The Vincitore's beach villa in Sharm El Sheik, with its harmonious blend of modern elegance and coastal charm, boasted panoramic views that stretched endlessly across the azure expanse of the Red Sea. Ivory walls, adorned with cascading vines, framed expansive windows. The soothing rhythm of the waves slowed the perception of time.
Sam stretched his arms at the facade. "Can't believe it's been a year already!"
Apparently, the Easter trip was a tradition. Margherita knew that Re's dad was Egyptian—not like that explained the villa, given that the House of Vincitore boasted properties all around the globe, but his family had roots in this country.
"Let's get settled." Re led the way through a private courtyard, where fragrant desert rose blossoms tinted the air, and a mosaic pool mirrored the cloudless sky.
Margherita had never wanted to be rich; she'd hoped one day to live a life in which her family wouldn't struggle to make it to the end of the month. This extravagant luxury was almost offensive to her, a fierce sense of unfairness mounting. She considered it might just be envy.
The local staff included two people: a butler, who doubled as chef, and a maid, who was in charge of service and cleaning. Re liked to keep the staff at a minimum whenever possible; fewer people in his way, and fewer possible spies to report back to his mother. He never knew whom to trust; hence he trusted no one.
The butler bowed. "Welcome home, Signorotto."
Chiara and Marghe exchanged a glance. Apparently, you could pay people to be obsequious.
Inside, a grand living space with plush furnishings in hues that echoed the ocean's depths opened seamlessly to a terrace with potted plants, a fire pit, furniture, and a hot tub.
Giuliano, gallantly, gestured for Gemma to go up the stairs ahead of him. Chiara was a bit disappointed.
She addressed Sam, "How come you came alone? That's highly unusual."
Sam grinned. "Wanna keep me company?"
"Not even in your nightmares," Chiara answered going up the stairs with Margherita.
Lorenzo followed with the model, Graziana.
At the top of the stairs, Luca showed Chiara and Margherita their room. Chiara went in. Two full beds faced a big garden window.
Luca said, "Pescatore, come with me, I want to show you something."
He opened a door across the hallway where, on the other side of a king bed, a huge window glowed with sunshine. Luca walked to the balcony, sliding open the glass door and revealing a view of the beach, right below.
"This is one of my favorite places. I love this view."
Margherita's eyes filled with light and marvel as she gripped the railing. "Wow, it's so beautiful!"
Luca admired her face, radiant in the sun. He stepped back and hugged her slowly from behind, putting his chin on the top of her head at first, then beside her face. Margherita gasped, feeling his warmth behind her, his solid chest, his breath against her ear.
She moved her hands to his arms, considering getting out of his hold, but not really wanting to.
"Don't get the wrong idea," she mumbled, unconvinced.
He immediately released her, his face intent on hers. "Like what?"
"Like I'm sleeping with you just because you're the darn king."
"You're sleeping with me?"
"No, that's what I'm saying."
Luca deflated. "Well, I'm not sleeping with you either, Pescatore. Despite your beliefs, I'm really not into forcing myself on someone who doesn't want me." He moved beside her, eyes on the sea. "So, do you not want me? You haven't answered me, yet."
Margherita looked up at his profile, struggling with her words, her hand playing with the Saturn pendant she'd been wearing since Valentine's Day.
She answered, in a thoughtful tone, "This is not about wanting. You're asking me to commit, and I don't know you, almost at all. What I know about you, honestly, scares me. Mostly, I feel very confused."
He smirked, impish. "So, you do want me."
She rolled her eyes and walked back to hers and Chiara's bedroom, but his words lingered.
The sun set early in Sharm. Dinner on the terrace was candlelit: fond de veau, whatever that was—some very tender meat—grilled vegetables, and basbousa for dessert.
The chef explained that the popular Middle Eastern dessert was a sweet semolina cake soaked in simple syrup and garnished with coconut. Margherita had two servings.
Lorenzo, shrouded in sadness, was on his third cocktail, completely disengaged from the conversations bouncing around the table, from movies to family properties. Margherita thought that, at least, this part of him was real.
Chiara was watching Re and Margherita like a hawk, concern rising. Mauro had called her before their departure and shared his theory in which Margherita's bike accident had been staged by Vincitore himself, so that he could play the hero. It fit the bill with the violence and manipulations in his past.
Chiara knew Marghe liked Lorenzo, who was in total rebound mode, but was also very much attracted to Vincitore. Chiara herself was not immune to bad boys, though if she'd had to pick one, Giuliano would have been it with his leather cuffs and quiet, solid demeanor. Too bad he was taken.
Sam leaned to whisper in her ear, "Are you crushing on Re? Because that's a lot of staring, not like he'd notice."
"What? Why would I?"
Sam raised his wine glass as if to make a point. "Well, he's handsome, wealthy, popular—"
"I'm more for personality."
Her green eyes paused on his gray ones, on the sliver of chest revealed by his open shirt.
He smiled, smug, until Chiara asked, resentful, "Did your money and looks bring you happiness so far?" Sam froze in a moment of unexpected revelation, features caught mid-flinch. "Thought so."
"Of course it's brought me happiness." He moped.
Chiara didn't acknowledge the lie. "I'm just not sure Re and Marghe are a good match."
"The only way to cure an itch is to scratch it," Sam suggested, seductively.
Chiara leaned her face on her hand, deliberately studying Sam's face. "Bellocchio, I would go with Giuliano or Gemma a hundred times before I even consider you."
Gemma chimed in from across the table. "I'm flattered."
Giuliano countered, "I'm interested. Gemma and I are not exclusive, just so you know..."
Unabashed, Chiara raised her wine glass to both of them, although she was choking inside. "I'm more for monogamy, but thank you."
Sam pretended not to care, pretty poorly. Giuliano watched the emotions on his best friend's face and rejoiced; finally someone was getting under Sam's skin. Maybe Sam was not beyond saving. Giuliano's hopes had started when Sam had failed to select one of his usual floozies for the trip.
Margherita's chair scraped against the terrace. Lorenzo's grief; Re's nonchalant closeness, which alerted her to her darkest and most unwelcome desires; everyone flirting with Chiara, on top of the wine she'd been drinking, mixed in an uncomfortable concoction.
"I'll be right back," she said.
The bathroom was all white marble: two sinks and a walk-in shower with jets and a massage chair. A door enclosed the toilet.
Margherita locked herself inside and splashed her face with cold water, when the door opened behind her. The deadbolt had not clicked in place and, Graziana, the model walked inside.
"Lucky girl," she said. "Re is so yummy. How's he in bed?"
"I—We're not dating."
"But you're fucking, right? No? Interesting." She touched up her lipstick in the mirror. "Fair game if I make a pass?"
Margherita swallowed. "I'm not his keeper, but aren't you dating Tristante?"
The model scoffed. "I wish. The guy is a mess. I'll try my hardest, but then I'm gonna have me a shot with the king." She blotted her lips to minimize smudging.
Margherita felt for Lorenzo—too much. She still had feelings for him. What had happened with Ludo? She wasn't crazy about the jaded model moving in on Luca either, but Luca's defenses and boundaries seemed much, much healthier.
Margherita left the bathroom.
The whole night, she watched Graziana sidling up to Lorenzo. He was passive but did not reject her. He let her kiss him, caress him, and nuzzle his neck, but he acted like a dead shell.
Luca had been watching Margherita sneak glances at Lorenzo. He felt as if his friend had started from a pedestal and Luca from the mud, but why?
"Pescatore, what's wrong?" He asked.
She didn't even hear him, lost in thought. Anger and jealousy boiled inside him.
"Pescatore!" He startled her. "You okay?"
It didn't come out as kind and concerned as his first question. His own feelings had gotten the better of him.
Margherita stood up. "I'm—a little tired. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight!"
She forced a smile and walked up the stairs, Chiara right after her.
Of course, Margherita couldn't sleep.
Was Lorenzo having sex with Graziana? Couldn't the P2 see how lonely and lost he'd looked? Her heart still tugged her toward Lorenzo, the old Lorenzo: cool, composed, aloof, refreshing like a pool of water: the opposite of Re.
Her physical attraction to Re was extraordinary, but she felt cheap for it. She didn't want to be another superficial person who tried to take advantage of the king. The right thing to do would be to sort out her feelings before making a move, any move.
It was two in the morning. Chiara breathed softly in the bed beside hers. The hush of the waves called from outside. She might as well enjoy the magic of the place. She got up and slunk through the house to go outside, on the beach.
Luca had been restless all night: too warm, too chilled, too alone. He felt Margherita's presence across the hallway intensely—so close and yet so far.
The wall between them had been difficult to breach. He didn't know why she was so guarded toward him. Sure, he was Luca Vincitore and all that, but he was also a person. They connected only when the physical dimension overcame her reason.
Was he so unlovable that she wouldn't give him a chance? The way she'd looked at Lorenzo, who'd been stewing in the breakup aftermath, jarred Luca.
Frustrated, he got out of bed. The door across the hallway was ajar. Luca couldn't resist and peeked inside. Chiara slumbered on her side, but Margherita's bed was empty, covers thrown back. The bathroom was empty. He looked everywhere in the house and garden; she was nowhere to be seen.
He knocked gently on Giuliano's room. After a bit of stirring, he heard, "What's up?" Giuliano lifted himself on his elbows, Gemma on her side beside him.
Re opened the door. "Have you seen Pescatore? She's missing."
"Dude, she must have gone for a walk. Chill out."
In Egypt? At night? Alone? That was the dumbest idea Luca had ever heard. Down the hallway, he knocked on Lorenzo's room.
"Come in," Graziana answered in a sleepy voice.
Re opened the door; Graziana, alone, sat up in bed and smiled seductively at him in a black negligee. "Are you feeling lonely? Because I sure am..." she patted the bed, and Luca closed the door, heart in spasms, most certainly not about Graziana.
Sam had no answers either.
On the beach, the moon had regaled the night with a light blue shimmer. The sea was quiet and the stars glimmered above Margherita—and Lorenzo, alone, sitting on the sand. Both of them seemed taken aback by the unexpected encounter.
Margherita untied her hair, self conscious about how dorky she must look in her Hello Kitty pajama.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"Couldn't sleep. You?"
"Same...as usual." He hugged his knees miserable, broken.
Margherita sat beside him, but not too close, playing with the scrunchy. "Were you planning to stay here the whole night?"
"I was." His voice cracked as he bowed his head down, eyes hiding behind his hair.
Margherita sensed his tears and tentatively lifted herself on her knees to gently tap his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
Lorenzo took her hand and tugged on it to get Margherita closer. He suddenly embraced her, head against her shoulder.
She protested, "Wait, what are you doing?"
He looked up at her teary-eyed. "Ten minutes—no, five minutes will do. Can you just hold me?" His gaze held misery. He added, "Days are fine, but nights...I can't quite handle nights alone, yet. Everyone I love seems to leave me, eventually."
He was still holding her hand. His melancholy seeped into Margherita.
She asked, "What about Graziana? I thought you two—"
"I can't. I don't know a thing about her."
He pushed forward, hiding his eyes in the crook of her shoulder. She hesitated, waiting a minute, but he didn't move. Margherita felt tears soaking the shoulder of her pajama's t-shirt.
Finally, she raised her arms and hugged him, loosely, her heart full of his pain. When she squeezed him, he sobbed into her.
This was companionship, very different from the lust she'd shared with Re. She couldn't turn away from Lorenzo. He was the one who'd motivated her to get through those first few months at the academy. The hope of seeing him had gotten her to come back every day, despite her fear of Re.
Finally he pulled back, wiping his eyes. "You should have seen Ludo's face when I showed up in L.A..." Lorenzo told Margherita how happy they'd been for the first couple of weeks. "We spent days in bed, walked around L.A...and we even talked about you."
"Me?"
"Yea, you'd left an impression on both of us."
However, Ludo had gone back to her life, eventually—studying, volunteering—while Lorenzo spent his days waiting for her at home, feeling like a dead weight.
Everything Ludovica had talked about when they'd broken up in Milan, Lorenzo could finally see for himself.
He explained, "...Our relationship was not healthy. She's a grown woman with life goals. I was a high-school dropout, the orphan, problematic, introverted child she'd raised. I should have never slept with her. I don't think I was even in love with her. She was just my...everything. She'd been my goal for the longest time. How childish and deluded." He paused, then added, "I thought of the time you told Luca off."
"Me?" Margherita repeated, feeling dumb. She inadvertently flicked her scrunchy into the sand.
Lorenzo picked it up, puffy-eyed, and smiled. "Yes, you told him how he acted like a big shot but he'd done nothing to deserve his family's wealth. Like he had no right to mouth off anyone. I think those words really resonated with all of us."
Flushed, bewildered by his genuine opening, Margherita struggled to sustain Lorenzo's whimsical gaze, but he was the first to look away, eyes back to the waves quietly caressing the surf.
"I had to leave L.A.," he said, "...figure out my life. Turn myself into someone that the woman I love could be proud of, once I found her. If violin is my thing, then I should apply to musical schools, plan a future, some sort of career. I've never thought about what to do with my life, before. I guess it's the downside of being filthy rich. You don't need to fight to survive. You just live and... honestly, I feel totally empty inside."
Marghe grabbed a fistful of sand, and Lorenzo suddenly snapped out of it.
He added, "I'm sorry! Why did I tell you all this? I—You make it so easy to open up." He hadn't even told Luca about any of this.
Her cellphone buzzed with a text, startling them both. It was three in the morning; had something happened at home?
The text was from Luca. "Where are you?"
Lorenzo looked at her screen. "He must be worried."
"I'll go back. What about you?"
He smiled. "I feel much better, now. I'll stay here." She nodded and turned back toward the house. "Pescatore, thank you."
She smiled and ran back, wishing she could have stayed. It had felt so peaceful, like they were sharing souls, like they were on the same wavelength.
"Where the hell were you?" Luca asked.
He'd been waiting outside the house, and was in her face, as usual, intense like the gates of hell. Giuliano and Sam yawned behind him.
"Oh, my; the gang's all here. I couldn't sleep and went for a walk."
Luca was not dumb. Lorenzo hadn't been in his room either. However, Lollo did suffer of insomnia and had a tendency to roam at night.
"By yourself?" Luca asked, blinded with jealousy.
Margherita was scared and annoyed by Luca's intensity. His energy constantly took her breath away, unsettling her. She nodded, realizing afterward that she should have mentioned running into Lorenzo, but why bring it up? It would only foment Luca's jealousy. Truly, nothing had happened.
Giuliano patted Luca's shoulder. "Told you not to worry."
"Where is Chiara?" Marghe asked.
Giuliano answered, "The king didn't want to bother her." Giuliano emphasized "her," as if implying that bothering them instead was totally fine.
Sam waved jazz hands. "Pescatore, he was freaking out. What did you do to him?"
Luca bonked their shoulders together. "Go back to bed, already."
Sam and Giuliano cussed and poked fun at him all the way into the house. "Someone kidnapped her! Santa Claus!"
Margherita felt terrible. Re's concern had been genuine and probably justified.
"Re!" She called after him. "I'm sorry."
Re turned, his voice soft. "Just leave a note, next time, okay? Let's go to bed."
Re chose to believe Margherita, but Margherita did not believe herself. Something had happened. She remembered Lorenzo in her arms, how vulnerable he'd been, the way he'd looked at her. Her feelings for him pulsated, still lingering into the night.
Author's note: Only two chapters left! Star the chapter if you liked it 🥰 See you next week 😀