10. Chapter 10
Luca
The emerald dress is a problem. I knew it would be the moment Bianca appeared at the top of the stairs and announced she had plans for Lucy. My sister’s plans are rarely subtle and never harmless. Still, I underestimated the damage one dress could do.
Lucy walks beside me now with her fingers curled around mine, her steps careful as the yacht moves beneath us.
The fabric flows on her body, deep green against the warm glow of the corridor lights, making her hair look richer, her eyes brighter, her mouth more tempting than it was already.
Which is inconvenient, because I am still thinking about that mouth.
About the kiss. The second kiss. The one I initiated. The one that had nothing to do with her ex, nothing to do with my family, nothing to do with the first impulsive moment that put her in my lap and set this entire evening on fire.
That kiss was mine.
I am not proud of the possessive thought. I am also not denying it.
Beside me, Lucy smooths one hand over her dress for the third time in ten steps. “I can feel you looking at me.”
“Good.”
Her eyes cut to mine. “You’re not even going to pretend you weren’t?”
“No.”
“That should be illegal.”
“Being honest?”
“Looking like that while being honest.”
My mouth curves. “You have very specific laws.”
“I am drafting new ones as this night progresses.”
Ahead of us, the corridor opens into the main salon, where warm light spills across polished wood, pale upholstery, and wide dark windows reflecting the night sea.
The yacht has settled into a smooth rhythm now, the engines steady beneath us, the Atlantic opening beyond the canal as we leave the coast behind.
Lucy does not know the geography well enough to understand how far we have already gone. She knows enough to be suspicious. That, I suspect, is her natural state.
She slows as we approach the salon. “Before we go in there, I feel the need to ask a question.”
“Only one?”
“I am starting with one.”
“Very efficient.”
“Is yacht Nonna more dangerous than reception Nonna?”
“Yes.”
She stops. I stop with her.
Her eyes widen. “That was too fast.”
“It was true.”
“Luca.”
“Lucy.”
“You are supposed to reassure me.”
“I did. I answered honestly.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It saves time.”
“For whom? My nerves are filing paperwork.”
I look down at her, and for a moment the controlled answer I would normally give does not arrive.
Her nerves are real. Her humor makes them easier to survive, but I can feel the tension in her hand.
She is still here, still walking beside me, still choosing this, but I do not want her to feel trapped inside a situation I began to enjoy too much.
I turn more fully toward her. “You do not have to impress her.”
Lucy blinks, as if the seriousness of my voice catches her off guard. “I don’t?”
“No.”
“Are we talking about the same woman?”
“Yes.”
“The one who renamed me?”
“Yes.”
“The one who looks like she could make a grown man confess to crimes he has only considered?”
“That is also accurate.”
“So I don’t have to impress her, but I should maybe avoid blinking wrong?”
This time, I do smile. “You already impressed her.”
Lucy goes still as this surprises her. It shouldn’t, but it does.
“With what?” she asks.
“Being yourself.”
Her expression softens in a way that makes the space between us feel suddenly less amusing and more dangerous. I should look away. I do not.
“That was dangerously close to sweet,” she says quietly.
“I’ll recover.”
“I’m sure you will.”
We stand there one second too long.
Then Nonna’s voice floats from inside the salon.
“Luca, if you are trying to hide her in the hallway, you are doing it poorly.”
Lucy closes her eyes. “She can hear through walls?”
“Yes.”
I guide her forward before she can decide the hallway is safer.
Nonna sits at the far end of the salon in a cream chair angled toward the windows.
She has changed nothing about herself, yet somehow she appears more powerful here than she did at the reception.
Perhaps because this is her territory now.
Not the wedding. Not a room filled with people who do not know better than to underestimate her.
This is family space. Now, Lucy is in the center of it.
My mother sits nearby with a glass of wine. My father stands at the bar.
Nonna lifts one hand, summoning us closer with a small movement that everyone obeys. “Lucia.”
Lucy releases my hand only because Nonna extends hers. I dislike the absence immediately.
Lucy steps forward and takes my grandmother’s hand. “Nonna.”
My grandmother’s eyebrows lift. Lucy freezes.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “Am I allowed to call you that? Everyone else does, and now I’ve accidentally joined the chorus.”
Nonna watches Lucy for one long, silent moment.
Then she pats her hand. “You may call me Nonna.”
My mother’s face softens. My father’s mouth curves.
Lucy looks only relieved.
Nonna gestures to the space in front of her. “Let me see you.”
Lucy glances toward me, but she obeys, stepping back with a little turn that is half awkward, half graceful. The emerald dress catches the light and moves around her body like it belongs to her, not to Bianca, not to this yacht, not to this family.
To her. My grandmother notices that too.
“Bianca chose well,” Nonna says.
“I usually do,” Bianca says, entering the salon with my sisters.
“Do not ruin the compliment by accepting it too quickly.”
Bianca lifts her glass. “Noted.”
Nonna’s gaze returns to Lucy. “But the dress is only cloth. A beautiful woman makes it matter.”
Lucy’s cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
“You do not know how to take compliments.”
“No,” Lucy admits. “But I’m working on not rejecting them out loud.”
Nonna smiles. “Good. That wastes time.”
Lucy glances at me. “Your family is very concerned with efficient emotional processing.”
“Only when it inconveniences dinner,” my father says.
Sofia gives him a look. He takes a sip of his drink.
Nonna points to the sofa opposite her. “Sit, both of you.”
Lucy sits immediately. Survival instinct again. I sit beside her, close enough that our knees nearly touch. Not touching. Not quite. I notice. She notices. Nonna notices. Possibly the crew on the bridge notices, given how my family behaves.
A server appears with fresh drinks and a small tray of fruit, pastries, and something chocolate Isabella reaches for before my mother even looks at her.
“No,” Sofia says.
Isabella withdraws her hand. “I am being oppressed.”
“You are being delayed.”
“Same family of pain.”
Lucy’s mouth twitches. She is trying to behave. She is failing charmingly.
Nonna watches her over the rim of her glass. “Bianca tells me you now know about the Bahamas.”
Lucy’s posture changes. I turn my head slowly toward Bianca. My sister looks suddenly fascinated by a ring on her finger.
Lucy clears her throat. “Yes. I was informed during the fashion portion of the evening.”
“The fashion portion,” Adriana repeats dryly.
“I don’t know what else to call being handed an emerald dress and surprise swimwear by women with very strong opinions.”
Isabella grins. “Fashionisted.”
Lucy points at her. “Exactly. I was fashionisted.”
“That is not a word,” Adriana says.
“It is now,” Bianca replies.
Nonna does not smile, but her eyes gleam. “And what do you think of going to the Bahamas, Lucia?”
Lucy draws in a breath. I prepare to step in. I do not want her cornered. I do not want her pushed into answering in front of my family. I am about to say so when she lifts her chin.
“I think,” she says slowly, “that people with yachts have a very different definition of spontaneous than people without yachts.”
My father laughs first.
Then Bianca.
Then Isabella.
My mother smiles into her wine.
Even Adriana’s mouth curves.
Nonna remains focused on Lucy. “That is true.”
“It’s also true,” Lucy continues, “that I thought I was taking a short cruise. In my world, a short cruise does not usually involve international water, swimwear, or the possibility that my mother will wonder why my phone location is suddenly making ambitious choices.”
I lean closer. “Your phone is with your purse.”
“I know. That is the only reason I’m not currently yelling louder.”
Sofia sets her glass down. “Would you like to call her, dear?”
Lucy’s expression softens at once. “That’s kind of you. Probably not yet. She’ll ask questions, and I currently have only partial answers.’”
My grandmother’s voice is softer now but no less precise.
“In this room, we prefer truth. Even strange truth.” Her eyes shift briefly to me. “Especially strange truth. It often tells us more than polished lies.”
I feel that glance like the tip of a knife.
Lucy does too, though perhaps not for the same reason.
Her fingers curl lightly in her lap. I want to cover her hand again.
I do not, because I am beginning to understand that every time I touch her, I tell my family more than I intend.
Then again, perhaps I have already told them everything.
Nonna leans back. “So. Tell me the truth.”
The salon quiets.
Lucy swallows. “About which part?”
“The part where you and my grandson pretend this evening makes sense.”
Bianca freezes. Isabella’s eyes widen. Adriana goes very still. My mother looks down at her glass, though I know she is listening to every word.
I sit forward. “Nonna.”
She lifts one hand without looking at me. “I asked Lucia.”
Lucy’s breath catches beside me. I do not like this. I like even less that my grandmother is right to ask.
Lucy looks at me, and I see the question in her eyes. It’s not exactly fear or panic, but a definite request for something I do not yet know how to give.
Permission? Protection? Truth? Perhaps all three.
I lower my voice. “You do not have to answer.”
Nonna’s gaze remains on Lucy.
The engines hum beneath us. Water slides along the hull. Somewhere on the lower deck, glass clinks softly, as if the yacht itself is trying to seem busy while my grandmother takes us apart.
Lucy looks back at Nonna.
“This started fake,” she says.
The words land quietly. My sisters stop breathing.
My father’s expression shifts, but he does not interrupt. My mother’s hand tightens around her glass. Adriana looks at me. Bianca looks between us. Isabella’s mouth opens, and Adriana grips her arm without glancing away.
Nonna only waits.