Page 1 of Trouble in Love
Luca
Iread one of my sister’s romance books once. Tucked in bed beside my neighbor and best friend, Asher, I ignored how my heart raced whenever his thigh brushed against mine and the tenting crotches of our sweats. The flames of teenage lust were fueled by the story’s content—fairy porn. Until that chilly winter afternoon, I had no idea it was a thing, and it was a revelation.
In this hedonistic realm, be you fae, demon, male-female, or non-binary, love was love. Sex was sex. There was no gay, no bi, no demi or pan. If you were into it, a body part was big enough, hard enough, and lubricated enough, it was thrust inside a consenting hole in positions my innocent mind could never have dreamed of ... but later Googled.
It was the best and worst book I could have picked from Anabela’s overflowing shelf. Not only because the boner situation made it awkward as fuck, but because in my mortal bi-erasure-prone realm of a scared, NHL-bound queer kid, that kind of acceptance just didn’t exist.
That innocent boy with his life ahead of him seemed an eternity away as I closed my heavy eyes. Not because they were threatening to leak like a hungover goalie.
No. It was the light.
I was shielding them from the light.
After all, there was no reason to cry. I was standing at the altar of an ivy-clad church that had taken weeks of extensive research to find. This was a happy place. A happy day.
Clara, the bride, sure looked thrilled as fuck. Radiating glee, she tossed her bouquet of blood-red roses into the air, laced her fingers into her man’s, and dragged him through doors and into their future. It was a beautiful sight. One I would most likely have celebrated had rib-crushing pain not been slicing through my chest.
The man—the one holding Clara’s hand—was not the intended groom, you see. I was.
“Now may not be the time to say this—”
“Like that’s ever stopped you,” I murmured, hoping Ana, resplendent in gold chiffon, would not hear.
“But it amazes me that you can spot a tiny black disc hurtling towards you at a hundred miles per hour, yet you failed to see this coming.” She nestled her head between my shoulder blades, the stiff bouffant of her hairstyle gently grazing the nape of my neck, offering a welcome distraction. “Did I, or did I not tell you she would pull this shit?”
“You did tell me,” I choked out. “Of course, you did because you are a wise and brilliant defense lawyer, while I am a dumb puck-chasing jock.”
Slipping her arms around my waist, Ana trapped me in a cuddle I sorely needed and definitely leaned into. “I’m a prosecutor, not a defender, and you are not dumb.”
“I dunno. You’ve told me the defender thing a million times, but I still get it wrong.”
“You are not dumb,” she reiterated. “And you deserve so much more than this, Luca. You’re kind-hearted and trusting and think you’re in love.”
Think?Frustrated, I closed my eyes, and silently wished for the strength not to scream, before blinking them open. “I don’t think I’m in love, Ana. I know I am. Clara’s perfect for me. The only problem is she doesn’t think I’m perfect for her.”
Ana didn’t either. She’d never seen Clara as a humble, intelligent, and beautiful Midwest girl who agreed to dig me out of the shit hole my attention-seeking-dick had dug. Anabela’s jaded mind saw Clara Nightwing—gold-digging, up-and-coming actor/environmentalist profiteering of my potential misfortune.
HOCKEY DAILY
Caught D’Cruzing. The second highest-paid rookie in NYC hockey history, Luca D’Cruz, captured pants down in wild bi-orgy.
Had those articles been posted online I would have been a laughingstock. A pariah. An unmitigated, unmarketable disaster.
Direct quote from my agent.
His solution? Give in. Pay off the sleazy editor with a chunk of hush money and exclusive coverage of my up-and-coming engagement and marriage. My fake marriage.
To a woman, naturally.
It was supposed to be easy. Meet my future wife. Move in together. Pop the question. Live happily ever after … under the paparazzi’s watchful lens. But could losing my reputation—mycareer—have felt worse than standing at the altar watching the woman I’d stupidly fallen for run into the arms of another man? In time, hindsight may have changed my response, but with my sister’s warm breath and hot take burning my ears, it wasn’t even close.
Still in Ana’s clutches, I twisted until we were face to face, expecting a harsh expression of judgment to match her tone but finding a forced smile of sympathy that sharpened the dagger lodged in my heart. “Luca, I think–.”
Before further pearls of wisdom traveled from her brain to her giant mouth, Father Nagote appeared by our side, placing an affectionate pat on my clenched fist.
“Would you like to make use of my private chamber? I’m sure your sister wouldn’t mind addressing family and friends on your behalf. Everyone would understand.”
“Yes, yes, you should do that,” Ana implored, “Go and let me deal with this. We both know how much I love an audience.” Ana’s grip tightened—grounding me, even as my feet itched with the temptation to run.
