Chapter Seventeen Lily
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lily
M aria, who is like our very own nonna , miraculously turns us average—or in my case, fire hazard —cooks into decent chefs for the night.
When she collects everyone’s raviolis in a large bowl and tosses them into a boiling pot of water together, we wait patiently, sipping wine and mingling by the portable stove Maria works at.
Hopefully everyone took hygiene as seriously as Lorenzo, who was diligent with cleaning his hands and prep station.
Eventually Maria and her husband shuffle everyone over to the long, family-style table set up at the back of the room and ask us to take a seat.
The steaming raviolis on my plate look like they could’ve been served at a restaurant, but I can’t say the same about everyone else’s dinner.
Lorenzo’s plate looks like a mix of ill-prepared ones, with a few leaking from the corners.
Everyone starts to dig into their food. One taste of mine has me shutting my eyes with a quiet groan, while Lorenzo clutches his fork like it might break free from his hand and make a run for it.
I expected him to socialize with everyone in a setting like this since it’s the perfect natural opportunity, but he seems uncharacteristically quiet.
Underneath the table, I nudge him with my thigh. “You good?”
His Adam’s apple bobs from his swallow. “Yup.”
I take another bite of my food while he watches me out of the corner of his eye.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t break his stare.
“You feeling okay?”
“Me?” I forget my manners and laugh in the middle of chewing. “Yes. Thankfully it’s not poisoned.”
Between breaks in the conversation with other couples, he shifts some of his dinner around on the porcelain plate without taking a single bite.
I’ve spent enough time around Rafa to recognize unique eating habits, although Rafa’s compulsory need to finish everything on Nico’s and his plates is completely different compared to Lorenzo’s inability to touch his food.
I want to ask him more about it, but I’ve experienced enough of Rafa’s embarrassment to understand now isn’t the time nor place.
At one unfortunate point, I accidentally lock eyes with Richard in the process and immediately wish I hadn’t. Lorenzo’s gaze might be cool and detached most of the time, but I’d choose that any day of the week over Richard’s unwanted leer.
Lorenzo seems to sense my discomfort, and his hand reaches for mine underneath the table. After spending the better half of our date reminding myself that this is all a show for the town, all it takes is him holding my hand to have my stomach swooping again.
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” His eyes glance at something over my shoulder, and I turn to find him staring at Richard.
“Ignore him.”
Lorenzo readjusts his hold on my hand and slides his fingers between mine. “Why is he so interested in you?”
I swallow a panicked laugh.
Lorenzo presses his mouth to my ear. “Is he someone you dated?”
I can’t help the incriminating flush that blooms across my cheeks.
A small, hardly noticeable vein appears in his jaw. “When?”
“After the Eros situation.”
He releases my hand and plays with a strand of my hair, teasing my shoulder with the tips of his fingers in the process. “I see.”
My answer appears to spur on Lorenzo, and he packs as much PDA into our date as humanly possible.
He even makes a show of feeding me a bite of panna cotta, and a woman from down the table gushes about it. My taste buds are overwhelmed by the flavors of strawberry and cream, and the custard-like texture practically melts in my mouth as Lorenzo drags the spoon away.
I’m still recuperating from the way he stares at my mouth like he wants to kiss it, only to be tested yet again when he reaches for the linen napkin and wipes the corner of my mouth with it.
My bottom lip tingles when his thumb accidentally brushes over it instead of the napkin, but the feeling fades when I catch Lorenzo winking in the direction of the swooning group of women at the other side of the table.
They’re not the only ones.
We’re only one date into our arrangement and I’m already struggling, so I can’t imagine how I’ll feel once we’re months into fake dating.
I can only hope I escape with my heart still intact.
When Lorenzo doesn’t return from the bathroom after a few minutes, I excuse myself and seek him out. I want to make sure he is okay since he has been tense all night, but all my worries come to a screeching halt when I find Richard and him in a standoff.
The only reason they’re eye level is because Lorenzo is holding Richard up against the wall by the material of his T-shirt. His feet dangle beneath him, the toes of his fancy shoes scraping the tiled surface beneath.
My heart beats wildly in my chest as two people from my past collide. “What’s going on here?”
Lorenzo’s jaw ticks. “Dick and I were having a chat.”
I keep my eyes trained on Lorenzo’s face rather than the one currently glaring at me. “Looks like a friendly one.”
Lorenzo releases Richard without giving him a chance to brace for the landing, so the youngest Ludlow’s knees nearly give out in the process of finding his footing.
“I think you have something to say, Dick,” he spits out with a curled upper lip.
Richard’s eye twitches. “I’m—”
Lorenzo holds up his hand. “The next word out of your mouth better be sorry, or else.”
What the hell is going on?
Richard’s eyes glint with malice. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lorenzo.”
Lorenzo seems more stunned than pissed off, while Richard appears extremely pleased with himself.
His loss? I thought Richard might’ve said something about me that upset Lorenzo, but maybe he’s goading him about the election? Because what other loss could he be talking about?
Richard moves to walk around me, but he leans in at the last second so he can whisper, “He’s the guy who dumped you, isn’t he?”
The words get stuck in my throat.
“Does he know about us, or does he just not care because he doesn’t expect any better of you?” His cutting words might as well have been carved into my chest. “Because if I were him, I’d run far away from a woman like you.”
I know Richard is wrong, and even if he was right, then screw any man who judges my choices, whether it be who I sleep with or what clothes I decide to wear.
Richard gives me a parting glance before disappearing around the corner. I expected Lorenzo to jump in and do something —anything will suffice after the way Dick insulted me—but he’s got this faraway look in his eyes that makes me realize he wasn’t listening.
“Are you okay?” I reach for Lorenzo’s arm, but he takes a step back and crosses them against his chest, adding a physical barrier between us.
Someone without any context might interpret it as a brush-off, but it seems more like a self-soothing hug than a defensive maneuver, and it makes my heart hurt for him.
After everything he has put me through, it shouldn’t. But then again, my feelings for Lorenzo have always been…complicated.
And that was before I notice how his hands are slightly trembling.
So, I give in to the impulse to comfort him, wrap my arms around his waist, and squeeze. At first he bristles, his body hard as stone, but eventually his muscles loosen and he exhales loudly, his body loosening automatically.
It’s strange to comfort someone who causes me so much sadness, anger, and self-doubt, but when I see Lorenzo like this—lost, lonely, and paralyzed by some invisible adversary I know nothing about—I can’t leave him to drown in his own demons.
I wasn’t raised to be heartless, even if that’s all he’s known for most of his life.
So, despite my better judgment, I hug him, and I hug him hard . I even rub his back like my mom always does whenever Dahlia and I are upset.
I don’t stop or release him until the tension bleeds from his body, and even then, I struggle because I don’t want to let go.
And that right there is a problem.