Page 35 of Silent Night With Luca

He grabs an oven mitt, his movements hurried but efficient as he tosses the burning pan into the sink and turns off the gas. I can’t help but laugh, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

“Careful, Luca,” I tease, hopping off the counter. “Wouldn’t want you to burn your… important instrument.”

He smirks at me, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that way that makes my heart skip a beat. “I’ll be sure to keep it away from the heat,” he replies with a hint of mischief. “At least, the kind in the kitchen.”

We share a look, a moment of understanding passing between us.

This thing between us—it’s intense, it’s unexpected, but it’s undeniably real. And as we stand there, laughing amidst the smoke and the remnants of our passion, I realize that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The plates are empty,save for a few crumbs, and I lean back in my chair, patting my stomach with a satisfied sigh. “Well, I’m not half bad in the kitchen, huh? Except for the coffee. That was a bit weak.”

Luca smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, not bad, if you like burnt bacon.”

I throw my napkin on the table and grab the nearest thing, one of the leftover biscuits, and lob it at him. “You’re such a jerk.”

He laughs, catching the biscuit with one hand. His boisterous laugh booms with amusement. “Hey, I’m just saying. It wasn’t your best work. The bacon, I mean. Everything else was exceptional.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling. This lighthearted banter is something I didn’t know I needed. “Well, if you’re such a connoisseur, why don’t you go get us some real coffee? You know I love my cappuccino.”

Luca stands, stretching his arms above his head, and I almost melt at how effortlessly handsome he looks. “That’s a good idea. I can’t drink this mud water.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “Is that directed at me?”

“No, I’ll give you a pass on that one.”

“Hmph,” I cross my arms, but he just grins, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be back in a few.”

“Thanks,” I say, my voice softening as I watch him head for the door.

Once he’s gone, the suite is too quiet, and I want to busy myself. I glance at the pile of his clothes from the night before, bloodstained from the ambush. It’s a mess, and I don’t want the maid service getting curious about it. I figure I’ll try to loosen that blood stain before it sets in.

I gather up his clothes and head to the bathroom, pulling them apart to toss in the wash. As I reach into his pants pocket, my fingers brush against something—small, crumpled. I pull it out, frowning as I unfold the slip of paper.

It’s a receipt. For a necklace.

A women’s necklace.

My chest tightens, and I stare at it, my mind spinning. Who’s this for? It’s dated the day I flew in. The price isn’t cheap, and my heart drops a little further. Is this, whatever is happening, nothing but an affair. Is he just cheating with me on someone he has at home?

I try to shake off the feeling, but the doubt creeps in, sinking its claws deeper. I don’t begrudge him, nor blame him, for having someone at home. But I do if he is being unfaithful with me.

Of course. Of course a man like him—this fucking hot, dangerous, alpha type—isn’t going to settle down with just one woman. What was I thinking? I laugh bitterly tomyself, feeling stupid for even letting myself believe that there could be something more between us.

He probably has someone waiting for him back home. Or worse—multiple women. And here I was, letting myself think this was some kind of Christmas love story.

I toss the receipt onto the counter, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment suffocating me. I finish loading the wash, the movement mechanical, but my mind is elsewhere—caught up in the hurt that’s now simmering beneath the surface.

When I hear the door open, Luca walks in, all cheery, holding two cups of coffee. “I got your cappuccino. You’re welcome.”

I glance at him, but the smile I would have given him a few hours ago is nowhere to be found. Instead, I offer a curt nod, taking the coffee from his hand without saying much more than, “Thanks.”

Luca’s brows furrow slightly, sensing the shift in my mood. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, my tone sharper than I intend, not wanting to get into it. It’s not my place. He doesn’t owe me anything.

He raises an eyebrow, his voice dropping lower. “Fiamma, don’t give me that. What’s going on?”

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