Once back in the room, Margherita woke up Chiara and told her everything that had happened.
Chiara hugged her pillow. "So, is it official? Do you have feelings for Tristante?"
"I have very different feelings for the two of them, and honestly, that alone is surreal."
Chiara agreed. "But different how?"
Margherita tried to describe her emotions. "With Re I feel on fire, but also not safe—not like he'd hurt me, but like I might lose control; do things I'd regret later, you know?"
"And with Tristante?"
"With Lorenzo, I feel safe, like I understand him and I can help him. When we hugged, I felt serene, quiet, like everything was right in the world."
Chiara yawned, pleased. "I think you have your answer."
And maybe Margherita did, but she still could not rest.
The sun rose around six, and Margherita got up.
Serendipitously, Re opened his door right when she was walking past and grinned at her. "Perfect! Come in." He dragged her inside his room and Margherita's resolutions, so solid hours before, crumbled to pieces the moment he seized her wrist.
Luca led her to the balcony; the sun was rising over the Red Sea, peaceful, serene, magical. Swaths of orange, gold, and pink tinged a few sparse clouds with a divine glow.
"Pescatore... " Re's melancholy startled her. "What is it that you feel for Lorenzo that you don't feel for me?"
Margherita swallowed, glad he hadn't asked the other way around. "I feel...in control."
"And that's a good thing?"
Throughout Re's life, control had been imperative: the image of himself he projected was of prime importance to the president and the company, way more than Luca himself. As a consequence, Luca had a clear picture of his public image, whereas his true self was vague and stunted.
Pescatore was the first person who'd been able to tell the difference between the two—the bratty bad boy and the Vincitore heir—calling Luca's attention to his neglected soul. She'd made him understand that he could control his true self as much as his image, but according to his own desires rather than the president's.
Possibly as a consequence, Pescatore teased out his soul and his instincts like no one else. He felt utterly at the mercy of his emotions and desires, and he loved it. The loss of control was inebriating.
Unfortunately, however, Pescatore nodded. Apparently, being in control was a good thing for her. Dawn softened the blow. Maybe that didn't necessarily mean she was in love with Lorenzo.
Re added, "Everyone will be sleeping for hours. Get ready, I have an idea for breakfast. You in?"
Margherita nodded, her chest a bit lighter now that she'd told Luca how she felt, if only a bit. She did enjoy time with him and his hospitality had been impeccable.
He added, "Give me half an hour; I'll meet you downstairs."
Margherita lathered sunscreen on, then she put on a red one piece and a baggy hoodie made of threadbare cream cotton that reached to mid thigh. She grabbed her beach bag, she couldn't wait to swim, and headed downstairs.
Re waited for her in the garden in beige chino shorts and a white button down that looked particularly amazing against his brown skin. One day she'd get used to how handsome he was.
They walked together along the surf, soft waves washing over their bare feet. Luca noticed the outline of Margherita's red swimsuit under her see-through, baggy top.
Hands in his shorts, he said, "Need a loan to buy clothes that will actually cover you up?"
She laughed, kicking sand at him. He splashed her. It was so easy to be with her, but he wanted so much more than this, his longing a constant tension inside him.
Soon, the table he'd set up came into view, decked out with fruits, cereal, cookies, yogurt, cake, and even two cappuccinos—probably lukewarm, but he'd wanted to be alone with her with no butler poking around.
Margherita's eyes widened, brows shooting upward. "You did this?"
"Tah-dah!" He helped her into one of the two chairs.
Waves lapped at her feet. "Is the tide rising or ebbing?"
"Ebbing, I hope. If it's rising, I'm in your hands."
"What do you mean?" She asked, mouth full of strawberries.
Luca seemed self conscious. "Uh, I thought you knew. I, um, can't swim."
Now, he'd done it. Margherita was truly astonished. The cappuccino was creamy and sweet.
She laughed at him and teased him to no end. "The great king can't swim? I mean, how many Italians cannot swim—excluding the ones who have no access to the sea? You have a yacht! How can you not swim?"
Luca chewed his lower lip. Pescatore had a gift for getting under his skin.
Margherita stopped laughing the moment Luca chewed his lip. The simple gesture triggered all sort of thoughts, such as...biting his lip. She shivered.
Meanwhile, Re pulled out his phone, which was the unsexiest thing he could have done. He placed a video call, the free line hooting.
"Hey!" He smiled. "Yes, we're here. Take a look!" He moved the phone slowly to pan over the ocean and Margherita, who squirmed away with her mouth full of cake.
Through the phone, her mom's voice screeched, "Marghe! You rich bitch!"
Luca cracked up so hard, he passed the phone to Margherita. Her whole family was on the other side of the video despite the ungodly early hour.
"Mom, I told you it doesn't sound right in Italian."
Her little brother's face filled the video. "Ask Re if we can keep the phone afterwards. I can play all sort of games on this."
Re, who'd been enjoying the interaction by watching the display of emotions on Margherita's face, chimed in. "All yours, buddy. Just convince your sister to date me."
Marghe blurted, outraged but also amused, "I'm not a ho, good lord! Are you buying my family?!"
"I'm a ho!" Alessandro answered. "Anything for this phone!"
Dad bopped him on the head. "Good girl. You keep your head on your shoulders. Luca, you kids have fun! See you in a couple days!"
Margherita marveled at how expressive Luca's eyes were; the intensity of his emotions clearly displayed. She'd seen only cynicism and boredom in those golden eyes when she'd met him. Yet, since then, she'd seen fury, warmth, joy, endearment and...the most intense desire. The memory made her quiver.
Luca put the phone away, tilting his head. "What?"
Margherita blushed, looking away. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"Oh, yeah?" He stood up, graceful, feline, his intense gaze teasing her as he unfastened the top button of his shirt, then the second.
"What are you doing?" Margherita asked, unable to unglue her eyes from his chest.
"I'm stripping for you." His shirt was now unbuttoned, his flat stomach in plain view.
"Whoa!" She looked away. "Keep your clothes on, man!"
He unbuttoned his shorts, impish. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Pescatore. Don't you want to swim?"
He tossed his shorts on the chair, revealing swim trunks, and splashed into the shallow surf, spraying her.
Margherita was flustered and exhilarated. When she hastily pulled her hoodie over her head, laughing; a wave splashed into his mouth and he coughed.
"Don't drown, yet!" She hollered right before diving in, a fish in her element.
The water was warm. He sat in it, hugging his knees by the surf, admiring how confidently Margherita swam farther out; a true force of nature. He'd never seen her swim before.
Feeling apprehensive, he yelled, "Stay close! There are sharks around here!"
The thought that he wouldn't be able to help her, killed him. Fortunately, she swam back to him, and he relaxed.
Luca sat in the shallow water, clear water lapping at his chest. Margherita was overjoyed; she'd never swam in tropical waters before. Some colorful fish, blue and yellow, darted around them. She planted her hands in the sand a couple meters away from him, face half submerged, in and out of the water.
She said, "Thank you; this is amazing."
Re's gaze softened. He wanted to say a million things but nothing came out.
Margherita's expression took a sly hue. "So, how come the great king never learned to swim?"
Luca didn't like to talk about it. "I—Um...was kidnapped when I was four—" Horror did not suit Margherita's face and he regretted opening up.
"It's okay," she said. "You share what you want to. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
She'd read about his kidnapping before, but the news sunk in differently, now that she knew him personally.
Luca decided to continue. "Lollo and I were going to the seaside in Costa Smeralda with his parents. I'd go with them every summer since my parents weren't around..."
However, the Tristante didn't have the security detail of the House of Vincitore. Lollo had wanted to stop by the road to get some beach toy he'd seen. Tired from the trip, his parents had caved. The driver took Lollo into the store, leaving Luca in the car with the parents. Luca had been annoyed with Lorenzo, because they had all the toys in the world at the villa, and Luca couldn't wait to get there.
Two strangers had hijacked the car. They'd been stalking the little group, waiting for the perfect chance to kidnap the Vincitore heir and make a fortune.
Luca added, "Of course, fortunately, Murani wasn't far."
"Who?" Margherita asked.
"Murani. Now he's the head of the Vincitore's security staff. Back then, unbeknownst to me, he was my body guard."
Murani had chased the runaway car. The hijacker had lost control and drove off a cliff.
"I almost drowned," Luca explained. "Murani rescued and revived me, but since then...well, I've just never got over it."
Margherita was appalled. "And you never received therapy or any care for your trauma?"
Luca scoffed. "The witch—I mean, the president, my mother—does not believe in therapy nor trusting strangers with my weaknesses." Re's guilty gaze sought her eyes; he wasn't supposed to confide in others.
Unfortunately, Margherita was on a different wavelength. She asked, "Is that how Lollo's parents died?"
Luca nodded, sullen at the information he was sharing but also because Margherita's thoughts once again were stuck on Lorenzo.
Luca confessed, "Yes, they died because of me. It was the least my family could do to take him in for a while after that."
"He had no family?"
"His grandpa freaked out. I'm not quite sure what happened, but he had quite the mental breakdown, renounced his wealth and abandoned Lorenzo. They've been estranged since."
They were quiet for a while, the soothing breeze and lapping water healing, after the heavy words.
Then Margherita proposed, "I could teach you to swim, just a little, you know? So that you'd be more comfortable in the water."
Re was leaning back on his arms, skeptical. "Would you hold me?" He teased.
Margherita raised one eyebrow. "Vincitore, I'm gonna grope you everywhere."
They burst out laughing so hard he almost choked on a wave again.
"Don't be an idiot," she said. "But I think that in an hour I can help you some, if you give me a chance."
Luca kneeled in the sand and lifted his arms. "Grope away."
Margherita moved gracefully around him, positioning herself with an arm, extended, behind his back, without touching him. "Lean back."
"How?"
"As if you knew how to float, knowing that my arm is underneath you; I will not let you go under." Luca was tense and wary. "Re, I promise."
He nodded and, fighting panic mostly out of pride, leaned backward. Margherita's arm lightly touched his back. Startled, he went back to his knees.
"Pescatore, you suck at groping. Can I show you—"
"I'm not ready to drown you, yet. Again."
"Yes, ma'am."
They repeated the exercise. Margherita taught him to relax, keeping his back straight. She showed him how, if he filled his cheeks with air, there'd be no way for his head to sink. After a good twenty minutes, he was finally floating on his back, above her arm, on his own.
"See?" She smiled so warmly at him, he considered proposing marriage right then—not really. Yet, if this was not an emotional connection, what was?
"Guys!" Giuliano waved at them from the beach.
It was almost ten and everyone was up. The butler had cleared the table and brought out umbrellas and chaises. Sam and Graziana were setting up a beach volleyball court. Gemma was sunning herself, sipping an orange drink.
Margherita spotted Lorenzo, sitting alone in the shade of an umbrella, looking out at the sea, where Luca and Marghe had been swimming. Margherita wondered how long he'd been watching them.
A long time.
Long enough to get anxious about having lost his window of opportunity with Margherita. Long enough to wonder if she was in love with Re.
Re and Margherita moved ashore and lay in the sun, drying off. Both of them had barely slept and within minutes were fast asleep. Lorenzo watched them sleeping side by side for a while, contemplating the jealousy that was stirring inside him.
Then he walked over to move the umbrella so that Margherita wouldn't get sunburned.
Meanwhile, Chiara walked along the beach taking pictures of everything: the golden grains of sand, a small hermit crab, the crystalline water, an angel fish darting by her feet.
Sam caught up to her. "It's so refreshing to watch all this through your eyes. You're so excited about everything."
Chiara didn't turn. "Beginner's eyes."
She proceeded to return his condescending tone by lecturing him on how things constantly changed and how he could work on his sense of wonder as well.
"Yea, well, honestly, I just wanted to kiss you," Sam dropped, anticipating her reaction, which never came. "Chiara, you are so cold."
She glanced at him, emphasizing disdain. "I might catch an STD just glaring at you."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You're so judgy; I just like to have fun."
Chiara shook her head. "No, Giuliano likes to have fun, or Graziana. They don't seem interested in a monogamous relationship and stay casual, based on what they shared last night, but you seem to have the pathological need to control everyone around you through being desired, as if it was a good enough replacement for being loved."
The words smacked him so hard he was winded for a few seconds. Sam stopped walking and raised his hands. "You know what? Go to hell."
Chiara loved that she'd managed to ruffle his feathers, but she tried not to gloat. She failed. "Bullseye," she said, nonplussed, walking toward the pedal boat that the butler had pulled onto the surf.
Chiara felt guilty that these people's jobs were to anticipate their needs. She felt as if she was somehow taking advantage of them.
After a significant pause, during which Sam watched her struggle to push the boat at sea, he got over himself and helped.
Chiara said, "Thanks, now scram."
Sam huffed. "Your trunk-like legs look sturdy enough, but I'd rather pedal now than rescue later." He sat beside her on the boat.
Chiara flipped him off.
He added, "Wow, indigent girls are feral."
"Yea, it's a wild world out there where you have to wipe your own ass."
Sam was amazed at how rude Chiara was, and most importantly at how much she engaged and entertained him: the sister he'd always wanted, but with cat eyes and lots of curves.
The boat had a clear bottom, and they floated over sandbars alternating with colorful patches of reef, teeming with fish. Chiara took pictures with her phone.
Sam asked, "So, what does the man of your dreams look like?"
"Not like you." She lied.
Sam might have been her physical ideal, but she truly disliked womanizers and could not stand his attitude. In fact, she'd done her best not to look at Sam in swim trunks, because she knew exactly how hot he looked from the posters in her bedroom. Time to take them down.
Undeterred, he continued, "Oh, yea? I know a little about women, and I'd say you like bad boys despite yourself. The ones who reel you in and suck the life out of you." He was not wrong.
"Samuele Bellocchio, paddle now and go back to kissing the mirror later."
He scoffed. "Really?"
"Really."
He stopped pedaling, forcing her to do the same. The boat floated on the clear water, its shadow delineated against the sandy seabed.
"What now?" Chiara asked, deadpan, trying to defuse the tension originating from Sam's lovestruck gaze fixed on her. She would not fall for his tricks.
Sam wasn't faking it. Her green bikini brought out her eyes and barely contained her chest. The wind mussed her curls and her freckles seemed more prominent, even after only a few hours in the sun.
Sam kept his gaze on hers as he leaned in. "So you wouldn't kiss me, right now?"
"Fuck no, horny troglodyte." She leaned away. "Is it so hard to believe that I don't like you, and that it's obvious to me that you don't like me either? It just annoys you that I'm not falling for your bullshit. It's like you measure your worth based on how many girls you fool."
Sam inhaled, resuming the pedaling. "So what, you believe in love instead? You're waiting for the one or some bullshit like that?"
Chiara shrugged. "Not the one, but someone who's actually as interested in me as I am in them, and not just physically."
Sam thought Chiara was naive and deluded. "So have you met your soulmate, yet?"
"Maybe." Chiara was thinking about Sergio. They'd been flirting on Insta since the fall. They hadn't dated, yet, but Chiara was hopeful. "And when I'm sure, I'm not going to let him go. If I did, I'd regret that forever. Don't you think?"
Sam looked stricken, and Chiara noticed.
She added, "So will you tell me about the one who got away, or are we still pretending it never happened?"
"It's not like that."
"Oh?"
He added nothing and Chiara said, "Grow up, Sam, admitting to feelings is not a sign of weakness. Now pedal."
He laughed and obeyed, not quite as smarmy anymore.
Author's note: The last chapter is out next week! Margherita will make her choice... Star if you liked the chapter and see you next week 🥰