Five
FIVE
Mia
GOD, WHAT A QUESTION. “It’s... complicated?” I hazarded.
“Yeah, it usually is,” Luca muttered, and I couldn’t help thinking he was talking about something other than my own mess.
I could have let it go at that. I should have let it go at that, and I had no earthly clue why I didn’t.
“We own a restaurant together,” I said. “It’s our sole source of income, and... uh... there’s a fair amount of debt involved.”
So much for not getting any deeper into the weeds.
“Ah.” Luca’s olive-green gaze focused fully on me once more. “Okay, that is complicated.” He hesitated. “Anyplace I’ve heard of?”
I sighed and slumped back against the well-worn sofa. “The Elderflower Inn. Soulard.” Apparently, I’d needed to talk to someone about this more than I’d realized.
Luca’s eyebrows drew together. “The one that’s had all those lifestyle articles written about it lately?”
I nodded, a bit sheepishly.
“So, you’re not, like, a chef at some random Olive Garden,” he went on slowly. “You’re the chef-owner of the only Michelin star restaurant in the Midwest?” He blinked. “Damn, girl. Way to go. That’s awesome .”
“Co-owner,” I muttered, picking at the seam of a random decorative pillow.
“Right.” Luca sobered. “So, you can’t ditch the marriage without also sabotaging your crazy success in the restaurant industry.”
“Pretty much,” I agreed, still laser-focused on the pillow’s loose thread.
“Only,” he went on, “it seems like your ball and chain has pretty much ditched the marriage, except maybe on paper.”
I looked up sharply, and he raised a defensive hand—palm out in a placating gesture.
“Again, feel free to tell me to go to hell,” he said. “None of my business, etcetera, etcetera.”
My throat felt tight and hot with unprocessed bitterness, but I made myself swallow it like I always did.
“It’s your business to the extent that you had to rescue me in a singles bar, and now I’m curled on your sofa eating your popcorn and drinking your Dr. Pepper. But... I don’t really have any answers for you. Or, y’know, for myself .”
Luca’s green-eyed intensity ratcheted down several notches, and so did his rich, floral scent.
“You came here for escapism, not an interrogation,” he said. “Sorry. Zalen says I have a tendency to insert myself into other people’s problems as a way of avoiding dealing with my own. Movie?”
There was a fair amount to unpack in that statement... but it wasn’t my luggage.
“Movie,” I agreed.
Without meaning to, I found myself becoming invested in the implausible third-act romantic misunderstanding, to the extent that I teared up a bit during the messy and emotional reunion on a grand palace staircase. When the final, unexpected twist allowed the star-crossed lovers to be together despite the odds, I had to cover a sniffle.
Clearing my throat, I turned to my host. “I can see why it’s your comfort watch. Thanks for sharing it.”
He smiled. It was a nice smile.
“Something about the unlikely fairytale ending appeals to me. Reality is deeply overrated a lot of the time.”
I snorted. “Amen.”
A rustle of movement drew my attention to the doorway, where a tall figure leaned languidly against the frame.
“Oh, dear. Did I miss evening prayers again?” The scent of sweet fennel and aniseed hit me at the same time as the words.
My eyes landed on trouble dressed in a three-piece suit. Or, more accurately, trouble partially out of a three-piece suit. The blond alpha lounged at the edge of our space. The sleeves of his pale rose-colored shirt were rolled up to the elbow, baring well-defined, tattooed forearms. Tailored maroon trousers clung to a lean, swimmer’s frame, his matching vest highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and his narrow waist.
He held his discarded suit jacket draped casually over an elbow, and his pale, tousled golden hair had escaped its product to curl over his forehead on one side. More tattoos marched upward from the open shirt buttons at his throat. There was no sign of a tie. An earring glinted in his left ear.
“Yes, we’re converting to Pastafarianism,” Luca said. “Sorry you missed the ceremony.”
“Sounds exhausting,” said the alpha. His eyes were some undefined pale color in the light of the television—gray or maybe light blue. He glanced at me with interest before flicking his gaze back to Luca. “Is Zalen here? I need to talk to him.”
Luca’s body language closed off. “No. He’s staying at the center with that kid who was having... er... trouble at home .”
The alpha nodded in apparent understanding. “Right. Okay, it can wait until tomorrow. Who’s this, then?”
Pale eyes returned to me, and the little jolt I felt somewhere behind my ribcage took me by surprise.
Luca relaxed. “Yes. Sorry. Mia, this is Byron Harper. Byron, this is Mia... uh, I don’t actually know your last name.”
“Dimitriadis,” I said reflexively. “And, no, there won’t be a spelling test later.”
Sultry lips twitched in a half-smile, and holy shit , what the hell kind of place had I walked into? The jolt in my chest rippled, spreading lower... growing heated and heavy.
“Good to know,” said the lickable sin-sicle propping up the doorway.
“Mia’s a friend,” Luca said. “She’s hanging out tonight to watch a movie. She is not—I repeat, not —a pick-up. Mia, sorry about this. You remember when I told you at the bar that Zalen wasn’t actually a neanderthal? This one is, but if you swat him with a rolled-up newspaper, he’ll go away.”
“Um,” I said, caught out at the realization that I wasn’t sure I wanted him to go away.
“You wound me,” the alpha—Byron—said. “And you’re also mixing your metaphors pretty badly.”
Luca pointed a forefinger at him. “Do not harass the omega who came here to chill out and watch movies with me. She isn’t on the menu.”
I felt like I should probably be saying something on my own behalf, but I had the feeling that if I tried to, it would come out as some fresh variation of ‘ Um .’ And I didn’t think that was the kind of competent, no-nonsense aura I wanted to project.
The situation wasn’t helped when Byron looked at me like he wanted to eat me for a midnight snack.
“Pity,” he said, holding my gaze unblinkingly. “Because you look like you could use some better stress relief than a cheesy romcom. If you ever change your mind, let me know.”
I swallowed hard, hiding a cringe when I realized my scent had just spiked.
Byron gave me a knowing half-smile. It said loud and clear that he had a nose as well as eyes, and he saw right through me.
“Enjoy your evening,” he said, and disappeared into the massive house.
Luca sighed. “Okay, that was awkward. Again... sorry about that. He’s... well, I guess harmless isn’t really the right word. But I promise he’s not a creeper or anything.”
What was it about this place that made me want to pick at things when I knew I should be letting them go?
“You said I wasn’t a pick-up. And... you were at a singles bar with Zalen when I met you. Is that something you do?” I asked, willing my pulse to stop beating like a drum in my ears.
Why was I not letting this go?
Luca looked suddenly wary. “Sometimes, yes. Not Zalen, I mean—he was just there to play bodyguard. I mentioned how overprotective he can be.”
I licked my lips, taking that on board.
“But seriously, that’s not why I invited you to come over,” he said quickly. “You just sounded like you needed a friend, that’s all.”
He was so obviously worried about offending me that I felt bad for pursuing it further. Yet, I couldn’t seem to ditch the thoughts racing through the back of my brain—the ones whispering about how my marriage was in a shambles, and there was quite literally nothing stopping me from taking Byron up on his offer.
Rather than the reassurance that should have come out of my mouth when I opened it, I heard a voice that sounded an awful lot like mine asking, “Out of curiosity... if I had been a singles bar pick-up, and I was here because I wanted to have sex—what would that look like, exactly?”