Page 71 of Love Arranged

Lorenzo would kill me if he knew I told Julian, Rafa, and Dahlia about that story, but I rarely get this angry, so I don’t know how to process the feeling before acting on instinct.

My phone vibrates, so I check what else my family has to say.

Rafa

Well. I don’t know about Julian, but I feel like a dick, and I didn’t even comment on his nose.

Julian

Of course I feel like a dick.

Julian

I had no idea his uncle hit him.

Me

For the record, next time you question why I kept our entire relationship a secret, refer to this chat.

Everyone might still be upset with me for mylies, and their emotions are valid, but I’m putting my foot down. Either they can accept that this relationship is happening or they can learn to live with my absence.

I exit the Kids’ Table group chat and open up a new message from Willow.

Willow

Hey, hey! How do you feel about Italian food?

Me

If I ever say no to wanting some, please alert the authorities because I must’ve been kidnapped.

Willow

HAHA. Will do!!

Willow

Do you want to meet up at Lorenzo’s for a late lunch and strategize?

I never skip a Sunday lunch, in part because I have nothing better to do, but the idea of sitting at a table with my family after everything feels like too much.

Me

Sure. Tell me the time and I’ll be there.

Lorenzo’s house reminds me of Julian’s, most likely because it was built by Lopez Luxury prior to Julian restoring older homes with Dahlia. I won’t deny that the mid-century modern mansion is a work of art, full of sharp lines and glass windows that showcase design elements inspired by the 1950s.

It’s stunning, grandiose, and lacking in personality given the limited desert landscaping, but it’s still breathtaking to those who appreciate this kind of aesthetic. I’d much rather have a little bungalow like Willow’s any day of the week, with painted siding, a wraparound porch, a bee sanctuary, and a garden with unlimited access to flowers, but hey, if Lorenzo enjoys a house to match his cold heart, then it’s his money. He should do whatever he wants with it.

Speaking of the devil, Lorenzo opens the door in nothingbut a black T-shirt and jeans. It’s rare to see him looking so casual, and the sight of his thick arms and the faintest hint of abs test my heart rate.

“Ran out of clean suits to wear?” I say coolly as I step inside, only to lose my footing when I glance at his entry table.

I’ve never had the nerve to ask Lorenzo what he does with the flowers he orders, and I’ve spent way too many hours wondering why he bothered if he clearly wasn’t dating anyone. Or at least that’s what I told myself to feel better about making his bouquets because there is no way I would’ve fulfilled the order any other way.

To see one of them in his home, located right by the stairs so he walks by them every day…

Who’s to say he didn’t put them there this morning to look like a good boyfriend?