yourself that you didn’t believe Adrien was capable of making that much noise.”
That’s true.
I still hate hearing it.
“And tonight?”
I ask. “Was that another performance?”
“No.”
The answer comes without hesitation.
“I might have taken him home.”
My grip on the wheel tightens.
“Just to get your fun back.”
“Yes.”
“Because I was supposedly enjoying attention from your friends.”
“I said it had nothing to do with you.”
“Then stop talking about Livia touching me.”
Her mouth closes.
For one brief second, I’ve caught her.
Then she scowls.
“I know fun is anything that doesn’t involve you.”
“Right.”
I return my attention to the road.
“I keep forgetting how impossible it is to have a reasonable conversation with you.”
“If by reasonable, you mean listening to you throw a tantrum because another man almost kissed me, I’ll pass.”
My pulse jumps.
She leans closer.
Her breath carries the warmth of tequila, and the interior of the car suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.
“Maybe you aren’t angry because he almost kissed me.”
Her voice lowers.
“Maybe you’re angry because you wanted to be in his place.”
Something lodges in my throat.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not.”
“You aren’t sober enough for this conversation.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.”
The passing streetlights move over her face.
Her mascara is slightly smudged, but the rest of her makeup remains intact.
Her lips are still impossibly red.
“And even now,” she continues, “you’re fighting not to look at my mouth.”
My foot presses harder against the accelerator.
“That’s enough.”
“You know you want to.”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“If I took off this dress right now, you’re saying it wouldn’t affect you?”
“Stop.”
“You wouldn’t look?”
“Shut the fuck up, Simone.”
She settles back in her seat with a satisfied smirk.
“Coward.”
The silence after that is so thick I can feel it against my skin.
It becomes impossible to breathe.
Her accusations drag memories to the surface.
Pink lip gloss.
A nervous smile.
Her hands against my face.
The kiss I’ve spent five years pretending meant nothing.
“You had your eighteenth birthday party at the Theta Pi house,” I say.
The words sound rehearsed, though I haven’t spoken them aloud in years.
Beside me, Simone goes still.
“Bran and I both thought it was a bad idea, but you refused to change your mind.”
“Don’t.”
I stare straight ahead at the streetlights sliding over the windshield.
“I left the party to get something from my car. You were waiting inside.”
“Luca.”
“You said you needed to tell me something important. Something you didn’t want Bran to hear.”
“Stop.”
Her voice hardens.
I should listen.
Instead, I keep going because anger has loosened every cruel word I’ve kept buried.
“I got into the car and thought you were in trouble. You smiled nervously and twisted your fingers together.”
“Enough.”
“Your cheeks were pink. Your dress was pink. Even the party popper in your hand was pink.”
“Luca, stop.”
“You tried to speak, but you couldn’t. I looked away for one second because the porch lights flickered.”
My chest tightens.
“When I turned back, you kissed me.”
Her silence becomes heavier.
“Your hands were on my face. Your nose brushed mine.”
My voice roughens.
“You pulled away when you realized I wasn’t kissing you back.”
“I’m warning you.”
Her voice breaks.
Still, I don’t stop.
“You told me you loved me. You said you’d been waiting for the right time.”
Every detail remains carved into me.
The fruitiness of her lip gloss.
The warmth of her fingers.
The tiny mark inside her lower lip.
The humiliation that filled her eyes.
“You asked whether I loved you too.”
My throat burns.
“And I laughed.”
She looks away.
“I told you to pull yourself together. That you were drunk. That turning eighteen didn’t suddenly make you an adult.”
Each sentence sounds worse spoken aloud.
“I told you that you were still a child. That you would always be Bran’s little sister.”
“Stop.”
“And I said that even if you weren’t his sister, you still wouldn’t be my type.”
Her breathing turns uneven.
“You’ve hated me ever since,” I continue. “Because I put you in your place after you crossed a line.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know how cruel they are.
But it’s too late.
“And now you’re doing it again.”
“Stop the car.”
Her voice is deadly quiet.
I glance at her.
Her jaw is rigid. Her fingers clutch the edge of the seat, and she’s blinking too quickly.
“Simone—”
“Stop the fucking car.”
I pull toward the curb.
She opens the door before the car has fully stopped and steps barefoot into the cold night.
Wind whips her hair around her face.
She digs through her purse and pulls out her phone.
“I’m calling a car.”
She slams the door hard enough to shake mine.
“I can’t spend another second trapped with you.”
Then she turns away.
“I fucking hate you.”
I’m out of the car before I can think.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting away from you.”
She doesn’t turn around.
“You’re barefoot. It’s freezing.”
“Shut up.”
She spins toward me.
Her body trembles from the cold and something deeper.
Tears shine in her eyes.