6. Chapter 6
Lucy
Behind us, the glass doors open. Bianca’s voice floats out. “There you are.”
I turn. She steps onto the terrace with Sofia and Isabella behind her. Adriana follows, phone in hand, looking like she has been summoned to manage a crisis or prevent one from becoming evidence. Alessandro trails behind them, speaking quietly with another man I don’t recognize.
And Nonna? Nonna appears last. The terrace changes when she enters it. I don’t know how one small silver-haired woman manages to make open air feel like a formal room, but she does.
“There she is,” Isabella says, pointing at me. “Still here.”
“I was gone for ten minutes.”
“In this family, that is enough time for a betrayal, an engagement, or a property transfer.”
Adriana doesn’t look up from her phone. “Two of those have happened.”
My eyes widen. “Which two?”
Bianca slips an arm through mine before anyone answers. “Don’t worry. If it’s the engagement, we’ll tell you before the invitations go out.”
“Bianca,” Adriana warns.
“What? I’m only answering Lucy’s question.”
I look at Luca for help. He is smoking his cigar and looking amused. Not helpful, but very handsome.
Sofia smiles at me. “We’re going to continue the evening on the water.”
“The water,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“Like… metaphorically?”
Isabella snorts.
Adriana finally looks up. “How would one continue an evening on the water metaphorically?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Rich people have phrases.”
Alessandro laughs under his breath.
Luca’s gaze finds mine through the smoke and lantern light. “It’s just a walk down the dock.”
Or the plank, possibly. I’m not ruling anything out.
Bianca gives my arm a squeeze. “Come on, Lucia.”
I glance at Nonna. She looks pleased. I am never getting my original name back.
The group begins moving along the terrace toward a stone path that curves around the side of the restaurant.
I keep waiting for a moment to excuse myself.
To say I should check on Celia, text my mother, confirm I haven’t joined a maritime cult.
But every time I think of pulling away, Luca is there beside me.
We reach the path, and the music from the reception fades even more. The restaurant glows behind us, all glass and golden light. Ahead, the dock stretches into the dark water, lined with low lamps that make everything look cinematic and suspicious.
My heels click softly against the stone, then tap onto wood. I slow immediately. Because there it is … a yacht. Not a boat. Not a cute little rich-person hobby with cup holders. A yacht.
It rises from the dock like a floating mansion that has never once had to ask how much guacamole costs extra. White hull, dark windows, soft lighting along the rails. Polished. Quiet. Enormous without being flashy, which somehow makes it worse.
I stop completely. Luca stops with me. The rest of his family continues a few steps before Bianca notices and turns back with a grin.
I stare at the yacht. Then at Luca. Then at the yacht again.
“No.”
His mouth curves around the edge of the cigar. “No? I haven’t asked anything.”
“Exactly. That’s how I know it’s bad.”
Isabella appears beside Bianca. “She’s funny when she panics.”
“I am not panicking,” I say.
Luca lifts one brow.
“I am assessing,” I correct.
“Assessing what?”
“Whether I have accidentally wandered into the beginning of a true crime documentary with better tailoring.”
Bianca laughs so hard she grabs Adriana’s arm. Adriana, to her credit, only looks mildly betrayed by the contact.
Sofia gives me a kind smile. “It’s perfectly safe, Lucy. The captain knows the route well.”
“The captain,” I echo faintly.
Because of course there is a captain. Why would there not be a captain?
I look at Luca again. “You have staff for your boat.”
“Our boat,” he says. “Family.”
That clarification does not make me feel less overwhelmed. I catch Nonna observing me in her quiet way once more. Her eyes are gleaming this time. I’m going to assume she likes me again.
Luca steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear him. “You don’t have to come.”
The words are quiet and serious. And they change something. Because for all his amusement, for all the way he has guided this night with a confidence that makes me want to alternately trust him and kick him in the shin, he means it.
I don’t have to come. He is giving me a way out.
I look back toward the reception. Toward the life where I know the rules, even when they hurt. Somewhere in there, Celia is dancing with her new husband. Derek may still be lingering around, but he no longer feels like a storm. More like bad weather I already drove through.
Ahead of me waits a yacht full of Morettis, a grandmother who renamed me, three sisters who may adopt me or destroy me, and a man smoking a cigar under terrace lights like he stepped directly out of a fantasy I never admitted having.
This is a terrible idea. It is obviously a terrible idea. It may be the most terrible idea I have had all night, which is impressive, considering how the night began.
I look at Luca. His eyes hold mine without pressure or demand. Just invitation. And maybe that is what gets me.
“All right,” I say. “But if this boat leaves the dock, I reserve the right to say several dramatic things.”
Luca’s mouth curves. “I would expect nothing less.”
Bianca claps once. “She’s coming.”
“I am walking,” I correct. “Let’s not escalate verbs.”
Isabella grins. “Too late.”
Luca offers me his hand. I look at it. Then at the gangway. Then back at him.
“Do people ever fall off these things?”
“Yes. Not often,” he adds.
He holds my gaze, and there’s that warmth again, hidden beneath the control. “I won’t let you fall.”
His fingers close around mine and I step onto the gangway. The yacht shifts beneath me, barely at all, but enough that I make a small sound and grab Luca’s arm with my other hand. He does not laugh. His sisters do.
I point toward them without looking back. “I heard that.”
“We wanted you to,” Isabella calls.
“Welcome aboard, Lucia,” Nonna says.
I step from the gangway onto the deck, still holding Luca’s hand, and the warm glow of the yacht wraps around us. Behind me, the wedding reception continues on land.
Ahead of me, the Morettis move through their floating palace like this is normal. Beside me, Luca watches my face as if every reaction I have is something he wants to keep.
A breeze lifts my hair. The shoreline glimmers behind us. For one reckless second, I think maybe this is fine.
Maybe I can handle one short cruise with an intense man and his terrifyingly charming family.
Then the yacht gives a low, powerful vibration beneath my heels. I freeze. Slowly, I turn my head toward Luca. He looks back at me with the calm expression of a man who knew this was coming.
“Luca.”
“Yes?”
“Are we moving?”
His thumb brushes once over my knuckles.
“Yes.”
I inhale. The dock begins to drift away. Because apparently, when I make bad decisions, they now come with engines.