22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two:
Offside, Overtures + the Las Vegas Pact
Luca
Ihave to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like a lunatic.
Since Aspen walked back into my life, I’ve been spiraling, trying to engineer a way to get back into her good graces.
I’d considered every desperate, questionable tactic in the book.
I thought about “accidentally” bursting a pipe in her apartment to force her to move in with me temporarily.
I even had a fleeting, dark thought about locking her in my house until she finally agreed to hear me out.
Then I remembered how many Netflix specials begin exactly like that. Usually with a man staring at a camera or talking to the detective saying, “No one was supposed to get hurt.” So, I decided against that particular felony.
But this is a gift I couldn’t have dreamed up if I tried.
I have my “in” because she actually needs me.
She needs to save face with her family, and I need more time to win back her heart.
It’s perfect. It’s better than any pipe I could have burst or any hostage scheme I could have plotted.
She’s, mostly, voluntarily walking back into my orbit, and this time, I’m not letting her drift away.
I walk—hop—back to the kitchen island and take a seat. I'm watching the panicked flush on her neck as she stares at her phone like it has a detonation timer.
“How have you not told your mother about any of this?” I ask, my voice smooth while masking the triumph thrumming in my chest. “Most women can’t wait to tell their mum that they’ve tied the knot or whatever.”
Aspen lets out a breath that’s half-sigh, half-shudder.
“That would usually be me, if anything about this was even close to normal. But my mother is convinced she’d have a dream about my husband before I even knew who he was.
The fact that I’ve moved against her natural order of things is going to send her to the moon. ”
I raise an eyebrow. “A dream, huh? Well, I hope I'm as handsome in her sleep as I am in person.”
“Please don’t joke about this! I’m freaking out.”
I gesture for her to come sit next to me, my voice dropping. “Don’t freak out.”
“Easier said than done,” she whispers, though she edges closer to me.
“If we’re being completely honest,” I say, watching her carefully, “I could use your help, too.”
Her head snaps toward me. “What kind of help?”
“Nothing tawdry or salacious, I can assure you.”
I have to be gentle here. Subtle. I need to phrase this perfectly so she doesn’t think I’m trying to manipulate her.
I might be trying to manipulate her movements or her sleeping quarters, but never her heart.
I’m a gentleman. I just need to exist in her space long enough for the static between us to clear so she can hear me.
“I just…” I continue, the words catching in my throat. “My family knows about you. About Vegas. But they don’t know how royally I screwed things up with you.”
Aspen arches a brow, her gaze cutting. “I’m glad you at least recognize the depth of the screw-up.”
“Ouch,” I wince, though I know I deserve it. “The point is, I’ve disappointed them enough this year. If they find out I sullied the sanctity of our marriage so soon after saying the vows, it’ll break them.”
I watch her expression soften, her defensive posture finally wavering. She gets it. Family pressure is a language we both speak fluently.
“And how am I supposed to help with that?” she asks warily.
Game on. “My mother’s birthday is coming up. My parents have asked me to bring my wife so they can finally meet her properly.”
“A party. All I have to do is attend a birthday party?”
I suppress a smile, wondering how to explain the marathon that is a Nigerian celebration. It’s an all-night event where women drop thousands of dollars on custom outfits just to outshine the guest of honor. “It’s a bit more than a traditional party. It’s sort of formal. I’d pay for your Aso ebi—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, her eyes narrowing. “You’ll pay for my ass to what, now?”
I can’t help the genuine laugh that breaks through my composure. “I’ll explain the wardrobe later. But can we make a pact? We do this together. Hand-in-hand. Like Vegas.”
She hesitates, her gaze searching mine, probably for a trap. Finally, she gives a reluctant, stiff nod. “I guess. For the sake of the families.”
She sucks in a breath and exhales, a soft, shaky sound that feels like a brick from the wall she’s built around her heart has crumbled.
For a moment, the guardedness in her eyes flickers.
I can see her slipping back into the version of us that existed before the fallout. The version that felt effortless.
“Like Vegas,” she whispers, the words sounding less like a deal and more like a bridge being crossed back to the ghost of who we used to be.
“Good,” I say. “But now that we actually have to make appearances as a married couple, I have new rules. New expectations.”
“I’m not having sex with you, Luca.”
We’ll see about that. “Fine,” I concede for the moment, keeping my face neutral. “But as you’ve seen today, getting around and handling the basics is a challenge for me. I’m going to need you to move in.”
The sentimental moment shatters. “Absolutely not!”
“Absolutely…yes.”
“Why on earth do I need to be here twenty-four-seven?” she demands.
“Well, for starters, wife, we’re married. Second, Declan mentioned the show does random drop-ins to check on the couples. It would be smart for you and your things to actually be here when they knock, don’t you think?”
“I mean, it makes sense. But why wait until now to suggest this?”
“It’s not the first time, you just stopped checking your messages.”
The words are out before I can filter them, and I instantly regret the bluntness. Her eyes well up with tears. “And you stopped being kind,” she whispers.
It breaks me wide open.
Before everything went to hell, we had our own world tucked away on a private chat server.
It was a coded space where we could drop notes away from prying eyes, offering a layer of security that standard text messages or the cloud couldn't provide. Now that we were being so heavily monitored, we needed that extra privacy. It became a way to build a life together without shoving our relationship in Croix’s face or feeding the limelight.
It was our “thing.” An escape that belonged only to us.
But after mediation, the light went out. Even though I kept sending messages, shouting into the void just to feel connected to her, she stopped opening them.
That was how I knew I’d truly lost her. She used to light up when she knew a message was waiting. It was a small secret shared across the distance. Now, the notification screen is a graveyard. I haven’t seen a read-receipt checkmark in months.
I watch her swallow hard, the vulnerability in her expression shifting back into the polished, professional mask she’s clearly spent time perfecting.
It used to be so easy for me to get to her.
Sometimes it feels as if we’ve lived a lifetime in a compressed timeframe, or like we’ve known each other in another life entirely.
I’m also painfully aware that I’ve been a complete asshole while trying to avoid my feelings for her.
I reach out to wipe away a stray tear, one I know killed her to let me see.
“I’m sorry I stopped being kind, Ms. Mysterious.
I’m sorry I forgot how to be the man you needed in the middle of all that.
Even if we are just friends, even if you never let me near your heart again, I would be lying if I didn't tell you that I need you.”
She doesn't offer a rebuttal or a smile. She just grabs her bag, the weight of our “like Vegas” pact hanging between us.
“Okay,” she says at first, leaving me to wonder what she is actually surrendering to. “I have to go for now. But, okay. I will figure out which items I am bringing to stay for a few weeks.”
“Two months,” I counter, feeling a surge of excitement.
She lets out a breath. “We will start with a month. I will grab some things and let you know when to expect me.”
She walks out before I can tell her that I’ve been waiting for this.
That I cleared the left side of the walk in closet, hoping she’d return to me.
I stand in the silence of the apartment, the residual warmth of her presence still lingering in the room.
I have my in. I have a second chance. Soon, I will have my wife back under my roof where she belongs.
Now, the real work begins. I have to figure out how to be the man she needs and the man kind enough to earn back her smile.
Just like Vegas.