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Right. Of course. This is good. This is better than good. So why am I so nervous to share another meal with him? It’s not our first. It’s not even our second or third if you count the wedding weekend where we were sat close to each other. I’m being an idiot.

“No, no, it’s fine. Of course you can stay. I’d like it.”

“If you keep rambling,” he says, leaning down low so his smile is bright enough to make me squint. He’s so much taller than me, almost a full foot, and when he gets close and leans into me like this my body does strange things in reaction—like lean closer. “I’m going to have to kiss you again to get you to stop.”

My mouth snaps closed and my teeth click together.

His grin turns wolfish.

“Well, well, well, who is this beautiful piece of canvas that’s arrived in my gallery?” Luca’s voice echoes in the wide-open building, bouncing off gleaming wood floors and brick walls up to the exposed pipes above. His shoes click on the floor, growing louder as he quickly approaches.

“Luca—” I warn, but it’s hopeless. I’d forgotten he was here, and if I’d remembered, I would have ushered Braxton out the door immediately to prevent this exact scenario.

“Luca Gallano,” he says, holding out his hand as he approaches us. “So lovely to have such beautiful art in my gallery this afternoon.”

“Uh.” Braxton’s eyes dart to mine and I shrug.

“He means you’re the art.”

“Uh.”

I stifle a laugh. I’ve never seen Braxton look so uncertain. It’s endearing, and I decide to let this conversation swing however it may instead of attempting to stop it.

I want to see how Braxton can handle Luca, who not only doesn’t care about social manners but instead barrels through them.

“Braxton Henley,” he finally says, gripping Luca’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.”

Luca sighs and covers Braxton’s hand with his free one, so he’s holding him more intimately than just a polite handshake. “What brings you here, Mr. Delectable Piece of Art?”

With his hand still encapsulated by Luca and his other hand still holding our lunch, he gestures with his head in my direction. “Cara. I’m here for Cara.”

Understanding dawns in Luca’s eyes. Still, he doesn’t let go of Braxton’s hand. We’ve now well surpassed the point of politeness with his hand grab, but Luca leans in, tugging Braxton’s hand closer to him. Rolling to his toes, he stage-whispers, “Oh. You’re the man she plays with, I assume then.” He flashes me a deliciously evil wink. “What good taste you have.”

“Played,” I choke out. This is what happens when I let Luca run wild. “Just once.”

“Although I’m hoping for a rematch soon,” Braxton says, and slowly but I can tell firmly from the way his forearm flexes, he peels his hand from Luca’s. “Very soon.”

Kill. Me. Now.

Luca’s boisterous laugh fills the space. “Of course you are! How could you not? Cara is beautiful.”

“She is.” Braxton says the word to Luca, but his eyes are now on me, and he’s no longer confused or embarrassed. No, the look he’s currently flashing is intentional, proving exactly how much he wants that “rematch.”

What in the world have I gotten myself into?

Still, there’s food to eat and a new, strange feeling deep in my abdomen.

“We should eat lunch,” I force out, although my throat is now gritty.

“One more thing,” Luca says, pointing a finger in the air. “You will take care of her, correct? And the baby?”

His delightful teasing is gone, and in its place is a possessive look in Luca’s eyes I’ve never seen unless he’s examining art he wishes to purchase.

“I take care of what’s mine,” Braxton confirms. There’s no mistaking the confidence in his voice.

He might have thrown out the idea of us dating, but it’s clear he already considers me his.

I bristle at the possession, and yet, it smooths away on its own. To be owned should feel like I’m being sent back fifty, sixty years in women’s rights. However, there’s a warmth about it too. I’ve been an obligation. I’ve been a distraction and annoyance.