CHAPTER 14 – ANTONIO
I’m going on a second date with Luca—a personal record.
His face lights up when he sees me. He’s so nice. Nice, funny, and good-looking.
Not tall and muscular like Caspian, for instance, but taller than me, and clearly someone who hits the gym regularly.
I halt. Did I just… compare my date to Caspian?
What is wrong with me?
Caspian is nothing to me. He’s so far from being a thing in my life I’d need binoculars to spot him in my mind.
I shake my head, trying to evict the pampered prince of Baywood from my thoughts.
Luca gets up as soon as I reach the table he’s secured.
“Hey!” He beams. “What are you having?”
“Hi,” I reply, still disgruntled about my mental slip.
I don’t want to think about Caspian. Not his height or his muscles or what he might look like shirtless. The fact that my brain occasionally commits high treason does not mean he fascinates me. I happen to appreciate things like biceps and forearms and pecs.
It’s perfectly normal.
It would be weird, actually, if I didn’t react to a well-built, beautiful male body like his.
And it’s not like I don’t appreciate Luca’s arms. I do. More importantly, I appreciate his personality. The same can’t be said about Caspian. No, it certainly cannot. He’s… vile. Yes. Vile and atrocious.
I’m so glad I saw him with Ryan the other day. That served as a good reminder of his abominable soul.
“Antonio?” Luca asks.
Oh. I might’ve spaced out.
“Sorry.”
I give his arms an extra appreciative look.
“I’ll have ginger ale, but I can grab the drinks.”
He waves me into my seat anyway. When he comes back with the drinks, he looks so happy that I decide on the spot this is what I want.
It could be like an arranged marriage.
I’ve read about those.
Apparently they’re not nearly as bleak as they sound.
“What’ve you been up to this week?” he asks.
His eyes are kind. I can see myself becoming very enamored of him over time. Then no one could suspect me of being attracted to Caspian.
“I’ve been reading about the Industrial Revolution.”
I tell him about the Spinning Jenny.
He looks enthralled. A definitive sign of compatibility.
I’m sure Caspian has no idea what the Spinning Jenny is. He’d assume it’s a woman called Jenny who enjoys spinning recreationally.
We would never be a good match.
“You know,” Luca says, voice dipping, “you’re kind of magnetic when you talk.”
“Oh.”
No one has ever called me magnetic.
Flirt back, Antonio. Say something.
“Your hair looks nice.”
Luca looks pleased.
“Yeah? I thought it looked like a bird’s nest.”
“It does,” I admit before I can stop myself. “But it’s a very stylish nest,” I add hastily.
Luca laughs, sounding delighted rather than offended.
When we step outside, he asks, casually but not casually, “Do you want to come over? I’m staying with my parents for the summer, but I have the basement to myself.”
My stomach flips.
I know what that means.
Luca has a sex basement.
I should definitely go.
Especially since I’ve already decided that Luca is the one I want. If I’m going to step into arranged matrimony with him, I probably have to step into his sex basement, too.
“Sure,” I croak, aiming for confidence and landing closer to a socially awkward ferret.
The walk to his house is a case study in overthinking.
Should our elbows touch? Am I breathing weirdly? What does Luca want to do—and am I ready for it?
Why are there tears burning behind my eyes, sending my body stupid, contradictory signals?
Why can’t I be normal for once in my life?
The basement looks less like a sex dungeon and more like a yoga studio, which somehow makes it worse. I have the sudden, unhelpful urge to lean into a downward dog, but then Luca turns and gives me a soft smile.
My nerves riot.
He sits on the edge of the bed.
“Come here,” he invites, his voice both nervous and excited.
My pulse jumps so hard it almost hurts.
Yep. I’m doing that. Absolutely. No doubt about it.
“I’m going home,” I say.
Silence.
Luca looks confused. “Now?”
“Yes!”
The word echoes louder than intended, bouncing off the minimalist walls and landing in the bowl of potpourri on the side table.
“Antonio, we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Or anything at all,” he says carefully.
Something in my chest unclenches, the tight knot of panic finally loosening.
“Really?”
“Of course. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble, sitting beside him.
I drop my head into my hands.
“I’m sorry for freaking out. And for, you know—assuming.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he reassures me. He gives me a crooked grin. “Besides, you were totally right. To assume.”
I blush.
He bumps my shoulder.
“Want to watch cat reels? I can make popcorn.”
Relief floods me.
“That sounds great.”
I think many arranged marriages have started with cat reels and popcorn.