Page 31 of Lucas

Instead, we stand to watch a grueling ping pong tournament, saunter past the disco room and get mesmerized by the spinning lights. We drink beer, talk about nothing and everything, and on our way out of the market, Lucas stops to buy me a gold bangle, handcrafted by a local artisan.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, though I love the way it shimmers on my wrist.

“If I thought I had to darlin’, I wouldn’t.”

After three hours of walking, my feet have blisters and my legs are sore. But I’m reluctant to leave. This side of Lucas makes my heart light and right now, I need that. I don’t know what will be left of it after tomorrow night.

“Do you want to head home?” he says.

I’m never really sure if he means his place or mine, but when we get into his car, we always end up at his suite. “Tired already?”

His eyes darken. “Hell darlin’, I could go all night. But there are other games we could play at my place that would be just as fun.”

A lump forms in the back of my throat. “Like, Scrabble or something?”

“Something like that.” He grabs my hand and we start walking to the car. My feet don’t even feel like they touch the ground.

Chapter 15

Why are all the bad things always so much easier to believe? It shouldn’t be that way. But it is, every single time. You’re too sensitive, or too worried, they say. You care about all the wrong things. One whisper in your ear and the words tumble through your head like you’re the one who said them first. Hear them enough and they’re pretty much etched on your heart.

There’s no denying it. But right now, I’ve got to try and get past that. Try to believe in the good. Because Lucas has gone to a lot of trouble to create a perfect romantic dinner on the garden terrace, and I can’t find the appetite to even take one bite.

I sit here in this magical space, staring into the eyes of the man who owns my heart, knowing that by this time tomorrow, he’ll have moved on.

Love. That’s the first bad thing I believe. Bad because of the other bad thing—tonight is our last night together, and it already feels like my heart is breaking apart, piece by fucking piece. I can’t afford to be broken.

I need to be strong.

Need to believe the opposite about myself, and become the person that accepts the cold hard truth. There is no possible way Lucas and I can continue our relationship after this night.

“Is the shrimp overdone?”

I set down my fork and shake my head. “It’s perfect.” Just like the salad, and the expensive white wine, and the bouquet of roses at the center of the table. The music is perfect, the sky is perfect, every damn thing is perfect—except it’s also the very opposite of perfect. It sucks.

Lucas doesn’t say it aloud, but I know he feels it too.

“I had the chef prepare tiramisu for desert,” he says.

My lips twitch, trying to smile. “I’ve been here a week and never seen anyone in your kitchen but us.”

“She’s very discrete.”

I let out a sigh. “Well, it’s good that she’s not watching me, or she’d think I didn’t like her cooking. Which would be wrong because—”

“Because everything is perfect…”

I nod. “Right. Perfect”

He sets his fork on the plate, folds the linen napkin on his lap, and puts it beside his plate. His hand closes over mine. “How about we go down to the living room for dessert?”

My eyes skim over the terrace. It’s so beautiful on the rooftop, with the soft sounds of the Jacuzzi water swirling, and the lilt of classical music that sways through the shrubs and flowers.

The moon is a bright glowing ball above us, and to its left, a star streaks across the night sky. If I believed in such things, I’d make a wish, but if it came true, that would be good—and it’s so much easier to believe in the bad.

“Tiramisu by the fireplace?”

“As you wish, darlin’.”