Page 16 of A Game of Ruck (Carolina Rugby #2)
Please don’t let this be true.
I stand there, every cell in my body locked in panic, watching Luca talk to his father like the world hasn’t just tilted on its axis.
Anthony Moretti.
The name alone is enough to make my stomach twist.
The man is a walking cautionary tale, infamous for turning on his crew after years of racketeering.
He’s been on the news.
In documentaries.
In whispered warnings podcasters used to rant about, ones I listened to at the otherwise empty dinner table when I was growing up.
My father didn’t have a lot of time for me then. Still, I know he knows who this man is.
I just didn’t know he was related to my— to my what? Fake date? Weekend lover? Latest heartbreak.
Now, I’m standing here with the famous Luca Warden— or the infamous Luca Moretti, I guess —and he is still just there.
Like some sexy, charming, completely fake dream I never should’ve let myself believe in.
Oh my God.
What if it was all a setup?
I mean, I bought him. At an auction. For charity.
What if it wasn’t chance?
What if he knew who I was and chose me?
What if this whole thing— his attention, his sweet words, the sex that felt too real —what if it was just a way in?
So his father could cozy up to my dad?
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been set up to be used for my family connections.
Shit. I’m such a fool for thinking this could be different.
My chest tightens.
The air feels too thin.
I excuse myself from the group, muttering something about needing to check my makeup.
No one stops me. No one even notices.
Except Luca.
He’s on my heels within seconds.
“Annabeth,” he calls, catching up with me just outside the terrace doors. “What’s wrong?”
I spin around, hands shaking, eyes hot with unshed tears.
“Is that really your father?”
He nods slowly, confused. “Yeah, but?—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His brows pull together. “Because I haven’t spoken to the man in over ten years.”
“Are you—are you in the mob?” My voice breaks. “Is this a setup? Are you trying to get close to my dad for business or something?”
“What? No!”
His voice rises with emotion.
“Annabeth, I’m a rugby player. I left all that shit behind when I was a kid. I don’t even have his last name! I took my mom’s. I’ve been hiding from him since I was old enough to understand what he really was.”
I wrap my arms around myself, every instinct torn between trusting him and running.
He steps closer, not touching me, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his body.
“Look at me,” he says softly. “If I wanted something from your dad, do you really think I’d be here like this? Wrapped around your finger? Spending every second of this trip wanting you, needing you, falling for you?”
My lip trembles.
“This isn’t pretend for me, Annabeth. It hasn’t been since the moment our eyes met at that damn auction!”
I blink. “Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. About him. I just wanted you. But I know from experience that the moment I say Anthony Moretti is my father it changes things,” he admits. “I guess I was right.”
God help me, I want to believe him.
But I’ve been used before.
I’ve been made to feel like the consolation prize, the fat girl with the rich dad, the pawn.
And if I let myself fall again, what happens when he decides I was just a means to an end?
I turn away, but not before I whisper, “I need some air.”
And behind me, I hear him say, “I’ll wait. However long it takes.”
But I’m already walking away, closing doors and steeling my heart against him. Because I know what happens next.
My heart gets thrown in the dirt, that’s what.
I might have been stupid for wanting a fake date to act as a buffer to deal with my cousins and this awful wedding trip.
But I’m not stupid enough to believe in happy endings for someone like me. Not with someone like him.
So, as I round the corner and head to the ladies’ room, I do the only thing I can think of.
I text my father first, then I call the private airport and tell them to fuel up my jet.