Chapter 8
1492 Words
LUCA
I stood in front of the mirror, half-dressed in a crisp white shirt with the top buttons still undone, humming a tune that had no rhythm and laughing under my breath like someone who had absolutely lost his mind. My reflection stared back at me with the stupid, funny grin I had been trying to suppress for hours, but every attempt to wipe it off only made it stretch wider. I dragged a hand through my hair and leaned closer to the mirror, unable to stop the small burst of amusement that escaped my chest.
I kept replaying that moment in front of our gate, the look on Aria's face when she turned and saw me, the disbelief in her eyes, the awkward stumble she made when she tried to move away, and the way she whispered my name like she had seen a ghost.
And then that question, "Did you arrange this house for me?" I would give anything to see that reaction again.
I had lied so smoothly that even I almost believed myself. "It's strictly a coincidence," I had said, pretending innocence, watching her scan my face as if she could draw the truth out of me with one long stare.
The memory made me laugh again, louder this time.
Behind me, Darrel, my manager was standing with an iPad in hand, frozen mid-scroll, staring at me the way someone stares at a person who suddenly begins speaking in a strange language.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Luca... are you okay?"
I glanced at him in the mirror, still wearing that ridiculous smile. "I'm great."
He blinked slowly, obviously unconvinced. "You're laughing at your own reflection."
"Maybe my reflection is funny."
"No. You're acting strange, suspiciously happy. And you haven't been this happy since..." He paused, choosing not to poke the sore spot. "... ever. So what exactly is going on?"
I shrugged lightly, grabbing my watch from the dresser. "Nothing special. The weather is good. The day is calm. And my life is good."
"Uh-huh," he muttered, stepping closer and taking the tie from the dresser. "Turn around."
I did. He stood in front of me with an exasperated expression, lifting the tie and looping it around my neck like he had done a thousand times since I entered the public eye. Darrel loved to claim that if he didn't dress me, I would show up to press conferences, looking like I fell out of a ceiling.
He tightened the knot slowly, studying my face. "You keep smiling. That is very unusual. Should I be worried?"
"Absolutely not," I replied, still amused.
"Should I schedule a medical check? Because this level of calm joy... is not characteristic."
I laughed under my breath. "Stop acting like I'm traumatizing you by being happy."
"Well, you are," he said, pulling the tie gently to adjust it. "Since you usually only smile like this after six victories in a row, a trophy in your hand, or a very expensive endorsement deal."
"I'm allowed to be in a good mood."
"Yes, but you're smiling like someone who knows a secret."
I did.
A very satisfying one.
He stepped back to admire his work. "Alright. Whether or not you've hit your head, I need to brief you. Today is busy."
"Go on."
He glanced at his tablet. "You have a morning meeting with StreamWave Cosmetics regarding the new commercial. Then, a promotional photoshoot for a sports magazine. After that, a long interview for the athletic network. Then we move to the conference hall for your prechampionship press conference."
I nodded, fastening my cufflinks.
"And," he added, lowering the tablet as though he wasn't sure how I would react, "you have a dinner this evening."
"With who?"
"Karen."
My smile dropped instantly.
"Karen... who?"
He sighed dramatically, as though I should already know. "Karen Forge, the popstar. She has a massive international following. Has a fan base that practically worships her. She's been hinting at being single and open to meeting new people for months. The public thinks you two are a good match."
I stared at him without blinking. "Why would anyone think that?"
"Because popularity loves popularity. And because she posted a picture with your billboard behind her last week with the caption, I wonder when I'll meet him. Her fans nearly set the internet on fire. Their combined enthusiasm crashed her comment section."
I groaned softly. "Darrel... no."
"Yes."
"I don't even like her."
"You haven't met her."
"I don't want to meet her."
"The public wants you to."
He raised one eyebrow, the managerial look he gave me in moments when he needed me to behave like a human brand instead of a person.
"Luca," he said slowly, "this dinner will help your public image. And hers. She's a big name. You're a big name. People expect it."
"I will not fake interest in a woman I do not care about," I said flatly.
"You are not faking interest," he corrected calmly. "You are having one dinner. One. Dinner."
He even held up a single finger as though I needed help with the mathematics.
I sighed heavily. "One dinner."
He nodded. "Just one."
"And then never again."
"Agreed."
I exhaled in resignation. "Fine. One."
Darrel returned to scrolling through his tablet, relieved.
I returned to the mirror.
My smile didn't come back.
Not until much later, when the day had dragged me through meetings, cameras, lights, questions, and more questions. I endured everything with a casual professionalism I had long mastered. But the press conference was the most exhausting part. Reporters were relentless and nosy and utterly determined to make my personal life their property.
I sat on the stage behind a long table, Darrel on my right, the championship banner behind us. Bright lights burned my eyes as cameras flashed.
A reporter leaned forward. "Luca, rumor has it that you are dating pop star Karen. Care to confirm or deny?"
I gave the polite half-smile I reserved for nonsense questions. "I focus on my career. That is my priority."
Another reporter jumped in. "So you won't deny it?"
I opened my mouth. "I..."
"Ahh," several reporters chorused with delighted suspicion, as though I had confessed a national secret.
Darrel placed one hand on my arm beneath the table, signaling me to calm down, play calm, and don't complicate things.
I closed my mouth and leaned back, letting the crowd draw whatever conclusions they wanted. It wasn't worth the argument.
Hours later, after the press had drained every last drop of patience out of my system, I sat across from Karen at an elegant restaurant.
She was beautiful, charming, soft-spoken, and polished. Yet, I could not convince myself to care.
I smiled where I needed to smile. I nodded politely. I answered her questions in a calm, pleasant tone. She wasn't unpleasant, she wasn't arrogant, and she wasn't even trying too hard.
She simply wasn't Aria.
A waiter poured wine into our glasses. Karen leaned forward, brushing a hand against my sleeve as she spoke. "You know, the fans really love the idea of us together. They think we have chemistry."
"Fans have very creative imaginations," I replied.
She laughed softly. "Come on. Don't tell me you don't find me at least a little interesting."
"I find everyone interesting," I said smoothly.
It was the safest answer I could give.
After a few more questions, she lifted her phone. "Let's take a selfie. The fans will want to see this."
Before I could respond, she moved closer, looping her hand through my arm and leaning into my shoulder.
The phone screen brightened, the camera opened, and then, through the glass walls of the restaurant, across the street, under the glow of passing headlight, I saw Aria.
She walked slowly along the sidewalk, her shoulders hunched, her gaze lowered, and her entire posture weighed by something. She looked exhausted and defeated, hurt in a way that made my chest twist sharply.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
My mind flashed instantly to the past and the slap she gave me years ago, the burning humiliation of it, and the sting of knowing she believed the worst of me. I remembered the way she looked yesterday when she nearly tripped, how fragile she seemed and how strong she forced herself to be.
And now she was walking past a restaurant where I sat with another woman's hand wrapped around my arm.
Instinct took over, and I gently but sharply pulled my arm free from Karen's grip.
Her smile faltered. "Luca...?"
But I barely heard her.
My eyes stayed locked on Aria, watching her pass without lifting her head without noticing me and without even sensing the bond that vibrated painfully inside me.
Something had gone wrong in her day.
Something had hurt her.
And I couldn't do a damn thing about it from across a room full or strangers and flashing lights.
- Writer
