Chapter 31 Chiara
Chiara
Luka is a curious mix of confidence and vulnerability. When I first met him that night in the kitchen, I figured he was just another fuck-boy with a silver tongue and a dick he knew how to use.
I still think that, but the cracks in his mask are showing.
The shame in his eyes catches me by surprise before he winks and slips into his flirtatious persona.
He’s hiding his true self, and it surprises me how much I hate knowing he’s not being honest. And also that another woman has had her hands on him.
“Jealous, cupcake?” He grins.
“No,” I lie, before rolling onto my back.
My tee rides up over my belly, and the sultry night air kisses my skin.
The pale blue cotton panties covering my pussy are the antithesis of sexy, but Luka doesn’t seem to care.
He stares with heavy-lidded eyes, his abs taut, each muscled ridge a magnet for my libidinous gaze.
The tension between us thickens while I wonder who he’s been with this evening. Did he fuck her?
“Liar,” he murmurs as the seconds stretch between us.
My mellow mood evaporates.
“It’s okay if you have other women,” I tell him. The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I mean it. I’m under no illusion that he has feelings for me.
“There’s nobody else,” he grits out as the heat in his eyes fades. I watch from the corner of my eye as he stares up at the stars. “It was a work thing. Nothing more.”
The edge in his voice says he doesn’t want to talk about whatever this is. But the weed has stripped the veneer off my inhibitions, and I’m not in the mood for more shady bullshit. I’m already living a monstrous lie.
“Work?” My question is soft, non-judgmental.
“Yeah. A fake date with an actress. Publicity for her and networking for me.”
“Sounds fun,” I quip.
“No, not really.”
“Anyone famous?”
He names a woman I’ve never heard of before mentioning the soap she has a regular role in. Again, not one I’ve heard of, but then daytime TV isn’t my bag.
“Is she hot?” I’m not sure I want to know, but I assume so. Even older actresses these days look way younger than their actual biological ages, thanks to the wonders of Botox, fillers, and facelifts.
“Yeah. I guess so.” He shrugs. Again, I sense he’s not being honest with me. Not about her looks—I assume she’s attractive—but about the evening itself.
“Show me.”
His eyebrow shoots up before he rolls his eyes.
We both know I don’t have a phone, so he pulls his phone out and switches it back on.
It surprises me that his phone is off, but I don’t ask why.
It’s obvious why when I see the endless stream of notifications pop up on his home screen a few seconds later. He frowns but swipes them away.
After a moment or two of tapping, he holds up his phone.
“There.” I peer at a photo of an attractive brunette in her mid-thirties, at a guess.
Her boobs look plastic as fuck, but I can see why guys would like her.
She’s pressed up against Luka in a dimly lit bar, her hand resting on his abs.
The photograph makes it look like the two of them are sharing an intimate moment, but I know Luka well enough by now to spot the tension in his body. He’s smiling, but it’s fake.
Before he can snatch his phone back, I scroll through the other images in the gossip site’s feed until I see one where her fingers have edged below his waistband and he stands frozen.
“What the actual fuck, Luka?” I snap before thrusting the phone in his face.
His expression is carefully blank, but when I look down, his knuckles are white where his hand grips the recliner.
“It’s a job.” The small smirk he slides my way is superficial at best. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“So she’s paying you to pretend to be her fuck for the evening?”
“No money changed hands,” he says with a brittle laugh.
His phone pings with more notifications.
Endless social media likes and comments.
Messages from a woman called Nolene. I click on one and read the thread, not caring that it’s an invasion of Luka’s privacy.
He lies back, not attempting to grab his phone from me.
I assume on some level he wants me to see this side of his life.
Nolene: Don’t ignore me, Luka!
Nolene: Angelina wants to see you again. Make her happy and we’re golden.
Nolene: I’ll set up a meeting with the casting director in the morning. This could lead to bigger and better things!
“Is this Nolene pimping you out?” It sure sounds like that.
“No, of course not. Being nice to people is part of the job. I make a ton of money from brand collaborations and shit, but if I want to build my own brand, I need to diversify. Nolene says acting would be a good fit for me.”
“But why? You’re a Di Rossi. You’re fucking loaded.”
“I am a Di Rossi, yes, but I’m not loaded, Chiara. My father may have acknowledged me as his biological son, but I’m not part of the family.”
“But you’re here, in Angelo’s mansion.” His words make no sense.
“Only because my half brother sees me as a loose cannon. He’s not stupid. He knows I could cause problems if I started talking to the press, which means I can come and go while we all pretend I’m a legitimate family member.”
The bitterness and hurt he so clearly feels seep into his words, but I ignore that revelation.
“Let’s go back to the actress. Why is this Nolene telling you to make the bitch happy? Does she want you to fuck her?”
“Because Angelina says she’ll put in a good word for me with her casting director if I’m nice to her.” The casual way he shrugs riles me. Does he think the only way he can persuade someone to hire him is by leveraging his sexuality?
“Fuck that, Luka,” I snarl. His eyebrows shoot up again, like he’s genuinely surprised by my reaction. “You are worth more than that.”
“Am I?” He chuckles disparagingly.
Before he can say another word, I move so I’m sitting astride him, my hands cupping his face. The solar lights have dimmed, but I can still see Luka’s face in the green glow from the swimming pool. His pretty blue eyes remind me of the Texas sky.
I fall into them as memories of the endless sun-bleached farmland stretching as far as the eye could see assail me.
As much as I hated the Texas heat, I enjoyed the sense of freedom I gained from living in the Lone Star State.
But I shove those memories back. The chances of me ever returning are slim to none. Not if Angelo has his way.
“You are sexy as hell, funny, and kind,” I tell Luka. “Any woman would be lucky to have you on their arm, and if she thinks your dick is the only part of you worth knowing, she’s wrong.” Luka blinks. “Not that I’m saying your dick isn’t worth knowing,” I clarify. “Trust me, it is.”
The body part I’m referencing thickens beneath me at the compliment. Rough denim chafes my thighs as I move to relieve the pressure in my core, eliciting a low groan from Luka.
“I should hire you as my cheerleader,” he jokes.
“I feel like you need one,” I reply, and his smile fades.
“Nolene means well.”
“I’m no expert, but isn't an agent supposed to have your best interests at heart?”
The small huff of amusement from him tells me he knows I’m right. If I ever have the displeasure of meeting the woman, she and I will be having words.
“Wanna be my manager, cupcake?”
My lips curve up in a grin. “I’m not sure my husband wants me to get a job. He seems to prefer me as a trad-wife.”
“You’re about as far from a trad-wife as it’s possible to get,” Luka snorts.
“Damn right,” I giggle. The effects of the joint I smoked still haven’t quite faded, which is why I let my inhibitions slide away.
Kissing Luka again is a bad idea. He’s dealing with some shit.
Deep shit he’s not ready to share with me.
But maybe I can help him feel better while making myself feel better at the same time.
Selfless?
Not at all. But to hell with my good intentions. From the erection throbbing against my clit, Luka needs this as much as I do. And knowing the cameras are watching us makes it so much better.
“Want to make my dear husband jealous?” I whisper as I lean forward, my breasts pressing against Luka’s chest. He bites his lip and groans softly.
“Are you suggesting we do naughty things in full view of the cameras, cupcake?” From the way his blue eyes sparkle, he’s not against the idea.
“Seems only fair to make my husband suffer for his sins.” I moisten my lips. Luka tracks the movement with hungry eyes.
“What makes you think he’s watching?” Luka asks with a smirk. I glance down at his phone screen and grin.
“Because he’s rage-calling you.”