He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. "You know how we are."
"Oh, I remember. Never seen brothers compete so hard overeverything."
It’s strange, this ease—this openness. For years, I buried Luca in the farthest corner of my mind, the same place you shove your deepest fears. But now, standing in his home… It’s like we were never apart. And I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.
"Killian and Oliver compete over how many guest rooms they have," he adds with a crooked grin.
We make it to the kitchen. He presses a button on the wall and—surprise—a hidden wine fridge appears. Classic Luca. Always with the damn buttons.
He opens a bottle without asking and pours us each a glass.
"Are you lying to me right now?" I ask, taking the glass.
"Nope. We literally had a group chat argument about it this morning."
"How many doyouhave?"
"Only three."
"Only three?!" I laugh. "I can barely carve out space for my art corner."
We wander outside and sink into a pair of white lounge chairs facing the ocean.
Tall palms sway around us, gulls scream above the waves, and the air is sticky with salt and heat.
Luca doesn’t seem bothered by the humidity. Of course, he doesn’t. He belongs here now.
"Why don’t you exhibit your paintings?" he asks suddenly.
I laugh behind my glass. "They’re not as good as you think."
He sets his drink down, leans back, arm draped along the cushion, body turned fully toward me. He looks confident. Commanding. Ridiculously attractive in a white shirt and bare ankles.
Do I have an ankle fetish now?Because… I can’t stop staring.
“Theyaregood. You’ve always been incredible with a brush.”
“Maybe back then. Not anymore.”
“Why?”
Because I don’t haveyou, Luca. Because when I lost you, I lost my spark. “It wasn’t just my mom’s illness that made me quit art school. I was awful. I mean, truly. My professors suggested I switch majors.”
He frowns. Visibly offended. “What kind of teacher says that instead of helping you improve? I’m sorry, Em, but they were idiots.”
I take another sip of wine, biting back a laugh at how worked up he suddenly is. “Thank you,” I say softly.
Not many people defend me. I’ve always had to do it myself. But Luca… it means something coming from him.
“You shouldn’t give up on your dreams,” he says.
I nod, thinking but not saying it—You did too, Luca.I don’t want to argue. I like this easy energy between us.
“Hey, Christmas is coming,” I say, changing the mood. “Why don’t you have any decorations up? No tree? Nothing?”
He chuckles and downs the last of his wine. "I only celebrate because my mom makes me. If it were up to me, it’d just be another day."
"God, you’re so boring."
