“Open the door, tío,” Andrés interrupts, flipping his chin toward the sliding doors to the terrace, his hands loaded with trays of meat and veggies.
Luca springs into action, pulling the door open for him. Before he follows Andrés outside, he glances at me over his shoulder. “I’m still waiting on you.”
My heart rate kicks up at the warmth in his eyes before he closes the sliding door, cutting off our connection.
“Madre mía,” I murmur to myself, glancing down at the countertop. Get a grip, Carla. He means he’s still waiting on you to talk to him, probably since you leave his text messages on read. Or, waiting on you to apply for the job he keeps bringing up.
Don’t read into something that’s not there.
He’s your brother’s best friend and has always wanted the best for you. Nothing’s changed.
Still, my heart gallops at Luca’s proximity, at the worry that washed over his facial features when he realized I was crying, at the thoughtfulness he constantly exudes.
Luca is a caretaker by nature. I’ve seen him step up and go out of his way for countless people—my brother, his teammates, League Valencia office staff, young players. He’s a good man with a big heart and I’m no one special.
I know this. I just need to remember it.
Because lately, I feel just desperate and reckless enough to do something stupid. And crossing a line with Luca is one I can’t come back from. I know better than to go there.
After a delicious dinner at my brother’s house, I hang back to clean up.
“You don’t have to do that,” Marlowe says, reaching for a plate.
“No, you don’t have to do this,” my brother says, plucking the plate from her hand. He glances at me. “You can carry on though.”
I flip him the middle finger and he laughs.
I continue to stack plates but pause as Ale kisses Marlowe’s cheek. “Go to sleep, my love. I’ll be there in a bit.” He says it tenderly, and emotion swells in my throat.
I’ve never had a man look at me the way Alejandro looks at Marlowe. Avery looks at Valentina the same way. Like they are the singular most important thing in their lives, even more valuable than oxygen.
“Okay,” Marlowe agrees, rounding the table to wrap me in a warm hug. “Thank you for coming, Car.”
“Thank you for the cheesecake.” I kiss her cheeks goodbye.
Alejandro watches as she leaves the kitchen and retires to their bedroom. Then, he looks at me and fires off in Spanish. “Why was she crying before? Why were you?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s between us.”
“Carla.” He drags out my name, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “If something is wrong?—”
“Marlowe is fine. She’s happy and processing big feelings. Everything is good,” I cut him off.
He sighs and picks up a stack of plates. “So, what’s going on with you? You never cry.”
Andrés enters the kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear.
Ale lifts his eyebrows.
“I’m heading out. Thanks for dinner,” Andrés says.
“Nada, hombre. Nos vemos luego,” Ale replies, saying goodbye.
“It was good to see you, Andrés. Have a good night,” I add.
He grins at me, blowing a kiss. “Vale, bye, Carla.”
In the living room, Luca shuts down the gaming console he and Andrés were playing.
