The mansion's staff greeted Re and Margherita with apprehension, immediately taking care of her. She was ushered into a bathroom big enough to contain Margherita's family's apartment, where a hot bubble bath was drawn and she was handed clean sweats. The clothes definitely belonged to a woman, hopefully not an ex-girlfriend.
Getting in the water was a painful affair. All her scrapes burnt and stung to hell and back. Finally sunk in the tub, she appreciated the luxurious warmth. She'd never taken a hot bath before; her apartment only had a shower. Margherita reminisced about the day, and Re's words.
What was his angle? How could she possibly have broken his heart? Why would he like her at all? When she remembered him saying he believed her no matter what, tears pricked her eyes again. He'd trusted her. She'd felt protected, cherished, and had melted in his arms.
On the edge of the tub, her phone buzzed. She reached for it. It was a text from Mauro. "Home safe. Are you okay? I heard about the accident."
She replied, "Yes, all good. What a scare. Re says he didn't plant the red card."
Mauro replied, "Of course he did. Did it occurr to you that he might have organized the accident himself only to play hero?"
Damn.
Re was still the bully who had caused Mauro to almost die, who'd beaten his brother to a pulp, who'd amused himself torturing her for no reason at the beginning of school. She could not forget that, but she could not believe he'd be capable of something so petty and dangerous.
Since their disastrous date, he'd seemed gentler. What had he meant to say right before they'd parted on that day? He'd seemed so whimsical, content even. Then he hadn't discounted the rumors that she was his girlfriend, and she'd taken advantage of it.
Margherita didn't like him—not all of him at least. Not in the way she'd liked Lorenzo, even if she'd idolized him. Sure, Lorenzo could be cold, but he'd been going through a major, dragged-out breakup. Margherita could not condone the king's bullying. And yet, Luca had believed in her, even when pictures had proven her guilt.
Margherita was not capable of the same blind trust. A bully was a bully. She'd seen him with her own eyes.
He said he'd never let her go. What had he meant by that? What did he even know about her?
Her phone buzzed again. Mauro added, "Be careful."
Once finished with her bath, Margherita donned the clean sweats, combed her wet hair with her fingers, and opened the door.
The maid bowed. "Your room is ready, Miss Pescatore. However, the signorotto would like to see you, first."
Margherita followed the maid to a massive solid-wood door.
The maid knocked. "Signorotto, Miss Pescatore is here."
"Come in."
The maid opened the door and did not flinch at the sight of Re, shirtless, in sweat pants, giving them his back as he towel-dried his short black hair. The maid ushered Margherita inside, then smiled, bowed, and closed the door.
What the hell?
Did other people not react to shirtless Re the way she did? Was Margherita out of her mind?
She leaned back against the door, as far from him as she could. The room was enormous. Margherita could see a solid-wood desk, a bookcase stocked with paperbacks, a large telescope aimed at the sky, a punching bag, and, in an adjacent room off to the side, a king-sized bed. To her right, an ajar door revealed a bathroom, now dark, steam lingering on the sliver of mirror she could see.
Re said, "I called your home. I told your mom you'd be staying over tonight."
"You what?!"
Margherita was glad the statement was enough to justify her eyes popping out of her head, because shirtless Re would have done that regardless. He was lean and well-built, like a swimmer.
His hair was all wet and floppy on top. "I didn't want to lie to her. I told her you'd had a rough day at school and wanted to stay over here, and she seemed really happy for some reason." He knew the reason very well. "Good thing she didn't see you."
Mom couldn't wait for Margherita to marry into money, which was incredibly disappointing, but at least she wasn't hung up on her daughter having sex or a boyfriend, probably because Margherita had never been much interested, up until now.
"Staring much?" He asked.
Margherita snapped out of it, realizing she'd barely uttered two words since entering the room and was still ogling his toned abs.
She covered her face with one hand. "I'm sorry. I've had quite the day. You stargaze?" She nodded toward the telescope.
Re pulled on a black t-shirt. "I used to. I received the telescope for Christmas from my dad when I was thirteen. The card said that if I learned astronomy, we could stargaze together when he'd come home for my birthday." He walked to the desk and removed the cap from the lens, adjusting the focus. "Take a look."
Margherita walked closer, a little intimidated, and peered into the telescope. "Oh my god! Is that Saturn?!"
He smiled, leaning way too close to look through the lens. "Amazing, right?"
Margherita stepped away, self consciously. "Did you stargaze a lot with your Dad?"
Ouch. Re would have rather not talked about that, but somehow, Margherita drew the words out of him. He scoffed. "I haven't seen him at all since receiving the telescope. The gift wasn't even from him. Some staff member's idea."
This incredibly sad story reminded Margherita of how, sometimes, trying to make things better, people made them worse.
Re added, "He used to come for my birthday every year, but after the accident with Arcani, he stopped."
She said, "Well, it's amazing that you know some astronomy."
He smirked. "Honestly, I know a lot of astronomy."
Margherita rolled her eyes. "Where are my clothes?"
Re moved to his bed. "In the garbage."
"Are you insane? I can fix them, clean them! We own a dry cleaner—"
Sitting on the bed with his bare feet on the floor, Re lifted from the comforter a couple shopping bags. "I had Murani replace them. You don't exactly wear unique, one-of-a kind—"
She closed the distance to his bed and took the bags out of his hands, examining the contents. Her walking to him was enough to take his breath away. Obviously she did not trust him, and the weight of what he'd done to her at the pool dampened his excitement.
Re loved the way she looked in sweats. To him, her lanky, athletic figure was a monument to strength. Her breasts were small, and her long smooth hair fell down her back in damp waves.
Re casually reclined away from her, weight on his arms, extended behind him. Unaware, she was basically standing in between his legs, and he was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. He hated that she did not feel the chemistry between them as much as he did. He'd thought she had. Most definitely he did not want to make her cry, again.
He added, "A brand new bike is also waiting downstairs, though he couldn't find the exact same model." Murani had given her quite the upgrade, in fact.
She looked down at him, smiling. "Thank you, that was so thoughtful."
The joy her comment triggered within him was unprecedented and embarrassing. Re looked away. "By the way, don't tell me you bike here from Sesto San Giovanni..."
She pulled out the brand new sweatshirt, unfolding it and chuckling at his comment. "Don't be ridiculous. I just use it between school and Happy Pizza."
He reached with one arm around her, and she squirmed, blurting, "Hey, don't get the wrong idea!"
A subdued smile colored his expression; she was not indifferent, after all—or was she simply terrified, after the foolish way he'd behaved in the fall?
He reached for the first-aid kid on the night stand and pulled it on his lap, adding no commentary to her exaggerated reaction.
Margherita blushed.
Re hoped she was not thinking back to when he'd immobilized her...
Chastised he mumbled, "Sit down." He patted the bed beside him, and since he'd open the box rummaging through disinfectant, tape, and bandages, she complied.
He poured disinfectant on a gauze and dabbed gently at her face. It stung, and she grimaced. He muttered an apology, his golden eyes intent on the task at hand.
Margherita's lips parted, and Luca swallowed, focusing on what he was doing, rather than on what he would have wanted to do.
He applied a small adhesive bandage to her face then looked down at her legs. Margherita had rolled up the sweatpants not to bloody them. A few pebbles were still stuck in the scrapes on her knees.
"Look away," he asked.
She did, and he used the tweezers to clean the wounds.
"Ow!" She yelped, gripping and then immediately releasing his bicep. "Sorry," she said, flustered.
He missed the chance to make a joke, because he was utterly flustered by her closeness, butterflies in his stomach. The haphazard figure of speech was actually quite poignant once you had experienced the phenomenon.
Re disinfected and bandaged her knees, taking stock of her pale, shaved, skin. Then he did the same with her hands. No matter what happened, he would not make a move.
Margherita was very much affected by Re's courting dance. He leaned close then pulled back, taking care of her, and she wondered if he'd meant to tease and fluster her, or if it was all in her mind.
For his part, Re wanted to take good care of Margherita, and, well, any pretext to be close was a good one. Mostly, he was terrified to make the wrong move—again—and scare her away.
"Ow, OW! Gentler!"
"Shh! Stay still!" he rebuked, amused at her shenanigans.
Margherita shrank, aware she'd been too loud at the late hour, but if the staff had heard her screams, they did not react.
She asked, "What type of noises are the staff used to hearing coming from your bedroom?!"
"Very loud nu metal, mostly." He could resist and added, "Don't tell me you're objectifying me, Pescatore."
"A little. Nurse fantasy, I guess."
Margherita was clearly teasing, but either she had no idea that she was playing with fire, or she was utterly reckless. Was she over how much of a dick he'd been? Had he won her trust? Much had happened since. Re put on the last bandage on her hand and leaned away from her by pulling up his legs and leaning his back against the headboard. Subconsciously, he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
He knew he was handsome, but he did not want to seduce Margherita Pescatore. He wanted her to love him, which was an issue, because deep down he knew he was not lovable. His phone buzzed, but he was not going out with the P2, tonight.
Margherita was sitting on his bed, her feet tucked underneath her, hugging a pillow like a shield but still here.
He'd never wash that pillow case again. Margherita was mesmerized by Re's composure. She thought, erroneously, that he might be a lot more experienced than she was.
The main difference between the two of them was that she was very conflicted about her feelings, whereas he had nothing to lose and was all in.
Margherita squeezed the pillow in her arms. How could her mom allow her to stay at a boy's house? Even this boy. She was almost seventeen—okay, sixteen and a half—and with a decent head on her shoulders, but still...she looked up at his aggrieved expression.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
"Um, I'm sorry that all of this has happened to you, somehow because of me." If she hadn't been his theoretical girlfriend, she wouldn't have been targeted. He hung his head.
Wow, he could be so humble and responsible.
He looked up again. "So, for real, nothing happened with Arcani?" He was teasing, and she knew it.
She hit him with the pillow, but he grabbed it and she let go of it, afraid to touch Re.
"I'm not like that," she said. "I've never—I'm not into casual—"
He burrowed his face into the pillow, hiding from view. The joy her words were causing to him was too much to share, because even in this, they were similar.
Flustered, still up on her knees, Margherita blurted, "Don't tell me, you're jealous now, come on..." She was absolutely testing him, and it was obvious—too obvious. Her regret was washed away by his reaction.
He lifted his head from the pillow, setting it aside. Had things changed? Could she possibly...?
"I am jealous," he replied, serious, golden eyes intent on her.
He was crosslegged and slouched back against the headboard, so that, for once, standing on her knees, she towered over him, though at a safe distance. Yet, the intensity of his gaze was unsustainable. Amazed by it, she could not look away, drawn to him. How could a seventeen year old be so immature and so mature at the same time? Then she remembered how he'd grown up: revered like a king but, emotionally, completely alone.
Luca was done with games. He had no idea how Margherita felt, but his own feelings were vey clear.
"I am crazy jealous," he pressed.
Margherita felt stuck, frozen. He was truly baring his emotions.
He added, "Pescatore, I'm in love with you."
His disarming honesty hit Margherita hard, winding her. At first, the only hint that she'd heard him was how wide her pupils had dilated, how her lips had parted.
Luca's emotions were in overdrive. He wanted to kiss her so much it hurt, but he waited, very still, for her to process.
Margherita fell back on her butt, staring, an unparalleled heat rising to her face. Wow, he was so intense. The spell between them intensified, the chemistry magnetic.
He must have felt it too because, without breaking eye contact, he sat up on his knees, deliberately slowly, giving her every chance to move away.
He was now centimeters from her face.
Margherita wanted to kiss him, badly, to feel that uncontrollable fire, but not when she didn't have clarity about her own feelings, not when he'd been so honest, not when, as honest as he'd been, she still couldn't quite believe him.
He stopped a breath away from her, waiting, hoping that she would want him this time, that she would make a move.
She mumbled, "Re—" but he rubbed his right thumb gently on her lips, moving closer, again ever so slowly.
"Wait..." she raised her hand.
He took her hand, gently caressing it with his left, looking into her eyes like he could see her soul. Margherita had the distinct impression that he knew what she felt, just as he'd told her earlier.
She looked away. "Wait a minute," she mumbled, unconvinced and unconvincing.
Re nudged her chin back toward him and waited.
When she added nothing, he kissed her, slow and tender.
It was like magic, all over again. Her fist, in his hand, stopped shaking, and her fingers relaxed. She wanted this so much. She gave into the thing between them, drowning in it. Fire surged within her, like it had just been waiting for fuel. She couldn't tell up from down, lost into him.
Re pulled back, overwhelmed and terrified to have pushed too far. She'd definitely kissed him back this time, and he was almost more scared than when she hadn't. She was kneeled in between his long legs, looking down at an indistinct spot on the blanket, her chest rising and falling fast.
He dropped his gaze. "Why are you blushing so much? It's making me feel...awkward." Euphemism. He was a ball of lust.
She glared up at him, newly miffed. Was he toying with her? But he was also clearly flustered. "Re, you're blushing so much it's obvious even with your skin tone, just so you know." Their eyes locked again. He wouldn't hold back the next time.
Margherita scrambled off the bed. "Well, goodnight!"
He seized her wrist. "One sec." He rummaged in his nightstand's drawer and pulled out a small velvet pouch. "Happy Valentine's Day, Pescatore."
Inside the pouch was a necklace with a pendant shaped like Saturn.
"How did you...how did you know we'd see Saturn, tonight?"
"I didn't, but it is the coolest thing in the sky. See, we're like the planet and its ring."
She frowned. "Wait, why are you a planet and I'm just the ring?"
He scoffed. "Pescatore, you're the planet, and I'm the ring; without you I'm just a sea of ice and garbage—It's your gravitational pull that keeps my broken pieces together."
She quivered, moved. "I don't know about that," she mumbled. "But it's really pretty, thank you."
"Don't lose it, Bone Head, it's platinum."
Her mouth opened and closed. "I—I can't keep this."
He chuckled. "Borrow it, then. Indefinitely."
She nodded once and rushed to the door, clutching the necklace in her hands; she loved it.
"Pescatore!" She turned back to him slowly, a hand on the door handle. "For real, don't brush this off." Re was serious, almost imploring.
Margherita nodded, and she meant it. She had to make up her mind and either give him a chance or cross him out for good.
When she closed the door behind her, she leaned against the wall and exhaled, her thoughts in a jumble.
Boy, did she like kissing Luca Vincitore! And this time, she'd kissed him back. In fact, she would have probably deepened the kiss, hadn't he pulled back. She regretted hurrying out of the room as much as she regretted kissing him at all.
Could she believe him? Was it just physical attraction?
She touched her own lips. Kisses were incredible. Yet, her feelings for Re were a mess of anxiety, desire, resentment, and annoyance. Her feelings for Lorenzo had been so clearcut, so clean, in comparison.
Margherita opened her hand and admired the necklace. In very tiny letters, on the back of the ring, Re had engraved L ❤️ M.
Holy cow.
What would she do? He'd ruined her life at school, nagged her, called her names, scared the shit out of her, but he'd also been there when she'd needed help, he'd believed her, he'd never lied to her that she knew of. He'd apologized for the shit that had happened to her.
Neither of them slept much that night.
Author's note: Awww! I loved writing this chapter. If you liked it too star the chapter! Thanks so much for reading and see you next week 🥰