Page 67

Chapter sixty-six

Luca

I ’m glad we decided not to call it an early night because as exhausted as I am, I wouldn’t change a single thing about the way we just spent our last night here.

I’d never admit this to anyone because I’d run the risk of sounding like Alessandro’s sappy ass, but tonight was… magical.

I had a great time today and really loved getting to know Samara’s family, but they’re just as tiring as she’d said they were. Which happens to be very similar to my experience with my own family, though I think my family fuels me more than drains me, most days anyway.

I lie in bed, pulling out my phone to call Cici, but before I do, I watch as Samara grabs her clothes out of her bag and heads to the bathroom. “You need help in the shower, sweetheart?” I call out like the cheeky ass that I am.

“Screw you, Luca,” she says, rolling her eyes at me, but I don’t miss the little grin she’s wearing.

I don’t even get Cici’s contact up before Samara’s backpedaling out of the bathroom wearing a completely different expression.

“Something wrong, princess?” I ask, nerves settling into my gut.

“I just realized,” she says, biting her bottom lip. Fuck, I wish it were my teeth sunken into that plump flesh.

“Realized what, sweetheart?”

“We never used the hot tub.” She juts her chin out to the patio.

My eyes widen, and I swear to god, my dick salutes this woman on the spot. He’s a soldier, ready and waiting for her command.

Samara saunters past me, her ass swishing as she does, and the movement drives me wild.

I practically catapult out of the bed to follow after her, and when she gets to the sliding glass doors, drawing back the curtains, she undoes the zipper on her dress, looks over her shoulder at me with a sly smirk, and drops it to the floor. The fabric pools around her feet, and I know I’m a fucking goner.

Next thing I know, I’m sprinting out of here, tearing my clothes off like a madman, tossing them over my shoulder, and leaving a mess in my wake. Samara has the hot tub bubbling already as she sits on the ledge, dangling her feet inside. She gathers her hair into a bun on the top of her head. Stray strands fall around her beautiful face, framing her high cheekbones.

God bless her genetics because Kemar and Camila created a fucking angel.

I’ve never in my life met a woman as flawless as she is.

“If you’re done drooling over there, feel free to pick your jaw up off the floor and climb in. The water’s heating up quickly,” she says with a grin.

I climb in, taking a seat beside where her legs are dangling in the water.

My breaths come in quick spurts, and I work to calm my racing heart down. Samara gives me a small, content smile before closing her eyes and leaning back slightly onto her palms.

I tentatively stroke the side of her calf with my thumb, trailing it down her ankle. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t complain.

Her feet and ankles are swollen from dancing and those sexy heels she’s always wearing.

It’s a love-hate relationship for me.

They accentuate her impossibly long legs, making her look even more delectable, but they also look so painful that I resent them for causing her any discomfort at all.

I have a visceral reaction to the idea of that and have to remind myself I’m talking about a pair of shoes right now.

My hands wrap around one of her feet, dragging it into my lap, which makes her pretty thighs part, and I consider begging her to let me put my face between them for just a minute. I dig my thumb into the heel of her foot, and her eyes burst open, her lips parting as she sucks in a breath.

“Too much?” I ask, relaxing my hands and applying less pressure.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s perfect.” Her voice is practically a whisper.

The cool air and dark sky surrounding us make this feel like the most intimate moment we’ve shared, and we’ve been sleeping in the same bed all weekend.

I continue rubbing her feet, working my hands up and down her strong calves, and revel in every moan and hitch in her breathing.

My lids feel heavier with each passing minute, and when she seems totally blissed out and ready for bed, I press a kiss to the inside of her knee before picking her up and taking her back to our room.

She winds her arms around my neck, sleepily shaking her head at me with a small smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I dip my head, pressing a light kiss to her temple and setting her back on her feet.

“Anytime, princess.”

“I’m gonna take that shower now. You calling Cici before bed?”

I nod. “I’ll text first since it’s late. If she’s already asleep, I can wait for her call in the morning.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand before gathering her things and heading to the bathroom.

***

“Gia doing okay?” Samara asks me as she sits on the edge of the bed, detangling her curls and getting ready to put them up in a protective style, just like she does every night. I like that I get to see her like this. Just doing mundane, everyday things that show me little bits of herself.

An easy smile crosses my face. “Yeah, it looks that way. Cici’s doing a really great job with her, but fuck, I miss her,” I admit.

I see Samara’s expression twist in the closet mirror. “Cecily or Gia?” she asks.

“Princess, are you jealous ?” I ask, a slow smirk stretching my lips.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not.” She waves a hand through the air. “I’m just trying to gauge how quickly I’ll have to tell my parents we split up,” she says matter-of-factly. Unfortunately for her, I see right through her, and not only that, but my ego’s big enough to withstand her bullshit.

“Keep telling yourself that.” I chuckle, lying back with my arms tucked under my head. “And for the record, I have no interest in Cici. I’m thankful to have her support and want nothing more than for us to effectively co-parent for our daughter, but that’s all there is to it.”

Our eyes lock in the mirror, but neither of us speaks another word. I can tell she’s fighting herself right now. Hell, probably biting her tongue so she doesn’t have to deny how she feels about me and subsequently lying all in the same breath.

What she may not realize is that everything about tonight showed me how she really feels, and there’s no going back now. Not for me, at least.

***

Samara’s lying beside me, reading her book. I keep stressing about Gia, and my thoughts are racing as I worry about all the things I could’ve done already that might’ve messed her up for the future.

It’s annoying how tired we’d both been, but sometimes when I reach that point of sheer exhaustion and don’t go to sleep right away, it messes with me. I have trouble falling asleep, and my mind doesn’t seem to want to shut off.

I roll over to face Samara, and she immediately rests her book on her stomach. She rolls over to me, and her eyes are glancing at me like I’m about to start talking when she doesn’t want me to. It’s an expression I’ve become incredibly familiar with.

“What is it?” she grumbles.

“When you agreed to work with me, I know that was only as a favor to Rome. But with your other clients…” I trail off, unsure of how to phrase this.

“With my other clients, what, Luca?” She sounds wary.

“How do you know if they’ll be good enough?”

She narrows her eyes at me, closing her book and setting it on the nightstand before propping herself up on an elbow to face me. “Good enough for what?” she asks, tilting her head.

“To be a parent, I guess. I’m wondering how you decide the parent is worth your time, and if they’re actually going to be worthy of that child.”

Her expression softens a fraction as she considers my words. “Luca, I’m not God,” she says, her voice soft. “I don’t know, hell, I don’t think anyone knows who’s fit to be a parent or even what that constitutes. I do the best I can to make an informed decision about who I want to work with, but that’s the best I can do.”

“Do you research your clients before you work with them?”

“Of course I do. I research all of my clients because, unfortunately, I can’t trust them to tell me every bit of the truth. That doesn’t make them a bad person either. We all have things we’re embarrassed by and wouldn’t want to openly admit to someone, including things we’d done so long ago we may not even remember doing them. That’s part of my job. To make sure that if it can be found by someone else, I find it first, so I know how to handle it when in court,” she explains, lying on her side, facing me in the dimly lit room.

Something about the way she says this doesn’t sit right with me. There’s something missing. “Samara,” I tread lightly.

“Mhmm?” she mumbles, yawning.

“Is that the reason you had such a problem with me when we first met?” She quirks a brow, so I elaborate. “When you looked into me, did you find something you didn’t like? Is that why you hated me?”

Her expression is inscrutable as she shifts uncomfortably. “I did,” is all she says.

“And what was it?” I ask, prying the information out of her because there are about a million things she could’ve found that would have left her with a bad taste in her mouth, and I wouldn’t even fault her for it.

She stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time, chewing on her bottom lip as she decides what to say, if anything. By the time she finally answers, I’m nearly convinced she was going to just roll over and ignore me, but what she says next knocks the fucking wind out of my lungs.

“I came across an article that showed a picture of you heading into a non-profit reproductive care clinic with an unidentified woman.” The moment the words are spoken, I feel my stomach plummet. I know exactly which article she’s referring to, and not a single thing in it is true.

“Samara, I know the article. And I can assure you that not only is none of it true, but that I’d never do any of the things I was accused of,” I tell her, keeping my voice firm.

Her eyes look sad as she meets mine. “Explain it to me then, please.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

Her brows pinch together in confusion. “Why not?”

I take a chance, moving to the center of the bed to pull her against me. And to my immense surprise, she doesn’t pull away or give me shit for it. “Because, sweetheart,” I whisper into her hair, “ It isn’t my story to tell .”