Chapter Three #3
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Ethan chuckled under his breath, one shoulder lifting in that lazy, effortless way that always managed to pull focus.
Henry glanced at Luca, scanning the table like a host trying to keep the peace. “Luca, you want anything?”
“A glass of rosé, please.” Luca straightened, posture polite, voice smooth. “Thank you.”
Ethan made a soft sound beside me that could’ve been a scoff.
Henry started chatting with Raúl and Luca, clearly trying to smooth over the tension, but I couldn’t follow a single word of it. My attention drifted to Ethan—watching him from the corner of my eye as discreetly as possible.
He was wearing white linen shorts that were just a touch too short and fit him perfectly.
They matched his shirt—short sleeves that showed off his arms. A bracelet glinted on his wrist—not the one I’d given him, thankfully—and a couple of rings caught the light as he shifted.
And the sunglasses—are you kidding me? Since when did a guy his age get his hands on a pair of Jacques Marie Mage and look that good wearing them?
Just then, one of his hands drifted close to the hem of his shorts, and he hooked a ringed finger under it, lazily pulling it back just a smidge.
I couldn’t help but take in the shape of his thighs, the dusting of golden hair over them.
A sudden flashback of those same thighs wrapped tightly around my waist hit me hard, and my throat went dry.
A light tug on my sleeve pulled me back. “Ash?”
I turned to Luca. “Mh?”
“I was telling Henry that we met at a gala. Do you remember which one it was?”
I could barely remember my name right this second. “Fundraiser?”
“That is right. One of my friends organizes charity events at the opera house. That one was a fashion show,” Luca said, his fingers tracing from my sleeve down to my forearm.
I let it dangle between us, trying to keep it out of Ethan’s view. There was really no need to bruise his pride. Not that I assumed it would—but he was a little competitive.
I ignored the brief spark of satisfaction that thought brought.
Luca’s gaze flicked to my cuff, then up to me. “At least you wore the right shoes that time.”
A surprised laugh slipped out of me. “I maintain that no one noticed.”
Henry looked between us. “What?”
“He showed up to a charity gala in mismatched shoes,” Luca said, perfectly composed.
“Sebastian,” Henry gasped, clutching his chest. “Not the shoes.”
“They were both black,” I muttered.
“They were not the same black.”
Henry leaned back in his chair, delighted. “Please tell me there are photos.”
“Unfortunately not,” Luca said.
The corner of my mouth betrayed me anyway. “You’re never letting that go.”
“Never,” he murmured.
The smile lingered, but something tight coiled low in my stomach. This had always been easy—slipping into shared glances and private jokes after too many rooms full of people performing importance. Two weeks ago, it would have felt perfectly natural.
Now…
“So, you work in fashion?” Raúl asked.
“Yes, in marketing, but with my family’s fashion house,” Luca told them, his accent charming enough to draw their attention without trying.
Ethan snapped his fingers, and we all turned toward him.
His head tilted slightly, a small smile playing on his lips, his full attention fixed on me. “I just figured out what’s different about you.”
“What?”
He lowered his sunglasses, giving me a calculated once-over. “You’re not smoking. I can’t smell it on you either. That sort of threw me off the last time I saw you too.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “I quit a year ago.” I watched, riveted, as his smile deepened.
“And it stuck?”
“Yes, well, as the years go by, health starts being a more pressing matter.”
“So you don’t smoke at all?”
I pressed my lips together, looking away as I reached for my pocket. Pulling out a vape, I held it out to him.
He snatched it with a laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You vape? Sebastian Langley vapes?”
A chuckle made its way past my lips. “I try not to, but occasionally, yes.” I couldn’t exactly admit the only reason I’d brought it today was because this little meeting was setting my nerves on edge.
“Oh, please tell me it’s flavored. I’ll never stop giving you shit about it,” he said, bringing it to his lips and taking a drag. I’d forgotten how gorgeous he looked doing that.
“Sorry to break it to you, but no.” I took it from him and slipped it back into my pocket, resisting the urge to press it to my own lips. “No flavor.”
“That would’ve been hilarious,” Henry said, that same awkward look returning to his face.
Luca rested a hand on my thigh to catch my attention, though his gaze stayed on Ethan. “You do sometimes. Those watermelon-flavored ones.”
An ache pulled tight in my chest. I turned to Ethan, watching his cocky grin falter. Then something softer—almost vulnerable—came through, and it speared me straight through the heart because we both knew exactly what that meant.
“Just when I’m feeling nostalgic,” I said, offering a small smile. No use lying about something he could so easily see through.
A crease appeared between his brows, his lips pulling down into a frown.
Henry shifted in his seat. “So—”
“Missed the taste of me, did you?” Ethan cut in, his voice teasing. “Guess old habits die hard.”
The air caught halfway to my lungs, and a startled laugh escaped before I could stop it.
“For fuck’s sake,” Henry muttered under his breath.
Raúl made a sound—something that might’ve been a cough or maybe a laugh he didn’t want to commit to either.
Then Ethan leaned back in his chair, sunglasses low on his nose, the faintest smirk hinting at the corner of his mouth.
“Relax,” he drawled, voice softening into that lazy, self-assured tone that could disarm anyone.
“Luca doesn’t mind, do you?” His gaze flicked to my right. “He knows Ash was mine first.”
From across the table, Henry gave Ethan a look that was half amusement, half please, for the love of God, stop talking. But something sparked through me—heat, thrill, denial tangled into one—and right behind it, a sharp surge of guilt.
As Luca froze beside me, his hand slipped slightly off my thigh, fingers curling against the fabric of my pants before retreating altogether. He smiled, but his jaw was working—the muscle there twitched in barely contained irritation.
Fuck. I was going to have to fix that later.
I leaned back, trying to mask my reaction with a slow exhale, but I could feel my pulse in my throat. Next to me, Ethan looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. Like he hadn’t just gutted the table with one careless line.
The server showed up at that moment with our drinks—thank fuck—helping to dissipate some of the tension blanketing us.
“Should we make a toast?” Henry asked, seizing the lifeline.
“Why?” I asked, more surprised than anything. I had no idea what he thought was worth commemorating in this awkward excuse for a lunch. We hadn’t even ordered food yet.
“Because…” He stalled, glancing at Ethan before shrugging. “Just because. Clink your fucking glass, Ash.”
We did just that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ethan watching. His gaze dipped briefly to where Luca’s hand had been resting on my thigh, but instead of the flare of anger I half expected, his mouth twitched—betraying his amusement.
Our eyes met over the rim of his glass, that slow grin spread wider as he took a sip and fucking winked.
Definitely not smooth sailing.
And fuck if that wasn’t the most attractive thing I’d ever witnessed.