Chapter 19
NINETEEN
KAI
Breakfast is long gone, but the remnants still sit on the deck table—half-eaten mango slices, empty coffee cups, a few scattered pastry crumbs. The sun is higher now, turning the ocean into liquid sapphire, and the infinity pool sparkles like someone scattered diamonds across it.
Luca hasn’t stopped touching me since we finished eating.
It started small. His fingers brushing my wrist when he passed me the last piece of mango.
Then his hand resting on my thigh while we talked about nothing important.
Now he’s sitting behind me on the wide lounge chair, legs bracketing mine, chest pressed to my back, arms loosely wrapped around my waist like it’s the most natural place in the world for them to be.
His chin rests on my shoulder. Every so often, his lips brush the side of my neck—not quite a kiss, just a lazy press of warmth. His thumb traces soft, idle circles on my stomach, right above the waistband of my swim trunks. It’s constant. Gentle. Possessive in the softest way.
I lean back into him, letting my head tilt against his. The sun is warm on my skin, the ocean breeze perfect, but none of it compares to the steady heat of Luca’s body behind me.
There’s a difference in him today.
It’s subtle, but I feel it in every touch.
He’s not just being affectionate because we’re “supposed” to sell the romance for the cameras.
There’s no performance here. No calculated glances toward the horizon where a photographer might be hiding.
He touches me like he can’t help it. Like keeping his hands off me would be physically painful.
And I like it.
God, I like it so much it scares me a little.
I used to think Luca was all surface—the charming nepo-baby fuck-boy who floated through life on his father’s name, late to everything, grinning like the rules didn’t apply to him.
I resented how easy it looked for him. How he could be late and still shine.
How he could flirt on stage as though it was nothing while I was fighting for every scrap of control.
But that version of him feels smaller now. Distant.
The Luca behind me right now is quieter. More intentional. He notices when I go still. He adjusts his hold without me saying anything. When I mentioned the mango was perfectly ripe, he immediately cut the last piece and fed it to me with his fingers, eyes soft as I took it.
He’s…thoughtful.
And the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention—like I’m something worth protecting, worth staying for—makes my chest feel too tight in the best way.
I turn my head slightly, brushing my nose against his jaw.
“You’re being very handsy this morning,” I murmur. It’s meant to sound teasing, but it comes out softer than I intend.
Luca hums, lips pressing a lazy kiss just below my ear. “Can’t help it. You’re warm. And you smell like sunscreen and ocean and you. It’s addictive.”
I laugh quietly, but it fades into something warmer when his arms tighten around me, one hand sliding up to rest over my heart.
“I used to think you were just…” I trail off, searching for the right words. “The guy who got everything handed to him. The charming one who never had to try.”
He’s quiet for a moment. His thumb keeps stroking leisurely circles over my chest.
“And now?” he asks, voice low against my skin.
“Now I see you,” I say simply. “You’re thoughtful and kind. I don’t think you’re shallow at all. And the way you’re holding me right now, like you’re afraid I’ll disappear if you let go, it feels nice.”
I feel him smile against my neck.
“I am a little afraid of that,” he admits, soft and honest.
My chest tightens again, that same warm ache from earlier.
I turn in his arms until I’m facing him, straddling his lap on the wide lounge chair. His hands settle on my hips immediately, thumbs stroking the bare skin above my swim trunks.
“I’m not running,” I say quietly. “Not today.”
“Good,” he whispers. “Because I really like having you right here.”
I smile against his mouth, something light and playful bubbling up that I haven’t felt in weeks. The old walls feel far away right now, and for once I don’t want to rebuild them.
I lean in closer, lips brushing his ear as I murmur, “Careful, Clark. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me. Next thing you know, I’ll be dragging you into that pool and seeing how long you can hold your breath under me.”
The words come out teasing, a little breathless, a little bold—the softer, less guarded side of me slipping through before I can stop it. I rock my hips once, slow and suggestive, letting him feel exactly what I mean.
Luca’s hands tighten on my hips, a low groan rumbling in his chest. For a second, his eyes darken, and I think he’s going to pull me down and let me escalate this the way my body is begging for.
But then he stills.
His grip shifts—still possessive, but gentler now. He pulls back just enough to look at me, hazel eyes serious beneath the teasing heat.
“Kai…” He exhales, thumb stroking my hipbone. “As much as I want to drag you into that pool and let you do every filthy thing you’re thinking about…there’s a pap out there. I saw the lens flash a minute ago from the treeline.”
My stomach drops.
Luca’s jaw tightens, and his hands slide up my back, pulling me closer in a protective hold rather than a sexual one.
“I don’t want that part of us out there,” he says quietly, voice rough with something fierce and tender at the same time.
“Not the real stuff. Not the way you sound when you’re falling apart for me or the way you look when you finally let go.
That’s ours. Not for the cameras. Not for the fans. Not for Harry.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breathing me in.
“I’m greedy,” he admits, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips.
“I want to keep the parts that matter just for us. The rest they can have—the hand-holding, the staged kisses, the ‘romantic getaway’ bullshit. But this?” His hand slides down to rest over my heart.
“This is mine. And I don’t want to share it. ”
The possessiveness in his voice shouldn’t make my chest feel so warm, but it does. Because I feel it, too. I let out a shaky breath and nod, resting my forehead against his.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Ours.”
He kisses me again—softer this time, slower, full of promise rather than heat. His arms wrap around me fully, holding me close as the ocean laps beneath the deck and the hidden camera clicks somewhere in the distance.
I settle against his chest, letting him hold me.
The old version of me—the one who would have pulled away, who would have reminded him we’re supposed to be professional—feels very far away right now.
And the new version?
He really, really likes being held like this.
Even if the world is watching from the tree-line.