Chapter 30 Luka
Luka
Why am I here? This isn’t even my home. I have a perfectly serviceable apartment in an exclusive building downtown. One that I paid a designer a fuck-ton of money to decorate so I could post cute photos on Instagram.
It’s the perfect pad for a guy like me. There’s a hot tub on the terrace, a large open-plan kitchen/living space, and even a fucking music room. Like I give a fuck.
I let myself into my brother’s mansion, smirking to myself at the thought he’s getting an alert to say I’m here. Sure enough…
Angelo: Why the fuck are you at my house again?
Me: Came to borrow some sugar.
Angelo: Go home, Luka.
I don’t bother replying. He’s too far away to turf me out, and I don’t feel like being alone tonight.
Silence washes over me as I slip my sneakers off and pad through the family room and onto the terrace. Steam rises from the glowing pool while insects hum, and in the distance, beyond the manicured lawns, creatures of the night call to one another.
I feel like a creature of the night sometimes. Sleep has been elusive lately, and when I do finally nod off, nightmares wake me.
A camera winks from the corner of the gazebo as I drop onto a recliner and light a joint. The sweet, pungent aroma of weed fills the air as I exhale slowly. The tension in my body slowly releases, and I relax for the first time all day.
Chiara is not around, so she must have gone to bed already. Part of me—okay, all of me—wants to go to her room and crawl into bed with her, but it’s late. Like, really late.
Besides, I doubt Angelo would appreciate it if I joined his wife in bed. Even though I’ve crossed that line, he’s not said a word about it. I can’t help wondering why not. He must know. He has access to the security cameras. As does Kane.
Perhaps he likes to watch Chiara get freaky with me? It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s fucking obsessed with her. Why Chiara can’t see it, I have no clue. I wasn’t around when they got married, but I don’t believe for one minute our father forced him into the arrangement.
From the way he watches her constantly when they’re in the same room, he’s way more invested than he pretends to be.
I take another long drag of my joint while staring into the night. It’s peaceful out here. Unlike my apartment, where I can hear the sounds of the city all night: horns beeping, sirens blaring, and music from clubs and bars in the surrounding streets.
Everyone assumes I’m a party animal who loves to drink and be social, but that’s not me at all. I much prefer it here, where silence reigns and I don’t have to pretend.
Tonight was worse than usual. Another public date with a woman my agent claims can help my career. Whatever the fuck my career is. I’m not exactly clear on that.
Nolene says that making connections is important. She thinks if I can build my profile big enough, I might score some small movie roles.
The woman she set me up with this evening is an actress on a daytime soap.
I shudder at the thought of her roaming hands.
From the moment we met in the wine bar and posed for photos, the bitch couldn’t keep her hands to herself.
If the tables were turned, she’d have been fucking arrested for sexual assault in a public place, but when a hot woman is all over a guy like me, people smirk and wink and call me lucky.
I suck harder on my joint as my anxiety spirals. Eventually the weed does its thing, and by the time I toss the roach aside, I’m relaxed again.
Then my phone buzzes, and with my mind now untethered from the evening’s events, I fumble for it.
Nolene: Photos look good.
Of course they do. I’m photogenic as fuck.
Nolene: Angelina asked for a second date. Says she’ll get you in with her casting director.
Nothing in that message makes me happy, so I switch my phone off.
I’m tempted to toss the damned thing into the swimming pool. Who needs a phone, anyway? Not me.
Maybe I should do a digital detox for a month. I snort. Knowing Nolene, she’d try to monetize it if I did. Turn me into a wellness influencer.
She’s been hinting lately that I need to look to the future. Being pretty isn’t enough for career longevity, apparently. But my looks are all I have.
“What are you doing?”
Chiara’s voice startles me, and my phone tumbles from my fingers, hitting the stone paving with a crack. I stare down at it in surprise before a burst of laughter unfurls in my chest and escapes.
“You’re stoned,” Chiara remarks with an eye roll before dropping onto an adjacent recliner. She’s wearing a loose tee and some cute little panties. My mouth waters at the sight of all that exposed skin. “And horny,” she adds with a smirk while admiring the outline of my semi in my jeans.
“Always horny, cute stuff,” I grin. That’s not strictly true. She’s the only person my dick wants these days. As the actress discovered tonight when she shoved her hand down my pants.
“Got any more weed?”
I pass her my half-smoked joint, and she takes a drag. “Damn. This is good stuff.”
“Damn right.”
She takes a final toke and hands the joint back to me. “I shouldn’t,” she giggles. “Angelo might drug test me.”
“He’s watching,” I point out, gesturing at the camera to our left. “Kane too, probably.”
“He watches me a lot.” She smiles serenely, relaxed about my brother’s stalker tendencies now she’s half-stoned.
“They both do.”
“Do you like to watch me?” The husky note in her voice has me turning toward her. Her gaze slides across my chest, lingering on my abs. I’m still wearing a shirt from my ‘date’ but it’s hanging open.
“Always,” I smirk. She smirks back before her brow wrinkles.
“Why is there lipstick on your collar?”