He smiles but says nothing.
“And I need a shower. Like, now.”
Luca stands and reaches out his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you where everything is.”
Idon’t know if the planets aligned or if the gods decided to cut me a break, but one thing’s for sure—Emma Green will be in my domain for at least twenty-four hours, and that’s got to help me get closer to the plan.
When she walks out of my bedroom—I didn’t tell her there are at least two guest rooms she could use; I just laid her down in my bed and went to sleep in another—she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants rolled at the waist so they don’t fall off, and one of my white T-shirts that hits mid-thigh.
Luckily, there’s a book on my lap hiding the teenage-level hard-on I’m rocking right now.
Get it together, Luca.
I’m sitting on the low lounge chairs in the living room—the ones that basically kiss the floor. They’re stark white, surrounded by earthy-toned cushions. A square coffee table made of white oak sits in the center, cluttered with too many books and barely any space left for cups or plates. I always end up using the same chair. No clue why I listened to the decoratorwhen she insisted on seating for guests—I never have anyone over. But I’ll admit the room looked way too empty with just one chair, so I gave her the green light.
The windows are uncovered because I love watching storms, especially the few minutes before they crash onto the sea. There’s something mystical about that wind—a warning that something’s coming. The city darkens, and the colors outside get deeper and richer with all that humidity hanging in the air.
Yeah, I’m comfortable these days.
Emma takes a seat on the couch across from me. She looks tiny on it. There’s room for at least four more people, but she tucks herself into the corner. My eyes track her every move. It’s surreal, having her here. Like a mirage I conjured up too many times in this lonely mansion.
“What are you reading?” she asks, hugging a pillow to her chest—probably because she’s not wearing a bra under my shirt.
I grip the book again. “How are you feeling?” Not the time to bore her with my philosophical obsessions.
“Better.” Her stomach growls loudly. “Oops.”
“You hungry? I can cook. Well—technically it’s already cooked. Fridge is stocked.”
I get up without letting go of the book and tilt my head toward the kitchen. She follows me. I open the fridge door. Neat little containers with perfect handwriting labeling every dish stare back at me.
“I’ve got roast beef…” I read off the top one. “Or chicken with mushrooms… or?—”
“You made all this?” Her voice is closer now. I glance over and find her standing on her tiptoes, trying to peek over my bicep.
I bite my lip to stop the grin. “No…” I say, a little shy. “Ana María did.”
I wait. Watch her closely. Her reaction matters.
“And she is…?”
There it is. “My housekeeper. She runs this place.” I grab a container and shut the door.
Emma finds the stool she used earlier at the island and sits back down. Thunder rolls through the house, and I see her flinch just enough to catch it.
“Don’t worry, Em. You’re safe here.”
“Yeah, but…” She looks toward the big living room windows. “Isn’t this place, like, super dangerous with all that glass? What if something slams into it?”
I pour the food into a pan and fire up the stove. “Not a problem. Hurricane-proof windows”
“Fancy,”
“Perks of having money, I guess,” I say as the lights flick on even though it’s only eleven.
“You always say that like having money’s some kind of burden.”
I stop stirring. Look up. She’s watching me with curiosity, like I’m some puzzle she’s trying to solve. “You know this wasn’t the life I wanted.” The life I wanted was normal—with you.
