Chapter 16 Luca #2
“In a parallel universe? Sure. In this one? You need a stronger public presence, Luke.”
Luke.
She hasn’t called me that since we were kids.
I lean forward, not to intimidate—just to be closer.
Troy Lozano’s the one behind most real estate development in Miami. He’s my direct competitor, the one I want to crush. “Let’s say I believe you. What should I do to fix my image?”
Emma notices how close we’ve gotten, but she doesn’t pull away. “We’re on the right track—the promo video will help. But if you don’t have a family, you should at least have a pet.”
“Both are impossible.”
“There are agencies that’ll get you a wife. Guys like you use them all the time.”
“Guys like me?” I grin. “And what kind of guys are those?”
“You know—rich, young, good-looking…” She gestures at me with both hands. “You.”
I want to yell that the only reason I don’t have a family is her. That she ripped that future from my hands the day she walked away. But I keep my mouth shut. It won’t help anything. “I hate those agencies. They’re not for me.”
“Well, then, go for the dog. I know you’re allergic, but you can take a pill or something that day.”
For a second, I actually consider it. “And where the hell am I supposed to get a dog?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that—I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s what worries me,” I mutter, staring off.
She kicks me under the table, and we both laugh. And I know she feels it too. That old ease between us. It’s still there. Unshaken.
Our smiles fade, and I wonder if she’s thinking what I am. We were good together. We were happy. What did I do that made you leave? I swallow the question just as the food arrives.
“Enjoy,” the waitress says before disappearing.
Emma eats like she always did—zero fucks given. No fake delicate bites. She dives in, laughs with her mouth full, and cleans the plate with bread.
My kind of girl. Still is.
“Do you like where you live?” I ask, cutting into my steak. It’s a genuine question. I know the area. And after what I found out about her mom… I want to know she’s okay.
Emma dabs the corners of her mouth before answering. “Yeah, the community’s great. Most of my neighbors are my age. My first week there, a guy named Juan invited me to a party. I met a bunch of people.”
Pretty sure that wasn’t Juan’s main goal. But I keep it to myself.
“Lucky, I don’t have neighbors. Closest one is a block away, and the guy’s Italian. Only comes during the holidays.”
“I don’t know why I’m surprised. You always were a bit of a lone wolf.”
I wasn’t alone when I was with you, lamb. I nod, sipping my wine instead of saying what I really want to.
“Did you know Lauren and Silas are working together?” I ask, eyes locked on hers.
I’ve learned to read her well. Emma’s an open book when it comes to emotion, and I can tell right away: she knows.
“Yes,” she says, lowering her hands to her lap, shoulders rounding slightly. “Don’t make me talk about it.”
Her tone is almost adorably annoyed, lips pressing into a pout as she stabs at her food.
“Fair. Just surprised to see your sister there. Seems like she and Silas are getting along.” In more than one way.
“Yeah. That’s what scares me…” she mutters, taking another bite. Her fork clinks too hard against the plate, the sound sharp in the quiet.
“Why?”
She exhales, drops her utensils with a clatter, and starts cracking her knuckles—one by one. A nervous habit.
I watch, caught in the déjà vu.
“They’re toxic together. You know that better than anyone. And if it wasn’t for Silas, Lauren wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital—twice.”
I set my fork down slowly, every movement deliberate. My jaw tightens. “What are you talking about? Both times it was Matt’s fault.”
“Yes, but who encouraged Matt to act that way?”
“No one. He was his own person. And now he’s paying for his decisions.”
Emma stares at her plate, silent, pushing food around with her fork like she’s rearranging her thoughts. “Luca?” she says finally, eyes still down.
Something shifts. The air hums differently, heavy. My chest tightens. My first instinct is to reach for her hand—but I freeze. Whatever she’s about to say can’t be good.
“Yeah?”
She lifts her gaze slowly. Her big, bright eyes are filled with fear, shimmering. “Are you happy?”
Her question slams into me like a brick wall. My mind blanks. My mouth opens, but for once, nothing comes out. The simplest question I’ve ever been asked, and I have zero answers.
When she realizes I’ve got nothing, her eyes well up, lashes wet.
I turn my hand palm-up on the table, an offering. She hesitates, then places hers in mine. Her fingers tremble. “Don’t cry,” I whisper. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because watching her cry—for me—is unbearable.
Emma shakes her head, lips pressed tight, but the tears fall anyway, splashing onto the linen tablecloth.
“Em…” I breathe, completely wrecked, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
Suddenly, she straightens, wipes her cheeks, and forces a smile so bright it looks like it hurts. “You ready to head back?” Her tone is light, practiced, as if nothing happened.