Soon. It’s not the immediate “yes” I was hoping for, but it’s more than I’ve gotten in weeks. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. After so many weeks of “no,” I’ll take “soon.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
Luca pulls me closer, his mouth near my ear. “I know you’ve been worried about him. I know this whole situation has been—” He stops, struggling for words. “I’m trying, Gigi. I’m trying to be better than the person who took you.”
He’s right. Heistrying. I can see it in the accommodations he makes, the gentleness he shows despite his reputation.
But trying and succeeding aren’t the same thing. And there’s still so much I don’t understand about his plans, his motivations, what happens next.
The evening wears on, and eventually we’re cutting cake and making toasts and going through all the traditional wedding rituals that feel surreal. When it’s finally time to leave to head to the suite Luca has reserved at the city’s most exclusive hotel, I’m exhausted from maintaining my smile.
The car ride is silent, tense. Luca holds my hand but stares out the window, his expression distant. Whatever he’s thinking seems to be personal, and I don’t know how to help him—or if I even should.
The hotel suite is ridiculously ornate with a killer view of the city. But I barely notice the opulence because Luca is looking at me with an expression that makes my breath catch.
“Gigi,” he says, my name rough with emotion I can’t identify. “I need you to know?—”
I silence him with a kiss, not ready for whatever confession he’s about to make. I’m not ready for reality to intrude on this one night where we can pretend this marriage is real, that we chose this, that we’re just two people in love rather than captor and captive playing at normalcy.
He responds immediately, his hands framing my face with surprising gentleness. “Wait,” he murmurs against my lips. “I need to tell you?—”
“Tomorrow,” I interrupt, echoing his words from earlier. “Tonight, can we just—can we just be Luca and Gigi? Not revenge or alliance or any of the complicated shit. Just us.”
The conflict in his expression is painful to watch. But eventually he nods, and he’s kissing me with renewed intensity, his hands moving to the buttons at the back of my wedding dress.
The dress pools at my feet, and suddenly I’m standing before him in nothing but the lingerie someone selected for me—white lace and delicate fabric that makes me feel vulnerable and powerful at the same time.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Luca breathes, his eyes roaming over me. “Gigi, you’re?—”
I pull him down into another kiss before he can finish whatever he was going to say. Because words feel dangerous right now. Better to communicate through touch, through the desperate way our bodies come together, through the heat building between us.
“Wait,” I murmur against his mouth, pulling back slightly. “I need—the dress, the makeup, all of it. I need to wash it off. I need to feel like myself again.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he nods. “The shower,” he says, his voice rough. “Let me?—”
He takes my hand and leads me toward the bathroom, which is as ridiculously opulent as the rest of the suite. The bathroom was covered in marble and the shower could fit six people.
Luca starts the water, adjusting the temperature while I watch the play of muscles across his back through his dress shirt. When he turns back to me, there’s something almost hesitant in his expression.
“Can I?” he asks, his fingers hovering near the clasp of my bra.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch as he carefully removes the delicate lace, then the matching panties, his touch gentle. Then he strips off his own clothes—the tuxedo jacket, the shirt, the pants—until we’re both standing there naked and vulnerable in the steamy bathroom.
“It’s ready,” Luca says.
I step into the warm steam, and immediately a sigh escapes me as hot water cascades down my spine, melting away the tension and ache in my muscles. Ducking further, I let the water drench my face and hair, which suddenly feels very heavy…
“Oh no,” I breathe, reaching up to touch my styled hair. The water is making the intricate updo into a sodden, impossible mess. The dozens of bobby pins are still in, carefully placed by the stylist—and now they’re pulling uncomfortably as wet hair weighs everything down.
I try to find one, my fingers fumbling through the wet strands, but there are so many and I can’t figure out where they all are. Frustration builds as I pull at my hair, trying to locate the hidden pins while water streams down my face.
“Here.” Luca’s voice is soft, his hands coming up to still mine. “Let me.”
“You don’t have to,” I start to say, but he cuts me off with a finger to my lips.
“I want to.” His fingers slide into my hair, gentle and sure, finding the first bobby pin with surprising ease. He pulls it free carefully, then searches for the next one. “Turn around.”
I obey, presenting my back to him, and feel his body move closer. He’s not quite touching, but close enough that I can feel his warmth even through the hot water. His fingers patiently work through my hair, finding pin after pin and removing them one by one.
