Between Loyalty and You

Chapter 16 (Elena's POV)

I found Luca in the kitchen holding a frying pan as though it had personally disappointed him.

“What happened?”

He looked at the blackened edge of something on a plate.

“Breakfast.”

I leaned against the doorway.

“You told me you could cook.”

“I can. Apparently, this pan disagrees.”

“Of course. The pan.”

He set it down and came toward me.

I had slept in the garden room. He had kissed me goodnight outside the door and gone upstairs, leaving me with the unfamiliar comfort of knowing I would see him in the morning.

Now he stopped close enough for me to touch him.

“Good morning.”

I caught his shirt and kissed him.

There was no need to listen for anyone approaching.

I was beginning to understand how much I liked that.

“Move,” I said against his mouth.

“Already?”

“You’re standing between me and breakfast.”

We started again.

I whisked the eggs while Luca cut bread and found tomatoes in the refrigerator. He knew where the plates belonged but opened three drawers looking for a spatula.

“Rosa has made herself indispensable.”

“Rosa has organized your kitchen. You should visit occasionally.”

He stood behind me to reach a cupboard, his hand resting briefly at my waist.

I leaned back against him before remembering the eggs.

“Distracting the cook is dangerous.”

“I’ll keep my distance.”

“Don’t overreact.”

He laughed and kissed my cheek.

We ate at the small kitchen table with the ruined first attempt still sitting beside the stove.

I discovered that he drank his first coffee quickly and his second slowly. He discovered that I stole tomatoes from other people’s plates even when I had my own.

“You could ask,” he said.

“I wanted that one.”

“I see.”

He moved the plate nearer.

After breakfast, I called Papa from my room.

He complained about the quiet house, then admitted half the family was still there.

“Your aunt wants to know when you’ll visit again.”

“Tell her when she stops asking about my love life.”

“She’ll never see you.”

I laughed.

It felt good until he asked whether I had unpacked.

“Yes.”

“And everything’s all right?”

I looked at my suitcase beside Luca’s guest-room wardrobe.

“Yes, Papa.”

When the call ended, I remained sitting on the bed.

Luca knocked a few minutes later.

“Coffee?”

I nodded.

He handed me the cup without asking about the conversation.

“Did you speak to him?” I asked.

“This morning.”

I looked down at my coffee.

“We need to find a way to do this differently.”

“Yes.”

“Not today. But soon.”

He sat beside me, leaving a little space.

“Soon.”

I rested my head against his shoulder.

For once, neither of us tried to make the discomfort disappear.

In the library, sunlight fell across the rug beneath his mother’s painting.

I brought my laptop.

Luca brought a book and the solemn claim that he wouldn’t interrupt me.

He lasted twelve minutes.

“What does that mean?”

I glanced at the sentence he was reading over my shoulder.

“Localized lifting.”

“Yes.”

“The paint is separating from the surface beneath it.”

“And you can fix that?”

“Sometimes.”

He watched while I enlarged a photograph.

I explained more than he had asked, expecting his attention to wander.

It didn’t.

When I finished, he looked at me instead of the screen.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I like listening to you talk about your work.”

I lowered my eyes before he could see how much that pleased me.

“Then let me finish some.”

He returned to his book.

This time, he managed nearly half an hour.

By lunchtime, the report was finished.

We ate leftovers standing at the kitchen counter, then returned to the library with our books.

I took one end of the sofa. Luca took the other.

Gradually, my feet found their way onto his lap.

He looked down.

“Comfortable?”

“Getting there.”

He adjusted the cushion behind me and resumed reading.

Outside, wind moved through the cypress trees.

Inside, pages turned.

I had imagined being alone with him so often that I had forgotten it might look like this.

No dramatic confession. No desperate hurry.

Just his hand resting over my ankle while I argued silently with a badly written ending.

Eventually, I closed my book.

“Terrible?”

“Worse than advertised.”

“Would you like to complain?”

“For quite some time.”

He put his own book aside.

“Go on.”

That evening, I banned him from the kitchen.

“You’ve already questioned my breakfast,” he said. “Now I’m being evicted.”

“I’m making dinner.”

“I can help.”

“You can choose wine and set the table.”

“For what?”

“A date, Luca.”

His expression softened.

“We seem to be overdue.”

I pointed toward the dining room.

“Candles. No paperwork.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I made roasted tomato soup, then lemon chicken with rosemary potatoes and green beans. For dessert, I melted chocolate into small pots and added orange zest.

Nothing complicated enough to keep me away from the table all evening.

That was the point.

When I went to check on him, he had laid two places close together at one end of the dining table.

The candles were lit.

The enormous room suddenly looked intimate.

He had changed into a clean white shirt.

“No tie,” I said.

“I remember the instructions.”

I went upstairs to change, smiling all the way.

When I returned, Luca stood.

It was only a simple black dress, one I had packed for Christmas dinner.

Still, the way he looked at me made me stop beside the table.

“What?”

“You look beautiful.”

There was no joke behind it.

I crossed the room and kissed him before sitting down.

“Now you can say something flattering about the soup.”

Dinner lasted nearly three hours.

We talked about places we wanted to see, terrible meals we had endured, and the time I had accidentally addressed an important client by his dog’s name.

Luca laughed so hard he had to put down his glass.

“He introduced the dog first,” I protested.

“A reasonable defense.”

“It was.”

He told me about his mother teaching him to dance in the kitchen before a cousin’s wedding.

“Did it help?”

“I stepped on everyone.”

“Have you improved?”

“Would you like to risk it?”

After dessert, he found music on his phone.

We danced between the table and the windows.

His hand rested at my back. Mine lay against his shoulder.

“You’re counting,” I murmured.

“I’m concentrating.”

“On your feet?”

“Among other things.”

I lifted my face.

He kissed me without losing the rhythm.

For a little while, we managed beautifully.

Later, we carried our glasses upstairs.

I had never been to his bedroom.

It was less elaborate than I expected: dark wood, a wide bed, books stacked unevenly on a bedside table. A chair faced the windows, with a sweater draped over it.

“You do leave things lying around.”

“Occasionally.”

“I’m relieved.”

Beyond the bedroom, the bathroom opened onto a sheltered alcove with a hot tub beneath tall windows.

Luca followed my gaze.

“Would you like to use it?”

“With you?”

“If you want.”

I looked back at him.

“I do.”

By the time we settled into the water, we had left our clothes folded on a chair.

For a moment, I felt shy.

Luca offered me his hand as I stepped in, then moved aside to give me room. He waited until I was comfortable before sitting beside me.

The water was warm. Beyond the glass, the garden had disappeared into darkness.

“This is excessive,” I said.

“I thought you might say that.”

“I didn’t say I disliked it.”

He smiled.

I moved closer.

There was no rush in the way he kissed me. We took our time, pausing to look at each other, learning how to be near without the old fear of interruption.

I traced the scar on his shoulder with my fingertips.

He watched my face.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Not anymore.”

I nodded.

I didn’t ask him to explain it tonight.

After a while, I rested against him, my cheek near his shoulder. His hand covered mine beneath the water.

“I want to stay like this,” I said.

“Then we will.”

“I mean tonight. This is enough.”

He kissed my forehead.

“I understand.”

Nothing in his voice changed.

He didn’t withdraw or try to persuade me.

I turned toward him and kissed him again because I wanted to, with the relief of knowing it didn’t have to lead anywhere else.

When the water cooled, Luca climbed out and brought me a towel.

We dried off and dressed in robes, then went downstairs for the chocolate dessert we had left unfinished.

At midnight, we ate it in the kitchen, sharing a spoon because neither of us wanted to get up.

Tomorrow will bring another call from Papa.

There would still be questions waiting when these days ended.

But when Luca reached across the table, I gave him my hand.

We sat there until the candles in the dining room had burned low.

For that evening, wanting each other had been simple.

I let it be.