“We're just leaving,” Zane said firmly, grabbing my hand and moving toward the exit.
“Already?Aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend?”There was a condescending edge to his tone, and I felt a wave of discomfort wash over me, but Zane didn't halt his pace.
“I'm talking to you, son,” he added, emphasizing the last word.Zane stopped, and I followed suit.
“Luna has to go home,” he replied without turning around, keeping his face hidden from view.I glanced at his father, who wore a faint smirk.
“Luna,” he repeated, “interesting name.I'm Davide.Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake.I hesitated, feeling no desire to touch him—his smirk was unsettling.Zane quickly turned to intercept my hand before it could meet his father's.It was too late.His grip was cold, and I withdrew almost immediately.
I looked at Zane; his jaw was clenched, muscles taut as he struggled to maintain control.Their relationship appeared fraught, devoid of warmth.Why had he chosen to live with his father over his mother?
“Maybe you should stay for dinner,” Davide suggested, his tone casual.
“No!”Zane nearly shouted, his anger palpable.“I told you she has to go!”he added through gritted teeth.Davide raised a hand dismissively.
“Goodbye, then.Hope to see you again,” he said, allowing us to leave.Zane grasped my hand firmly, pulling me away quickly.
“Hey, slow down!You're hurting me,” I protested, trying to break free.
“I shouldn't have brought you here,” he said, frustration lacing his words.I sensed the tension between them, but Davide seemed indifferent to my presence—why was Zane so worked up?He continued to walk briskly, and I struggled to keep up, his grip tightening around my hand.
“Zane, stop!”I yelled, attempting to leverage my weight to slow him down.“What's wrong?Why are you so upset?”I pressed.He halted, turning to me, cupping my face in his hands before pressing his lips against my forehead.
“I'm sorry,” Zane murmured.I waited for him to elaborate, but there was only silence.
“Please, talk to me, Zane,” I pleaded, but he had erected an impenetrable wall that I couldn't breach.
“Let's get you home,” he said softly, taking my hand gently this time.
We drove in silence, not a single word exchanged.His jaw remained tense, anger simmering just beneath the surface.I struggled to decipher his emotions but found myself at a loss.When we finally arrived, he seemed slightly more at ease, turning off the engine to face me.
“He wasn't supposed to be home.I thought he had a meeting and would be back late.I'm really sorry,” Zane said, shaking his head in frustration.
“I'm not,” I replied.“I don't see why you're so upset.He seemed… nice.”I lied; he wasn't nice, but his demeanor hadn't warranted Zane’s intense reaction either.
“Nice?”Zane scoffed.“He hates me and everything I do—or anyone I…” he trailed off, a shadow crossing his face.
“What?Date?”I asked, curiosity piqued.“Have you brought many girls there?”My heart raced at the thought, and a wave of unease hit me.How many girls had he dated?How many had lain in that bed and kissed him in the same way I did?I wanted to shake off those thoughts.
“Is that really what you want to know?”he teased.I nodded earnestly.
“Just you,” he replied, and I playfully nudged him.
“Liar!”I exclaimed, laughter breaking the tension between us.Ultimately, he didn't answer my question, but it hardly mattered; that was the past.
Zane leaned in to kiss me gently before heading out.His absence left an emptiness that seemed to grow day by day.I craved to fill that void, yearning to spend every moment by his side.I was falling for him—deeper and deeper—wondering if there would ever be an end to this spiral and just how significant this feeling could become.
“Ah, you made it just in time!I was worried you'd miss dinner,” my mom remarked as I entered the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom,” I responded with a faint smile.
“How's Zane?”she inquired, her gaze keenly observing my face as she retrieved a roast from the oven.
“He's doing fine,” I replied curtly, hoping she wouldn't press further.
“It seems like things are going well between you two,” she continued as she began slicing the roast.I nodded, briefly mentioning that I needed to change.“We can have dinner a bit earlier today since your dad is home.The roast is ready, and it's best served hot,” my mom added while I headed upstairs.
I entered my room, and I noticed my dad standing by the terrace door.
