“I did. Dante insisted I bring them up to you.” There’s no smile on his face. No sign of happiness in his demeanor, and I can’t help but hate that I’m the reason he’s miserable.
“Thanks.” I put the shoes on and then carefully stand, making sure I don’t face-plant.
“The photographer is already downstairs.” Luca stays by the open door. He doesn’t step foot inside the room, but he also isn’t walking away. He seems transfixed, staring at me, but he doesn’t seem happy.
“I’m ready.” I head toward him, and Nikki is right behind me, holding the train of my wedding gown.
Luca steps out of the way, grabs Zeke as my little terror runs out of the room, and he carries him down the stairs with us.
I’m careful on the stairs, holding the banister as I descend the main staircase, although my attention is on Zeke and Luca several steps ahead of me.
By the time we’re in with the photographer, Nikki and Paige help with Zeke while the two of us are shuffled from one pose into another.
Most aren’t too terrible. We both manage to force a smile. The most awkward is when we’re instructed to stare into each other’s gaze.
Luca is shooting daggers at me. There’s no loving gaze, no warm embrace.
Everything with Luca is frosty and chilled to the bone.
The photographer grumbles after reviewing the images on his digital camera. “These aren’t working for me. We’ll need to take more.”
“Seriously?” Luca’s frustration is exactly how I’m beginning to feel.
“Your wife is perfect. Absolutely flawless. That pure smile and those magnificent eyes. She is like heaven on a canvas. You, on the other hand—” The photographer sighs and adjusts his camera settings, avoiding finishing his own sentence.
Luca growls as he steps toward the gentleman, his eyes tightening and his fists clenching at his side. “Do you make it a habit of hitting on every woman you photograph or just my wife?”
My mouth goes dry. I glance from the photographer to Luca, and they’re head-to-head, about ready to fight. The photographer is scrawny and no match for my husband.
Nevertheless, Luca’s words shock me.
The fact he’s behaving quite so protectively is startling. I can’t help but stare at Luca, breathless.
He must be acting.
Because when the photographer said truly nice things, I would have expected him to shut him up and comment on how he doesn’t know me like Luca does.
I step forward, resting a hand on Luca’s arm, desperate to break the tension before something else breaks. “Sweetheart, why don’t we take a five-minute break?”
Luca glares at the photographer. “Are we paying you by the hour?”
“Yes, your father is.” He glances at his watch, eyeing the time but not hurrying in the slightest.
“Then we are most certainly not taking a break and giving this jackass another cent.” Luca is fuming, and I grab his hand, pulling him closer, trying to calm him down.
Although I’m likely the worst person to settle him down since I have the uncanny ability to cause him to argue, to fight, to hate me.
When I touch his hand, my own body relaxes, his energy warm and comforting, and I step closer, cutting the distance between us.
Instinctively, he leans in toward me when I come to rest my forehead against his.
I hear the snap of another photo but ignore the photographer. I reach up, my hands grazing Luca’s cheeks, trying to soften his features, the anger that is built into the tension in his neck and shoulders.
My neck is still sore from last night, falling asleep against the wall in Zeke’s room, but I ignore the pain.
What I can’t ignore is the strained look on Luca’s face.
I crack a wry grin and drag my hands down to his hips. “Kiss me,” I whisper, hoping that maybe I can get the tension to melt away for both of us.
