It was simpler than I'd expected. The bed was massive and expensive but the rest of the furniture was minimal. A dresser. A chair by the window. Bedside tables with simple lamps. No art on the walls except one photograph—black and white, a city street I didn't recognize.
Personal but not revealing. Like Luca himself.
I got up and grabbed my boxer briefs from the floor, pulled them on. Felt less vulnerable with at least some clothing. Then I moved to the window and looked out at Manhattan spread below us.
This was Luca's view every morning. This expanse of wealth and power and possibility. So different from my cramped Brooklyn apartment with its view of the building next door.
"You're supposed to be in bed."
I turned to find Luca in the doorway holding two mugs. He'd put on a t-shirt—still rumpled, still human, still beautiful in a way that made my chest hurt.
"Sorry. Couldn't resist the view."
"It's better from the living room. I'll show you after coffee." He crossed to me and handed me a mug. "Cream, no sugar. Right?"
"You remembered."
"I remember everything about you." He said it casually, like it wasn't a huge admission. Like he hadn't just revealed that he'd been paying that much attention.
I took a sip. Perfect. Exactly how I liked it.
We stood at the window together, drinking our coffee in comfortable silence. The intimacy of it felt surreal. A week ago I'd been terrified of him. Two months ago he'd coerced me. Now we were standing in his bedroom drinking coffee like we were... together.
"What are you thinking?" Luca asked quietly.
"That this is weird."
"Weird how?"
"Normal. We're having coffee in the morning like regular people. Like this is..." I gestured vaguely between us. "Like we're dating or something."
"Aren't we?"
The question made me pause. "Are we?"
"I'd like to be." He set his mug on the bedside table. "If you want that."
"I don't know what I want." The honesty felt vulnerable. "This is all so new. So different from how it started."
"I know." He moved closer. "And I know I don't have the right to ask for anything after how I treated you. But I'm asking anyway. Give this a real chance. Give us a chance."
"What does that mean? A real chance?"
"It means we figure this out together. We tell each other things. We communicate instead of me controlling and you resenting." He caught my free hand. "It means I stop being thearchitect around you and you stop looking at me like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"I'm not—"
"You are. And I don't blame you. I've given you every reason not to trust me." His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. "But I want to earn that trust. Want to prove this is real."
I studied his face, looking for signs of manipulation. But all I saw was earnestness. Vulnerability. The real person underneath the performance.
"Okay," I said finally. "We can try. But Luca—"
"What?"
"If this is real, I need to know we're actually partners. Not you controlling me with a softer approach. I need to know I have actual choice in this."
"You do. I promise you do." He pulled me closer. "What do you need from me to believe that?"
