11. Chapter 11
Luca
Lucy continues, her voice steady though her cheeks have gone pink. “I saw my ex at the wedding with someone else. I panicked, which is not the same as a plan, but it has many of the same moving parts if you don’t look too closely. Luca was sitting there looking … debonair, expensive and available.”
My mouth twitches despite the moment.
“Available?” I ask.
“You were sitting down.”
“That is your criteria?”
“It was a stressful situation.”
Isabella makes a sound like she is in pain from not laughing.
Lucy folds her hands together. “So I kissed him because I wanted Derek to think I had moved on. That part was fake. Or at least it was supposed to be.”
My chest tightens. I know what she is going to say before she says it. I want to hear it anyway. She glances at me, and the room disappears for half a second.
“But I don’t think it stayed that way,” she says.
There … a simple sentence. No declarations, promises or dramatic confessions. And still it moves through me with more force than anything she could have performed.
I look at her and the pieces of the evening appear again. The family pressure. My father’s doubts. Nonna’s interest. The advantage Lucy creates simply by sitting beside me looking like a woman who might belong in my world.
All of that remains. But none of it feels like the center anymore. She does.
Nonna watches me watching her.
“And you, Luca?” she asks.
I do not take my eyes from Lucy at first. This would be easier if I lied.
I am good at careful answers. Good at giving enough truth to satisfy a question while keeping the vulnerable part untouched.
It is one of the reasons I win. It is one of the reasons my grandmother worries I know how to build deals better than I know how to build anything that lasts like a legacy … a family.
Lucy has just answered honestly. Badly, perhaps. Bravely, definitely. I owe her no less.
“I knew it was fake when it began,” I say.
Lucy turns toward me.
“And I let it continue because it interested me.”
Bianca’s eyebrows lift, but for once she says nothing.
“At first,” I add, because the distinction matters. “Then because she interested me.”
Lucy’s lips part slightly. My grandmother’s expression does not change.
“But you also saw opportunity,” Nonna says.
There is no accusation in her voice. That makes it worse.
“Yes,” I say.
Lucy’s face changes. Only a fraction, but I see it. I hate that I caused it.
I turn toward her fully. “My family has been concerned lately that I am too detached from the parts of the business that require… roots.”
“Roots,” she repeats softly.
“My father wants me to take on more authority. Nonna wants me to take on more responsibility. They are not always the same thing.”
My father lowers his glass.
My mother watches me now with the kind of softness that makes me look away when I am younger. I do not look away tonight. I keep my attention on Lucy.
“When you appeared,” I say, “my family saw something they have wanted to see from me.”
“A woman on your lap?” Isabella asks.
Adriana pinches the bridge of her nose. “Please.”
Lucy makes a small sound. I continue before the moment can slip entirely into comedy, though I am grateful for the breath it gives her.
“They saw me involved. Not just present. Not managing or watching from a distance.” I pause, choosing honesty even though it grates. “So yes. I saw opportunity.”
Lucy nods once, but she looks down at her hands. I reach for one before I can decide against it. She lets me take it. Relief moves through me so quickly I nearly resent it.
“That is not why I kissed you on deck,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine. The room is silent. Even Isabella.
“The first kiss may have been your performance,” I say. “The second was mine. And it was not for them.”
Lucy’s fingers tighten around mine.
Nonna exhales softly, almost pleased. “Finally. Some truth.”
Lucy gives a shaky laugh. “I’m glad someone is enjoying this. My nervous system has left the salon.”
“It will return,” Nonna says. “Eventually.”
“That was only mildly reassuring.”
“It was meant to be.”
Lucy blinks, then looks at me. “That is where you get that phrase.”
“Among other things,” I say.
Nonna reaches for her glass. “You are honest, Lucia. Not polished. Not prepared. Honest.”
Lucy glances down at herself. “I’m literally wearing someone else’s dress and don’t know what country I’m going to.”
“Still honest.”
“I suppose that says something concerning about my baseline.”
“It says you do not hide well.”
“Oh, I know. It’s been an issue all night.”
My grandmother’s gaze sharpens with amusement. “Good. Luca hides too well.”
The words hit precisely where she aims them. Lucy turns toward me, her expression thoughtful now, as if she is seeing the shape of something I usually keep hidden.
“Does he?” she asks softly.
Nonna nods. “He thinks if he is useful enough, successful enough, controlled enough, no one will notice when he refuses to be known.”
The salon goes quiet again. I feel my father’s attention. My mother’s. My sisters’. All of it. Old irritation rises. Familiar. Protective.
“Nonna,” I say quietly.
“What? You prefer I save my observations for tomorrow?”
“I prefer you not dissect me in front of a woman I met tonight.”
Lucy’s hand shifts in mine, but she does not pull away.
Nonna’s gaze softens by one nearly invisible degree. “A woman you met tonight saw you more clearly in two hours than most people see you in two years.”
That should be absurd. But Lucy is watching me now, and there is no triumph in her expression. No satisfaction at being handed a key to some guarded part of me.
Then she says, “Maybe he’s not hiding.”
Every head turns to her, including mine. Lucy seems startled to have spoken, but she does not retreat. She looks at Nonna, then at me, then back again.
“Maybe he has deep roots and keeps pretending they’re wings.”
The sentence lands in the room like a dropped glass. No one moves. I cannot. My grandmother’s eyes narrow, not in suspicion, but in interest.
Lucy’s cheeks flush deeper. “Sorry. That sounded better in my head.”
“No,” Sofia says softly. “It sounded beautiful.”
I look at my mother, then back at Lucy. Deep roots pretending they are wings. I do not know what to do with that. With her.
I am accustomed to people noticing what I show them. The money. The control. The name. The reputation. The rumors, when they are foolish enough to believe them. I am accustomed to women liking the danger of me, the polish, the access.
Lucy looks at me and finds a metaphor. Worse, she finds one that feels uncomfortably true.
Nonna smiles. Not the amused smile. Not the approving one she gave Lucy at the reception. This one is slower.
“Very good,” she says.
Lucy looks relieved and alarmed at the same time. “Thank you?”
“You see him.”
Lucy’s hand tightens in mine.
I answer before she has to. “She barely knows me.”
“Sometimes that helps,” Nonna says. “Fewer old excuses in the way.”
Adriana lifts her glass slightly. “That may be the wisest thing anyone has said on this boat.”
“Yacht,” Isabella whispers.
Adriana ignores her.
Nonna turns her attention back to both of us. “So. This began fake.”
Lucy nods carefully. “Yes.”
“And now?”
Lucy opens her mouth, closes it, then looks at me. I could rescue her. I should. Instead, I wait. Because I want to know.
She takes a small breath. “Now I think it’s becoming a problem.”
Bianca smiles. “That sounds romantic.”
“It sounds alarming,” Lucy says.
“In this family? Same thing,” Isabella adds.
My father laughs. My mother shakes her head, but she smiles too.
Nonna lifts her glass. “Good.”
Lucy blinks. “Good?”
“Yes. Problems require attention. People ignore simple things.”
I look at my grandmother. “And what do you suggest?”
Her eyes come to mine. There it is … the turn. The purpose beneath the game.
She has allowed the confession, the humor, the tension, the softening. Now she will move the piece she meant to move from the beginning.
“The Bahamas will give you both time,” she says.
Lucy’s brows lift. “Time for what?”
“To decide whether this is a performance or beginning.”
The words settle over us.
Beginning.
Lucy looks at me. I look at her. For a moment, no one else exists.
Then Isabella leans toward Bianca and whispers loudly, “This is better than television.”
Adriana sighs. “I am begging you to develop an inner monologue.”
“I have one. It’s just extroverted.”
Lucy laughs. So do I.
The tension breaks just enough for everyone to breathe again, but Nonna is not finished. She never is.
She sets down her glass and studies me. “Luca.”
“Yes?”
“You wanted more of the business.”
My jaw tightens. Lucy goes very still beside me.
My father shifts at the bar. “Mamma.”
Nonna does not look away from me. “No. He is old enough to want power. He is old enough to understand what comes with it.”
I lean back slightly. “I understand responsibility.”
“You understand control.”
The correction lands hard. I do not answer.
She glances briefly at Lucy, then back to me. “Control builds walls. Responsibility builds rooms where people can live.”
Silence.
My mother’s expression changes, and I know she has heard more in that sentence than business. So have I.
So has Lucy.
Nonna continues, her voice calm. “If you want the reins, show me you can hold something precious without turning it into strategy.”
Lucy’s fingers twitch in mine. I feel the blow before it arrives fully. Because Nonna is not speaking only of the business. She is speaking of Lucy.
My first instinct is to reject the comparison. Lucy is not a test. Not a symbol. Not a piece of my grandmother’s succession puzzle.
But then I remember my own words.
I saw opportunity.
I hate those words now. Not because they were false. Because they were incomplete.
Lucy turns her hand in mine until our palms meet. A small gesture. Private, somehow, despite the room. My chest tightens.
“I’m not precious,” she says, and there is humor in it, but not enough to hide the old bruise beneath.
I look at her.
“Yes,” I say. “You are.”
The words leave me before I can shape them into something safer.
Her eyes search mine, bright blue, yet uncertain. “Luca…”
I do not look away. “You are.”
Bianca makes a soft sound behind us. Isabella does not speak. Adriana’s expression gentles in a way I rarely see. My mother looks at me like she is trying not to cry, which is unnecessary and deeply inconvenient.
Nonna, satisfied with the destruction she has caused, reaches for a pastry.
“Good,” she says.
Lucy blinks at her. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
“For now is becoming a phrase I fear.”
“As you should.”
The salon begins to relax, conversation returning in small pieces. My father asks the server for another bottle. Bianca leans toward Isabella, whispering something that makes her grin. Adriana checks her phone. My mother comes to sit nearer, her warmth wrapping around Lucy without words.
But I stay where I am. So does Lucy. Her hand remains in mine.