He grins. But behind it, I catch a shadow. "What about you? Going to see your family?"
"No..." I say, scratching Jack’s ears. "I invited Lauren, but she can’t come. Hey, if you see Silas—can you give him her gift from me?"
Luca’s eyes narrow. His voice softens. "Is thereanythingI wouldn’t do for you, Em?" His smile fades. His eyes lock on mine.
Suddenly, I feel very small.
“Bring it to the office tomorrow,” he adds gently. “I won’t forget.”
“Thanks. Anyway, I should get Jack home. Right, buddy? You miss your mom?”
Right then, Luca sneezes. Uh-oh. The allergy meds are wearing off.
“I’ll drive you two. Let me grab shoes.” He disappears inside, reappears with sneakers and his car keys. “Unless…"—he smirks—“we drop him off… and come back?”
I raise one eyebrow.
“Worth a shot.” He shrugs. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
The Past
It’s Killian’s birthday, Luca’s youngest brother, and the Walkers have formally invited me.
You’d think it’d be a birthday party for teenagers, but nope. It feels more like a formal, cold, aristocratic dinner—the kind I used to imagine while readingPride and Prejudiceon quiet Saturday afternoons.
Luca warned me this is how birthdays go when his parents host them: classy, tight-lipped, elegant… and then later, the boys throw their own massive, carefree parties in some luxury destination far, far away.
The dining room is cavernous, walls paneled in dark wood, a chandelier dripping crystals over the long mahogany table. Portraits of stern ancestors line the walls, their painted eyes following every move. The windows are dressed in heavy curtains that mute the outside world, keeping us trapped in this bubble of wealth and scrutiny. Silverware gleams under candlelight, the kind you know is family heirloom, and the air smells faintly of roasted meat and aged wine.
I get along well with the two younger brothers, especially Killian. He’s always grinning, teasing Luca and Oliver, the family’s golden rule-followers. Silas is away at college and said he couldn’t make it.
I’m thankful. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I saw him, not after what he did to my sister.
There’s a long table. The family’s seated, along with a few family friends and Luca’s paternal grandparents. Everyone’s chatting calmly, casually tossing around stock market numbers and tearing apart whatever politician they think is too liberal this week.
I try to eat with a little more grace tonight.
I’m wearing a plain black dress—serious, elegant. Luca frowned when he saw me in it, but I begged him not to comment. I was too nervous.
I left the ring in my nightstand drawer—we agreed. We’re not telling them yet, just in case the news doesn’t land well.
I have to admit, Luca’s parents do like me. His mom is always telling me how pretty I am, and his dad says,“They don’t make girls like you anymore.”
Still, when they’re around, I don’t really feel like myself. But that’s okay—I’m not marryingthem. I’m marryinghim.
I glance at Luca and catch a small smile when I realize he has one hand resting on my shoulder.
It clearly bothers the rest of the table.
I’ve heard Luca isn’t super affectionate with others, but with me? He always is. Even in public, though, he tries to be more subtle about it.
“Tell me, Emma,” his mother says, folding her delicate hands over the table, “what path are you planning to take after high school?”
I tense up immediately. They’ve never shown much interest in my personal life before, and something tells me art isn’t a topic that’ll wow the crowd.
“Um, I…”
“Fine Arts, Mom,” Luca cuts in, rescuing me from total meltdown.
