Chapter 6
Gabriel
We hit three more bars in the next hour.
Each one is louder than the last, packed with bodies and heat and the kind of energy that makes my teeth buzz.
Marshall keeps intercepting drinks. Every time a guy sends something my way, Marshall reaches over and takes it, drains half the glass before I can protest. I tell him he’s going to regret this tomorrow, and he just grins at me and says he’s doing his job as wingman.
By the third bar, guys are buying Marshall drinks too.
He’s the kind of good-looking that works on everyone, regardless of who they’re into.
Men want him, women want him, and Marshall seems oblivious to all of it.
When the bartender slides a gin and tonic across the bar toward Marshall, I intercept it before he can touch it.
“Hey,” Marshall says, reaching for the glass.
I pull it away. “You’ve had enough.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re buzzed.” I catch the bartender’s attention and slide the drink back. “Send this back with our thanks.”
Marshall opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. He leans back against the bar and crosses his arms, and I catch the slight sway in his posture. Yeah, definitely buzzed.
“You’re no fun,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.
“I’m keeping you functional.”
We leave the third bar and step outside. The air has changed since we first arrived. The sky is darker now, clouds rolling in thick and heavy, blocking out the stars. The wind picks up, warm and restless, and I glance up at the sky.
“It’s going to rain,” I say.
Marshall follows my gaze. “Then we better find somewhere to be when it does.”
I know a club not far from here. I’ve been once before, a couple of years ago when I visited with friends. It’s bigger than the bars we’ve been to, louder, the kind of place where you lose yourself in the crowd and the music and forget everything else, and that’s what I need right now.
The first drops of rain start to fall just as the club comes into view. We break into a jog and reach the entrance just as the sky opens up. The rain comes down in sheets, drumming against the awning above the door.
The bouncer waves us through without asking for ID.
The second we step inside, the noise hits me.
Music so loud I feel it in my ribcage, voices shouting to be heard over the bass, the thud of feet on the dance floor.
The club is packed, bodies pressed together, moving to the beat.
The lights are dim, just flashes of color cutting through the darkness: blue, purple, red.
Marshall stays close behind me as we push through the crowd toward the bar. The heat is oppressive, the air thick with sweat and cologne, and alcohol. I find a gap at the bar and wedge myself in, Marshall sliding in beside me.
The bartender is a woman with short bleached hair and a tank top that shows off sleeve tattoos. She leans over the bar, takes one look at us, and switches to English without missing a beat. “What can I get you?”
“Two waters,” I shout back.
She nods and disappears, returning a minute later with two bottles. I pay and hand one to Marshall. He takes it and drinks, his eyes scanning the club. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is slightly damp from the rain. He looks good. I look away before I can think too much about it.
“This place is insane,” Marshall says, leaning close so I can hear him.
“Yeah. It’s a lot.”
His gaze moves over the dance floor, and I watch him watching the crowd. There’s something in his expression I can’t read. He’s not uncomfortable, exactly. Just alert. Aware of where he is and what’s around him.
A guy brushes past me, close enough that I feel the press of his body, and I shift to give him space. The water is ice-cold, and I drink half of it in one go. I need to relax. I need to stop thinking about Blaine showing up at the villa and about the way Marshall’s hand felt on my back earlier.
I’m here for distraction.
We stand at the bar for a while, finishing our waters, not talking much because the music makes conversation nearly impossible. Marshall flags down the bartender and orders a beer. I don’t stop him. He’s an adult. He can handle himself.
I’m about to suggest we find somewhere to sit when a guy appears beside me. He’s good-looking, younger than me, mid-twenties maybe. Dark, curly hair, light eyes, strong jawline. He’s wearing a fitted white shirt that shows off a lean build, and he’s smiling at me like he knows something I don’t.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in close so I can hear him. “I’m Luca.”
“Gabriel.”
“You visiting Como?”
“Staying nearby for a few weeks.”
His smile widens. “Lucky me.”
I force myself to smile back. He’s attractive and confident, exactly the kind of distraction I came here for. I can do this.
“Are you here with friends?” Luca asks, his eyes flicking briefly to Marshall before coming back to me.
I nod toward Marshall. “Just my wingman.”
Luca glances at Marshall again, and Marshall gives him a polite nod before turning his attention back to his beer. Luca looks at me, and there’s something assessing in his gaze, like he’s trying to figure out if Marshall is competition.
“He’s cute,” Luca says.
“He’s straight.”
“Shame.” Luca shifts closer, and I catch the citrusy scent of his cologne. “But that means I get you to myself.”
Luca is exactly what I asked for tonight. I know that. But my attention keeps sliding back to Marshall, who’s standing a few feet away, giving us space. He’s staring at his beer bottle, peeling at the label, and his mouth is set in a line that looks almost grim.
“So what do you do?” Luca asks, pulling my attention back.
“Interior design.”
“Ah, creative. I like that.” He leans against the bar, his body angled toward mine.
The conversation continues, light and easy, and I make an effort to engage.
I ask him what he does—something with finance; I stop listening halfway through—and where he’s from.
Milan, originally. He’s here visiting friends for the weekend.
He asks me more questions, and I answer them, and the whole time I’m aware of Marshall standing just out of reach, silent and brooding.
Luca finishes his drink and sets the glass on the bar. “You want to dance?”
I hesitate. Dancing means leaving Marshall alone. “I don’t want to leave my friend by himself.”
Luca glances over at Marshall, and his eyes light up as if he just solved a puzzle.
He turns and waves at someone across the bar, and a moment later a woman approaches.
She’s gorgeous: tall, with long dark hair that falls in waves past her shoulders, wearing a black dress that hugs her curves.
She stops beside Luca and looks between us with an amused expression.
“This is my friend Sofia,” Luca says. “Sofia, this is Gabriel.”
Sofia extends a hand, and I shake it. Her grip is firm and confident. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Luca gestures toward Marshall. “That’s Gabriel’s friend, and he needs someone to dance with.” He looks at me. “Why don’t all four of us go dance? That way no one’s left out.”
I glance at Marshall. He’s watching us now, his eyes on Sofia, and I see the moment he registers what’s happening. His expression doesn’t change, but I know him well enough to catch the slight squaring of his shoulders.
“Sure,” I say, because I can’t think of a reason to say no that won’t sound weird.
Sofia walks over to Marshall and introduces herself. Marshall smiles at her, and it’s genuine, his posture loosening. He says something I can’t hear over the music, and she laughs.
Luca takes my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor.
It’s packed, bodies moving in the dim flashing lights.
Luca finds a spot and pulls me in, his hands going to my hips.
I put my hands on his shoulders and let myself move to the music.
It’s upbeat, a remix of something I vaguely recognize, the bass heavy and relentless.
Luca is a great dancer. He moves with confidence, his body close but not too close, giving me space to breathe. I try to focus on him, on the music, on anything but the fact that Marshall is somewhere nearby dancing with Sofia.
I last about thirty seconds before I look over Luca’s shoulder.
They’re a few feet away. Sofia is smiling at him, her hands on his chest, and Marshall is smiling back. It’s an easy smile, relaxed, and he moves with her like he’s done this a hundred times. I watch the way his hands rest on her waist, light and respectful, and something ugly twists in my chest.
I look away and focus on Luca. He’s watching me, his eyes bright, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re a good dancer.”
“Thanks. You too.”
The song shifts, and the next one is slower. The beat drops, the tempo turning sensual. Luca’s hands tighten on my hips, and he pulls me closer, his body pressing against mine. I let him because this is what I’m here for. Distraction.
I look over his shoulder again.
Sofia has wrapped her arms around Marshall’s neck, her body pressed against his.
Marshall’s hands are on her waist, and they’re swaying together, the space between them gone.
She says something to him, and he laughs, his head tilting back.
She runs her fingers through his hair, and my stomach clenches.
This is fine. This is what I wanted. Marshall is having fun. He deserves that after everything with his divorce. I should be happy for him.
I’m not happy.
Luca says something, but I don’t hear it. My attention is locked on Marshall and Sofia. The ugly feeling in my chest spreads, sharp and consuming, and I recognize it for what it is.
Jealousy.
It’s irrational. I have no claim over my straight stepbrother. But I can’t stop the feeling. It claws at me, burning and bitter, and I hate it. I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I can’t look away.
“Hey,” Luca says, louder this time. “You okay?”
I force my gaze back to him. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? You seem tense.”
“I’m fine.”
He studies me for a moment, then leans in again, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re really hot, you know that?”
“Thanks.”
I’m not in the mood for this anymore. I start thinking of excuses, ways to extract myself politely, but before I can say anything, I see movement in my peripheral vision.
I look over Luca’s shoulder just in time to see Sofia reach up and kiss Marshall.
The decent thing would be to look away and give them privacy, but I don’t. I’m frozen, my eyes locked on them, watching as Sofia’s lips press against Marshall’s.
I don’t want to see if he kisses her back. I can’t handle it.
Luca glances over his shoulder, following my gaze. He sees Marshall and Sofia kissing, and when he turns back to me, his smile sharpens. “Great idea.”
Before I can process what he means, his hands are on my face and his lips are on mine.
I’m so shocked I can’t move. I just stand there, frozen, my lips pressed against his. My eyes are open. I’m not kissing him back. I’m not doing anything. I’m just a statue while he kisses me, and all I can think about is Marshall and Sofia.
I can’t help it and look again.
Marshall is kissing her back. His eyes are closed, his hands on her waist, and he’s kissing her with the same confidence he does everything else. I stare, taking in the way his head tilts, the way his mouth moves, the way his hands flex against her hips.
The jealousy intensifies, and it’s joined by something else. Something worse.
I don’t want to be kissing Luca.
I want to be in Sofia’s place.
Kissing Marshall.
The realization hits me all at once, and I can’t breathe. It’s horrifying. It’s wrong. I can’t want this. I can’t want him.
But I do.
Luca’s lips move against mine, and I feel nothing. No spark, no heat, no desire. Just the crushing weight of the truth I’ve been running from. I feel like I’m breaking apart.
Suddenly, Marshall opens his eyes.
He doesn’t stop kissing Sofia. His lips are still on hers, his hands still on her waist, but his eyes are open.
And he’s looking directly at me.
The world narrows to that single point of contact. His gaze, dark and intense, locked on mine. The music fades. The crowd disappears. It’s just us, staring at each other while we kiss other people.
The moment stretches. Longer than it should. Longer than makes sense. Longer than can be explained away as an accident.
My knees weaken.
I stumble back, breaking the kiss with Luca. He says something, his mouth moving, but I don’t hear it. I’m already turning, pushing through the crowd, away from him, away from Marshall, away from the dance floor and the crushing realization that I can’t undo.
Bodies press in on all sides, hot and suffocating. I shove past them, not caring if I’m being rude, not caring about anything except getting out of here.