Luca

42 - Standing up for what's mine

Sofia

“Wow,” I gasp as the car pulls up beside a massive private jet. “Is this yours?” I ask without looking at Luca. I can’t tear my eyes away from the jet.

“Yes,” Luca chuckles. “It was a present from my parents for my twenty-first. Dray got the same.”

A jet plane for your twenty-first birthday?

Wow!

I’ve never had a birthday present from anyone but Marchello. Even then, it was always something small, something I could tuck away and hide from Papa, a little secret that almost made my heart ache with longing. But nothing ever came close to this. The memory of unwrapping those tiny gifts—quiet, careful, treasured—makes the size of this moment almost overwhelming. I feel small and undeserving, and yet, hope rises, stubborn and bright in my chest. Well, I had gifts from Lorna, but that was usually something to wear, something my father wouldn’t take away from me.

“Come on, beautiful,” Luca says, taking my hand. He winks as I look at him. He lets go, gets out, and jogs around to open my door. I giggle as he helps me out.

Armed security is everywhere, making sure no one gets near us. I’m not sure anyone would even try on a private airfield. But I guess it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

I clutch Luca’s hand tightly as we walk up the metal steps to get on board the aircraft. A stewardess stands at the top of the stairs, wearing a blue and white uniform, smiling seductively at Luca. I laugh inside at how ridiculous that is. I’m not stupid; I know women will find my husband attractive. Only a blind person wouldn’t, but even a blind person would fall for Luca’s charms. As long as they look and don’t touch, I have no problem with it. There’s nothing wrong with looking, as long as they’re only looking. However, I’ll keep an eye on this woman throughout this trip. I’m not a jealous person, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get annoyed.

Luca’s hand never leaves mine as we climb the steps to the jet. The morning air is cool, runway lights glowing like scattered stars. The soft travel outfit Luca chose is perfect for our first trip as husband and wife.

When we step inside, I stop short. The interior is… breathtaking. Soft cream leather seats arranged in pairs. Warm golden lighting. A long sofa along one wall. A polished wood bar stocked with crystal glasses. A private bedroom at the back, its door slightly ajar. Everything smells faintly of cedar and something expensive I can’t name.

“Luca,” I whisper. “This is… beautiful.”

He smiles, guiding me to a pair of plush seats near the window. “Only the best for my wife.”

My heart flutters.

We sit together, our hands still intertwined. I turn to him, excitement and nerves swirling in my stomach.

“So… where are we going?”

He chuckles, brushing a kiss to my temple. “Italy.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Italy?”

“That’s all you get,” he teases. “The rest is a surprise.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “I’ve never even been on a plane before… never mind to another country – our mother country.”

How crazy is it that, as a child of full-blooded Italian parents born in the country, I have never seen it?

All of my siblings have seen Italy. Most of them were born there. But not me.

Luca’s expression softens instantly. He cups the back of my head and kisses my hair. “Then I’m going to make sure you have the best time.”

Warmth spreads through me. I love how well Luca treats me. I didn’t expect to feel this important to anyone, let alone the man I married.

The engines hum to life, and as the jet begins to move, nerves tighten in my chest. My fingers dig into Luca’s hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I’ve got you.”

The plane lifts, my stomach dropping, breath catching. God, this is so scary! But Luca’s thumb strokes my hand, steady and reassuring. By the time we level out, my heartbeat has settled.

I exhale slowly. “Okay… that wasn’t so bad.”

He grins. “Told you. Now, try to relax. We’ve got a long fourteen-and-a-half-hour flight ahead of us.”

Before I can reply, the stewardess from earlier approaches — tall, blonde, perfectly polished. Her badge reads Margot.

“Can I get you anything?” she asks sweetly.

“Water, please,” I say.

“And for you, Mr. Vidal?” she asks, her voice dropping half an octave.

She doesn’t look at me.

Not even once.

“Scotch,” Luca says, not even glancing her way.

Margot smiles — too wide, too eager — and walks off.

I try to ignore the prickling twist in my stomach. Frustration burns—this woman clearly thinks she can snatch Luca’s attention, right in front of me. My chest tightens at the thought. He hasn’t noticed, which steadies me—he wouldn’t disrespect me like that. But her blatant disregard, the way she pretends I’m invisible, stings with humiliating clarity. It feels like a bruise to my pride—a flare of something fierce and protective I didn’t know I had.

When Margot returns, she places my water down gently… then sets Luca’s drink on the table with a slow, deliberate movement, her eyes locked on him.

Hungry.

Hopeful.

Desperate.

Luca doesn’t notice.

But I do.

My jaw tightens.

Margot steps back — still staring at Luca — and walks away without turning around, as if she can’t bear to take her eyes off my husband.

My husband!

Who does something like that?

A sudden, wild heat flares in my chest—sharp, electric, almost dizzying. I’ve never felt so possessive in my life. I want to plant myself beside Luca, daring anyone to challenge what’s mine.

I swallow. “I… I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Luca nods, sipping his drink. “I’ll be right here.”

But I don’t go to the bathroom.

I follow Margot.

She’s at the back of the plane, checking a cabinet. When she turns and sees me, she blinks in surprise.

“Oh, Mrs. Vidal. Did you need something?”

I smile politely. “Yes. Actually, I did.”

She straightens, smoothing her skirt. “Of course. What can I—”

“I just wanted to clear something up,” I say gently.

I’m not here to threaten the woman. That’s not what I’m about. But that doesn’t mean I won’t speak my mind.

Her brows lift.

I step closer — not threatening, not aggressive, just… confident. Calm. Certain.

“Luca is my husband,” I say softly. “And I adore him. He’s everything to me.”

Margot’s lips part.

“And he adores me,” I continue. “Completely.”

A faint flush creeps up her neck.

“So, while I appreciate your professionalism,” I say, still smiling, “I’d prefer if you didn’t… linger when you look at him.”

Her eyes widen. “I—I wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” I say kindly. “I understand. He’s… a lot.”

Margot lets out a nervous laugh.

“But Luca is mine,” I finish gently. “And I’m his. Messing with the Vidal’s is never a good idea. Surely, you know this?” Margot nods once. “Don Vidal is all about respect. I am married to his son. Regardless of how handsome and fit Luca is, the fact remains that he’s mine. So, let’s keep things respectful. Woman to woman.”

Margot swallowed, nodding quickly. “Of course. I’m… I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression.”

“Thank you,” I say warmly. “I appreciate it.”

Her shoulders relax, and she nods again before returning to her work — quieter, more focused, and no longer staring at Luca like he’s dessert.

I think I handled that well enough.

I walk back to the front of the plane, adrenaline rushing in my veins. The anger is gone; what’s left is something hot and bright—pride burning quietly in my chest, confidence buzzing through my limbs, and a protective love that makes every step lighter.

Pride.

Confidence.

Love.

When I return to my seat, Luca looks up immediately.

“You okay?” he asks.

I smile and slip into the seat beside him. “Perfect.”

He kisses my forehead, pulling me close as the jet hums softly around us.

And for the first time in my life, I feel it like a jolt: my identity is finally mine. I’m not just Robeto Romano’s daughter; I have my own power, my own place. The knowledge settles in me—heady, intoxicating, and fiercely comforting.

I’m not someone’s pawn.

I’m not someone’s burden.

I am Luca Vidal’s wife.

And I am done letting anyone forget it.

The rest of the flight passes in a warm, quiet haze.

We ate the meal that Margot served us. She smiled but didn’t let her gaze linger on my husband. I was grateful that she took my words to heart. I wasn’t harsh with her – I don’t think I was, at least. But she listened, so I let it drop.

After our meal, Luca draped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close so I could rest my head against him. The hum of the engines, the soft lighting, and the gentle sway of the jet all felt strangely soothing.

Every so often, Luca pressed a kiss to my hair, or my temple, or the top of my head. Little touches that made my heart flutter.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs.

“Very.”

He smiles, brushing his thumb along my arm. “Good.”

We talk about Italy — the food, the history, the places Luca wants to show me — but he never reveals our exact destination. Every time I ask, he just smirks and kisses my cheek.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He chuckles.

Eventually, the jet begins to descend. My stomach tightens again, but Luca holds my hand the whole way down, grounding me with his steady presence.

When the wheels touch the runway, he whispers, “Welcome to Italy, sweetheart.”

My heart skips a beat of excitement.

I’m in Italy!

Warm air rushes in as the jet door opens, carrying the scent of the sea — salt, sun, and something sweet I can’t name. The sky is dark blue, the moon bright but soft, the breeze is warm against my skin. It’s early morning here, which feels strange.

A sleek black car waits for us at the bottom of the steps.

Luca helps me down, his hand firm around mine. “Careful.”

“I’m okay,” I say, though my legs feel a little wobbly.

He chuckles. “You’re adorable.”

I notice all the security waiting for us. I don’t recognize any of them other than Stefano. He wasn’t on the plane with us, so he must have come on another jet.

The car ride is peaceful. The windows are tinted, the seats are soft leather, and the air is cool. Outside, Italy passes by in a blur of terracotta rooftops, winding roads, and glimpses of sparkling water.

“Luca,” I whisper. “This is beautiful.”

He smiles, eyes warm. “Just wait.”

The car turns down a private road lined with tall cypress trees. At the end of it, the world opens up into a breathtaking view of the harbor.

And there — anchored at the edge of a private dock — is the biggest yacht I have ever seen.

I freeze.

“Luca…” I breathe. “That’s not… Yours?”

He grins. “It’s ours. You’re my wife, Sofia. What’s mine is yours.”

My jaw drops.

The yacht is enormous — sleek, white, and impossibly elegant. Early morning sunlight glints off its polished rails. The name La Stella is written in silver script along the side. Multiple decks rise above the water, each one lined with glass panels and soft lighting.

It looks like something out of a movie.

“Luca,” I whisper again. “It’s huge.”

He laughs softly. “It’s comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” I stare at him. “It’s a floating palace!”

He squeezes my hand. “We’re going out to sea for a couple of days. Just the two of us.”

Excitement bursts in my chest. “Really?”

“Really.” He winks.

“This is my surprise?” I ask. “Just the two of us on a yacht in the middle of the sea?”

Luca nods. “Don’t worry. Security will be nearby, just in case.”

I nod.

Luca leads me down the dock, my heart racing with every step.

A crew member lowers the gangway, but Luca waves him off. “I’ve got her.”

He takes my hand and guides me up onto the yacht himself.

The deck is stunning — smooth teak wood, soft white loungers, a shaded seating area with plush cushions, and a small dining table set for two. The sea stretches endlessly around us, shimmering under the sun.

“Luca…” I whisper, overwhelmed. “This is incredible.”

“Come inside,” he says softly. “There’s more.”

He leads me through sliding glass doors into the main interior.

My breath catches.

The inside is even more beautiful — warm cream tones, soft lighting, polished wood, and floor‑to‑ceiling windows that make the entire room glow. A curved sofa wraps around a low table. A small bar gleams in the corner. A staircase leads down to the private cabins.

It feels luxurious but cozy. Elegant but intimate.

Ours.

Luca watches my reaction with a soft smile. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” I turn to him, eyes wide. “Luca, I love it.”

He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good. Because I wanted our honeymoon to feel like a dream.”

“It already does.”

He kisses my forehead, slow and tender.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let me show you our room.”

And with my hand in his, he leads me deeper into the yacht — into the beginning of our first adventure as husband and wife.