Chapter 18 Luca
Idon’t know if the planets aligned or if the gods decided to cut me a break, but one thing’s for sure—Emma Green will be in my domain for at least twenty-four hours, and that’s got to help me get closer to the plan.
When she walks out of my bedroom—I didn’t tell her there are at least two guest rooms she could use; I just laid her down in my bed and went to sleep in another—she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants rolled at the waist so they don’t fall off, and one of my white T-shirts that hits mid-thigh.
Luckily, there’s a book on my lap hiding the teenage-level hard-on I’m rocking right now.
Get it together, Luca.
I’m sitting on the low lounge chairs in the living room—the ones that basically kiss the floor.
They’re stark white, surrounded by earthy-toned cushions.
A square coffee table made of white oak sits in the center, cluttered with too many books and barely any space left for cups or plates.
I always end up using the same chair. No clue why I listened to the decorator when she insisted on seating for guests—I never have anyone over.
But I’ll admit the room looked way too empty with just one chair, so I gave her the green light.
The windows are uncovered because I love watching storms, especially the few minutes before they crash onto the sea.
There’s something mystical about that wind—a warning that something’s coming.
The city darkens, and the colors outside get deeper and richer with all that humidity hanging in the air.
Yeah, I’m comfortable these days.
Emma takes a seat on the couch across from me. She looks tiny on it. There’s room for at least four more people, but she tucks herself into the corner. My eyes track her every move. It’s surreal, having her here. Like a mirage I conjured up too many times in this lonely mansion.
“What are you reading?” she asks, hugging a pillow to her chest—probably because she’s not wearing a bra under my shirt.
I grip the book again. “How are you feeling?” Not the time to bore her with my philosophical obsessions.
“Better.” Her stomach growls loudly. “Oops.”
“You hungry? I can cook. Well—technically it’s already cooked. Fridge is stocked.”
I get up without letting go of the book and tilt my head toward the kitchen. She follows me. I open the fridge door. Neat little containers with perfect handwriting labeling every dish stare back at me.
“I’ve got roast beef…” I read off the top one. “Or chicken with mushrooms… or—”
“You made all this?” Her voice is closer now. I glance over and find her standing on her tiptoes, trying to peek over my bicep.
I bite my lip to stop the grin. “No…” I say, a little shy. “Ana María did.”
I wait. Watch her closely. Her reaction matters.
“And she is…?”
There it is. “My housekeeper. She runs this place.” I grab a container and shut the door.
Emma finds the stool she used earlier at the island and sits back down. Thunder rolls through the house, and I see her flinch just enough to catch it.
“Don’t worry, Em. You’re safe here.”
“Yeah, but…” She looks toward the big living room windows. “Isn’t this place, like, super dangerous with all that glass? What if something slams into it?”
I pour the food into a pan and fire up the stove. “Not a problem. Hurricane-proof windows”
“Fancy,”
“Perks of having money, I guess,” I say as the lights flick on even though it’s only eleven.
“You always say that like having money’s some kind of burden.”
I stop stirring. Look up. She’s watching me with curiosity, like I’m some puzzle she’s trying to solve. “You know this wasn’t the life I wanted.” The life I wanted was normal—with you.
“Still… you can’t deny that living like this is way more comfortable than being a philosophy professor no one listens to.”
I tap the spoon twice on the rim of the pot and set it gently on the napkin by the stove. “Comfortable? Sure.” I shrug. “Lonely? Also true.” I pick the spoon back up and start stirring again, mostly so I don’t say something I’ll regret.
Like how I’d trade all of this in a heartbeat just to live a normal life—with her.
Thunder booms again. The wind is picking up, shaking the palms outside like they’re echoing my mood.
“This is the worst storm I’ve seen since I moved here,” she says softly, eyes on the movement of my hand in the pot.
I smile to myself. She sounds so innocent—so her. The same tone she used to use when we were alone.
“Well, I’m glad you’ll be safe here.”
“I always felt safe with you,” she whispers, lifting her eyes to mine, locking us in.
Emma’s got one hand supporting her head, the other flat on the island.
She’s leaning forward a bit, her whole body leaning into the moment.
There’s something in her eyes—vulnerability, maybe.
For the first time since I found her again, I see the chains falling away.
I keep stirring, stunned by what she just said, when suddenly I smell something burning.
“Shit!” I shout, pulling the pan off the stove. “Still good, I think.”
Emma starts laughing—like really laughing—and I can’t help but join her.
It’s freeing. Fresh. And whatever the hell I was mad about earlier is totally gone now.
She slides up next to me with a fork in hand—I have no idea where she even got it—and steals a bite straight from the pan. She rolls the food around in her mouth, savoring it. “It’s good.”
I stare at her lips and wonder if maybe this life—this domestic version of us—isn’t so impossible after all. “Sit,” I order, voice low and rough.
She must know what having her this close does to me, because she backs off and returns to her stool, taking all her radiant energy with her.
I place a plate in front of her and a glass of water with a pitcher beside it. “I’d offer you wine, but…”
“No, don’t even say it,” she cuts me off with a little wave.
I sit beside her, leaving a respectable distance. My plate’s a little more loaded than hers, but I honestly don’t think I’ll eat a bite. Her being here overwhelms me.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” she says. “I don’t know if my building can handle a storm like this, so… thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it, Em,” I say. “But I’ve gotta ask—how’d you end up like that last night? You’re not much of a drinker.”
“I’m not… I still don’t drink. Last night…” She sets down her fork and lifts her glass, but doesn’t drink. “I was nervous.”
“Because of what I said?”
She finally sips, then nods. “The bandana.”
“What about it?”
“Come on, Luca!” she says, shoving me like she always did when she was frustrated. “Why do you have my bandana in that drawer? Why’d you wear it last night?”
I stand up with my plate and walk over to the sink. I need distance for this conversation. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Em.” I keep my back to her.
“Oh yeah? What’s the right one?”
I turn and grip the edge of the counter, staring her down. “Why wouldn’t I have it? Why wouldn’t I wear it?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but then shuts it. “Luca…”
“Ask me the damn question,” I growl.
She bites her lip. She knows it’s a trap. She knows asking it means opening a door she’s been avoiding since the second she saw me again. “Why…?” is all she says.
“Because you were the woman I wanted to marry. The one I gave my fucking heart to. And you chewed it up and spat it out. You were my great love—my only love. No amount of time can erase that. You were Emma Green, the girl who made me laugh, who made me feel. Do you know how hard it is for me to feel anything, Em? Anything that makes my heart skip a beat? It hasn’t happened since the day you left me at the altar. ”
“I was trying to protect you,” she whispers.
I slam the counter with my hand, furious. “From what?! From whom?! We were perfect, we were one—and you… you destroyed everything.”
She gets up and starts walking away.
“Emma!” I shout, chasing after her through the house. “Don’t walk away from this conversation! We need to have it!”
She runs upstairs and slams the door just before I reach her.
“Emma!” I bang on the door with a closed fist. “After everything we’ve been through—everything we were—I need a damn explanation. I’m stuck, Emma. I can’t move on. I can’t stop dreaming about you, about the life we could’ve had. I’m bleeding out every time I think about your touch. Free me.”
Silence.
I’m about to give up when I hear the faintest sound on the other side.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is nasal and shaky.
“So am I. I shouldn’t have yelled,” I whisper back.
The door creaks open slowly. Emma’s standing there with her arms crossed, face red and tear streaked. “I can’t… I can’t, Luca.”
“Can’t what?”
She inhales deeply, exhales through her mouth, and avoids my eyes. “Free you.”
And just like that, time stops. Gravity disappears. My whole world freezes.
Her bloodshot green eyes look at me—not with fear, not with regret—but with something else.
Guilt, maybe.
“W-why n-not?” I stammer, my voice shaky, but my feet carry me forward until I’m holding her face in my hands. “Tell me.”
I’m begging. Pleading.
And then, the softest whisper I’ve ever heard leaves her lips, “Because I can’t lose you again.”
And just like that, a flame of hope roars back to life in the middle of my chest.
I’m done hallucinating. The lion’s always been the king of the jungle—and I see no reason why he can’t devour the lamb too. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate for a single fucking second.
Like an emperor drunk on power, I step closer and cup her face in both hands.