CHAPTER 13
1847 Words
Just as he had said the night before, Nico arrived at 5 pm sharp to help them move into his house. There wasn’t much to pack as they didn't plan on staying that long anyway.
Summer was back in the front seat, seatbelt off, phone already out. Luna was in the back with her one duffel bag, pressed against the window like she could escape if she tried hard enough.
“So,” Summer said, twisting around. “Rate the anxiety. 1 to 10. Be honest, Luna. How close are we to you bolting?”
“Seven,” Luna said. “Give or take.”
Nico didn’t look at either of them. “Both of you. Seatbelts.”
“CEO Grumpy Pants and his rules,” Summer muttered, clicking hers in. “You know, for a fake marriage, you’re really committed to the bit.”
“I’m committed to not getting a ticket,” Nico said dryly.
Luna leaned forward between the seats. “You said ‘tomorrow’s gonna be worse’. How much worse are we talking? Like, ‘meet your ex’ worse or ‘meet your mother’ worse?”
“Neither,” Nico said. “Marcus wants proof. Tonight.”
Summer gasped like he’d said they were launching her into space. “Proof! As in photos! As in matching pajamas and fake candid laughter!”
“No matching pajamas,” Nico said.
“Pity,” Summer said. “I already picked them out. Little clouds for you, Luna. Little thunderstorms for him. Very symbolic.”
Luna snorted. “Of course you did.”
The car went quiet for a second, just the hum of the engine and the city lights sliding past the windows. Then Summer’s voice dropped, softer this time.
“You nervous?” she asked Luna, not teasing for once.
Luna blinked. “A little. It’s one thing to pretend in front of Marcus for ten minutes. It’s another to… live in his space.”
Nico’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t say anything. But he glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Just once.
“You’ll be fine,” Summer said, and bumped Luna’s knee with her hand. “He doesn’t bite. Much.”
“I heard that,” Nico said.
“Good,” Summer said. “Means you’re listening.”
---
*5:47 PM. Nico’s penthouse, 62nd floor.*
The elevator doors opened and Luna forgot how to speak.
The penthouse was all glass and light. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the whole city spread out below like someone had dumped diamonds on black velvet. The floors were pale marble. The couch was bigger than Luna’s entire apartment. There wasn’t a single thing out of place.
“Holy hell,” Summer whispered. Then louder: “Holy. Hell. Nico. You live like this? Like a Bond villain? Like a Greek god with a cleaning service?”
Nico rolled his eyes and dropped his keys on a console that probably cost more than Luna’s whole wardrobe. “It’s an apartment, Summer.”
“It’s a museum,” Summer said, already walking toward the windows with her arms out. “Luna, come feel how expensive this air is. It’s imported.”
Luna did. The air did feel expensive. Cold and clean and nothing like her tiny walk-up with the radiator that clanked at 3 AM.
Nico watched them both for a second, arms crossed. The muscle in his jaw ticked. Then he sighed. “Come on. I’ll show you the rooms before you start appraising the artwork.”
He led them down a hallway. “Guest room,” he said, opening a door. White sheets. White walls. A bed that looked like it had never been slept in. “Your own bathroom. Housekeeper comes Monday, Wednesday and Friday, 10 AM. Don’t leave dishes in the sink, she hates that.”
“Noted,” Luna said, dragging her bag in. The room smelled like lavender and money.
He opened the door across the hall. Black sheets. Black walls. A king bed. Minimal everything. His room.
Luna didn’t ask which one was his. She could tell. It smelled like cedar and cologne and something she didn’t have a name for.
“Don’t touch the wine,” Nico said, pointing at a glass wall of bottles. “It’s—”
“Expensive?” Summer finished for him, grinning. “We know, Nico. Everything you own is expensive. Including you.”
He shot her a look. “Routine: housekeeper at 10 AM Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Security does rounds at 2 AM. If you need anything, text me. Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.”
“Define emergency,” Luna said.
“Fire. Flood. Marcus.”
Summer clapped her hands once, delighted. “Perfect. Now, family photos.”
Nico stopped walking. “No.”
“Yes,” Summer said. “Marcus wants proof we’re settling in. Candid, domestic, in-love energy. We need pictures by the windows, at the kitchen island, maybe one of you two fake-laughing over coffee.”
“I don’t fake-laugh,” Nico said.
“You will,” Summer said. “Because I’m your sister now and I said so.”
They debated for ten full minutes. Nico said no six different ways. Summer wore him down with logic, guilt, and the threat of calling Marcus.
“Fine,” he said finally, jaw tight. “Kitchen. One set. No pajamas. No hashtags.”
Summer whooped and started arranging things on the marble counter like she was directing a movie.
---
*8:30 PM. The kitchen.*
The photographer left. Summer “went to take a call” which meant she vanished into the guest room and closed the door with way too much intention.
It was quiet again. Just Luna and Nico, standing too close at the marble island with takeout containers between them.
“You were good,” Luna said, poking at her noodles with the wooden spoon she still had no idea how to use. “For a guy who hates this, you didn’t look like you wanted to jump off the balcony.”
“You were good too,” Nico said. He was trying to look casual. Leaning against the counter. Failing. “For someone who can’t cook, you sold the ‘domestic wife’ thing really well.”
Luna gasped. “Excuse you. I was one sprig of parsley away from winning an Oscar.”
“Right,” Nico said. “The parsley you tried to eat three times when the camera wasn’t rolling.”
She threw a piece of scallion at him. He caught it. Of course he did.
“You’re annoyingly observant,” Luna said. “Do you notice everything, or just me being embarrassing?”
Nico shrugged, but his mouth twitched. “I notice things. Comes with the job. Also… you talk to food when you think no one’s listening.”
Luna froze. “I do not.”
“You do,” Nico said. Deadpan. “In the car, when Summer wasn’t looking. You told the gift shop bag ‘don’t worry, I’ll rescue you’. You just whispered ‘you’ve got this’ to that spoon.”
Her face went nuclear red. “That’s a lie.”
“It’s not,” Nico said. And then, because he was apparently evil: “You also said ‘we can do this, team’ to the takeout containers before the photographer came in.”
Luna covered her face with both hands. “Okay. New rule. No talking about my coping mechanisms. Ever.”
Nico’s shoulders shook. He was trying not to laugh. Trying and failing. “What’s your defense?”
“My defense,” Luna said, peeking through her fingers, “is that you probably name your plants. Admit it.”
“I don’t have plants,” Nico said.
“You have that one sad little succulent by the window,” Luna said. “I saw it. It’s named something stupid like ‘Greg’.”
Nico blinked. “It’s… not named Greg.”
“What’s it named then?” Luna pressed, grinning now. She’d found his weakness: being cornered about dumb things.
He hesitated. Just half a second. “Gary.”
Luna burst out laughing. Loud, real, snorting a little. “Gary! You named your succulent Gary! CEO Grumpy Pants has a plant named Gary!”
Nico looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him. “It was my mum's idea. She sent it over last Christmas. Said the apartment was ‘too sterile’.”
“So you kept Gary alive,” Luna said, delighted. “That’s cute. That’s very ‘secretly soft’ of you.”
“I keep Gary alive,” Nico said, very seriously, “because if I kill it, she'll just replace it with something louder.”
Luna leaned on the counter, grinning at him. “This is good to know. CEO of Moretti Corps. Terrified of a woman with a plant budget.”
“You have no idea,” Nico said. Then he ruined it by adding: “She tried to get me a dog once. Called it ‘emotional support for my frown lines’.”
Luna wheezed. “You said no, right? Please tell me you said no.”
“I said no,” Nico said. “Then she got me Gary. I think that was her compromise.”
They were both smiling now. Real ones. No act. No Marcus. Just dumb banter over takeout and a succulent named Gary.
Luna shook her head. “Okay, new rule for our fake marriage: you’re not allowed to be cute. It’s confusing.”
“I’m not cute,” Nico said, but he was still smiling. “I’m strategic.”
“Sure,” Luna said. “Strategically adorable.”
Nico picked up another piece of scallion. He didn’t throw it. He just held it between his fingers, looking at her. “You’re reckless,” he said. But it sounded fond. “You say whatever you’re thinking. Even when it’s ridiculous.”
“Even when it’s about your plant?” Luna asked.
“Especially then,” Nico said. Then, quieter: “It’s… nice. That you don’t treat me like glass. Like I’ll break if someone teases me.”
Luna went quiet for a second. “You don’t break, Nico. You just pretend you don’t feel things so no one notices.”
He didn’t answer that. He just put the scallion on her plate instead. “Eat. Before Summer comes back and decides we need couples’ yoga at 9 PM.”
Luna laughed again. “Deal. But Gary gets a mention in our next family photo.”
“Absolutely not,” Nico said.
“Too late,” Luna said. “I’m already mentally captioning it: ‘The Morreti's and Gary’.”
From the hallway: “Did someone say photo?? Because I’m ready to make this look like a Vogue spread!”
Nico and Luna looked at each other. Both still smiling.
“Separate rooms,” Luna whispered.
“For the public,” Nico whispered back.
But neither of them moved away from the counter for a full ten seconds.
- Writer
