Page 100 of The Obedient Lie
“You two arewaytoo high strung,” I muttered, pulling my legs under me. “Do you have any idea how many parties I’ve walked into spas or pools just like this?”
Luca let out a slow breath and stepped forward, pulling the shirt around me tighter. He gently guided my arms through the sleeves, like I couldn’t do it myself. Like he needed the distraction. Or the control.
I let him.
I always letthem.
“Griffin loved it,” I added absently. “He had this kink. I can’t remember the exact name, but it was about putting me on display. People could look, but they couldn’t touch. Helikedthat.”
The moment the words left my mouth, the energy in the room cracked.
Luca knelt down, didn’t speak.
He just started buttoning the shirt up. One by one. Careful. Contained.
But his jaw was locked.
I reached up, tracing the shape of his shoulder, fingers drifting along the tight stretch of his t-shirt sleeve.
“Never really bothered me,” I added softly. “It’s what I’m good at. Being looked at.”
Luca’s eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unreadable.
I let my fingers trail higher, along the side of his neck, featherlight.
“A gem on auction,” I murmured, smiling faintly. “That’s what the advisor said once. I’m supposed to glitter. Make them want me. Make them raise the stakes.”
Neither of them spoke.
I shifted closer to Luca, still playing with the hem of his sleeve. “Can I ask you a question?”
His gaze dipped slightly, unreadable but steady.
It wasn’t a yes—but I took it like one.
“Why do you never have two full pieces of toast at breakfast?” I asked, tilting my head. “It’s always one and ahalf. It’s weird.”
His mouth twitched—an amused little smirk that made something flutter in my chest.
“You’re priceless, Em,” he said, shaking his head as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. Then he stood, stretching just enough for his shirt to pull tight over his chest.
I watched him for a second, then turned to Bastion.
“Can I lay next to you now, or what?”
He looked tense—just like Luca had moments before—but after a second, he shifted and opened his arm.
“Always,” he said quietly.
I curled into his side, warm and full of something fizzy and content.
“I don’t drink much,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.
“Really?” he said, clearly amused.
I nodded, already tracing lazy patterns over his hand. “This one’s still my favorite, by the way,” I sighed, fingers gliding over his knuckles. “It just feels like…you.”
He was still. Listening.
