At the Vincitore's mansion, Re had been locked in his room for days, listening to loud and angry nu-metal music.
Fuck this.
The king, who was basketball-player tall and had the physique one would expect from someone who boxed daily, was staring at the frescoed ceiling in gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt, stark against his light brown skin.
He hated his looks, part of the curse that bewitched most people into adoring the Vincitore heir with no regard whatsoever for his shitty personality.
Except Margherita Pescatore. She'd seen through him and, of course, had rejected him. What had he expected? His curse was to love and crave love more than life but never be loved. He'd thought he could change, and he'd been wrong. Even if Margherita ever loved him back, she'd be subjected to the worst of fates. She'd been already the victim of horrendous bullying and only because of Re's interest for her. Not to mention, if his witch of a mother ever found out about Margherita, she would probably destroy her. What had he been thinking?
Luca's father was an Egyptian oil magnate and, beside his complexion, he'd passed down to his son black hair and stunning, amber-golden eyes that, if not large, were piercing and intense. The curls and perfectly regular features came from his witch of an Italian mother.
The witch had been right; feelings were a weakness. Good thing she lived in New York and was not around to see the train wreck that had become the heir of the House of Vincitore. She visited once a year, for Luca's birthday (but really for the Salone del Mobile, a fair that happened every year in April), and unfortunately would be here soon enough.
Luca had to get his shit together by then.
His dad had used to visit for his birthday as well, but since Re had beaten Arcani to a pulp, his father had been "too busy" to come to Italy. Re had high hopes for his eighteenth birthday. Surely, his dad would forgive him for his milestone coming-of-age?
Regardless, with Dear Mother coming, it was prime time to outgrow his stupid, unrequited crush. Re had been raised to be a perfect sociopath thanks to staff that rotated positions every couple of months so that Luca wouldn't get attached to any of them. No one should matter more than the company, which would be his life priority, like it had been his parents'.
After becoming an orphan, Lorenzo had lived with Luca at the mansion, but by the time they had turned thirteen, the president—which was what everyone called Luca's mother—had politely ordered Lorenzo to move back to his own Milanese villa; the boys were getting too close.
He barely heard the knocking on the door.
"Go away!" He yelled. They'd leave his food outside the door and he'd eat it later. Maybe.
The door opened. He should have locked it.
Luca's bedroom was spacious. From the entrance one could see the bathroom to the right and Luca's desk ahead, by the big window and the telescope.
As a kid, Re had learned a lot of astronomy to stargaze with Dad, but Dad had never returned. Years later, Re had discovered that the telescope, like all other Christmas gifts, had been purchased by the staff, his father's note forged in a kindness that had cut deeper than knives.
Re's king bed was in a nook to the left, not visible from the door.
Giuliano Faitari turned around the corner, absorbing the sight of Re, sprawled on the bed, puffy eyed.
Giuliano was the shortest and most muscular member of the P2, often labeled by the press as the "body guard," not like Re needed one.
Giu spoke rarely and listened much. Large russet eyes and delicate facial features were offset by the bulk of his frame. He pressed daily and boxed with Re often. A scruff covered his jaw, and his hair was brown, short and messy.
The Faitaris were the lawyers that, for generations, had taken care of the Vincitores. Like the rest of his family, Giuliano did not think of the law as rules to keep people on the straight path, but as obstacles to weave around to do whatever one pleased while remaining in the clear. Legality was a game, and laws spotlights to avoid while moving in the dark.
"Go away," the king repeated in a less convinced tone, rolling to his side and curling his very tall frame into a ball.
Unfazed, Giuliano removed his leather jacket, climbed onto the mattress beside Re and lay comfortably there, hands clasped over his stomach, back propped against a pillow.
Giuliano was more of a folk person with inclinations toward international music. However, he dropped, casually, "I love Linkin Park. Modern bands don't have the same grit."
Luca was so depressed that he didn't take the bait. He knew at least fifteen contemporary bands that had plenty of grit.
"Go away," he mumbled, fainter than before.
"I understand that we don't care about Margherita Pescatore anymore, but I just wanted to offer you some news, in case you were interested?"
Luca opened his eyes—small and luminous. Combined with his angular jaw and his height, these features gave Re a masculine countenance that Giuliano, on the shorter side, had always envied a little.
Re said nothing, which Giuliano interpreted, correctly, as a green light.
He continued, "After you, um, unexpectedly left Sharm, Pescatore was a hot mess. She cried a lot. Pretty shaken." Luca reared his head, if barely. "Lorenzo came out loud saying he liked her." Luca's head plopped back onto the pillow. "But I figured that what mattered would be the way she feels, right?"
"And?"
Giuliano held back a smile. "So I asked her, plain and open in front of everyone, and dude, she was kind of mad. She said she has no idea how she feels, and that normal people date to understand how they feel about each other."
Luca rolled onto his back. "That's some bullshit. I have—I had no doubt about my feelings."
Giuliano bit his lower lip, choosing his words. "Yes, Re, but you are...very...um, black and white about this, am I wrong?"
"No. You either love me or you hate me."
This was rather eloquent for Re, who was known to speak in monosyllables—unless he was talking to Margherita.
"Yes, but hear me out...Is it possible that you are, maybe, well...demisexual?"
Luca frowned, propping himself up on his elbows. "Demi-what now?"
Giuliano nodded, reassuringly. "Demisexual people often think they are asexual."
Indeed, before meeting Margherita, Re had thought himself asexual. He'd never been attracted to anyone, despite a healthy sex drive. All the perfunctory dates his mother organized to feed pictures to the paparazzi had been a chore more than anything.
Giuliano explained, "Demisexuals need an emotional connection to feel sexual desire." Luca was staring at the fresco on the ceiling, unseeing. "What I'm trying to say is that the majority of people don't work like that. For most people, sexual attraction and emotional connection are not the same, and emotional connection takes time. Just think about that, okay?"
Luca did not say a word but rolled on his side facing Giuliano, burying his face into his friend's side. Giuliano hugged him and stayed until Luca fell asleep.
On Thursday, Re finally returned to school, determined to play it cool. After all, he'd been wrong about Pescatore; she was not the person he'd thought nor cared for. He'd just have to remember how to go back to the numbness he'd perfected through the years.
Strolling in the gardens at recess, he joked with Giuliano and Sam as if nothing had happened, though he could feel Giuliano's perceptive gaze all over him. Giuliano's words had seeded doubt within Re, but hope could be a poison if unmet.
Sam, short for Samulele Bellocchio, was the fourth and last of the P2, the undisputed player of the group, and Giuliano's best friend. Gray-eyed, with floppy black hair, and a perfect jaw line, Sam was the prototypical posh boy, preppy and charming. No one liked him, really, but no one could resist him either.
When Lorenzo crossed their path, Luca's resolve went to shit; he wanted to murder him.
Lorenzo had broken up after years with Ludovica, and he could have had his pick of girls, but no, he had to have the only girl Re had ever been attracted to.
It was no secret among the P2 that Luca had been dating only perfunctorily, according to the president's wishes, and that he'd never cared about a partner before. Re fumed and, out of love for Lorenzo, opted to ignore him.
"Re..." Lorenzo said.
"Don't talk to me, Tristante. Don't come closer."
Lorenzo crossed his arms. "I'm your best friend, man."
Re seethed. "The rest must be trying to murder me behind my back, then."
Sam dropped, casually, "It did cross my mind, a couple times." Giuliano kicked him.
Lorenzo shrugged. "Well, I'm taking Pescatore on a date, this Saturday. I thought you should know."
Re turned away from Lorenzo as if he'd been slapped and, unfortunately, saw Margherita, approaching from the pool. Had she been coming here to meet Lorenzo? Had they spent the last four days making out? Worse?
Re choked: he felt trapped, humiliated, and...raw. His soul had been exposed and rejected; he felt all wrong, feral. Screw them. He walked toward Margherita as if he didn't know her, because he didn't.
When Margherita saw Re, hope glimmered within her. Somehow she'd feared he'd never be back—how presumptuous of her. Lorenzo was right; Re had said he didn't care.
This was her chance to explain and apologize. Steeling herself, she mustered the courage to squeeze some words out. Re approached, impassive, at a steady pace, as intimidating as ever. She could do it. He was now two steps away from her.
"Re," She uttered.
He didn't flinch, walking past her as he would have walked past any other attention seeker, safe behind his old wall of contempt.
Sam and Giuliano gave Lorenzo and Margherita an apologetic head shake and followed the king.
When they were out of earshot, Giuliano asked, "Re, shouldn't you talk to Pescatore? Figure out what actually happened?"
"Never speak her name again."
Sam blinked in disbelief. "You don't even want revenge?"
Petty revenge had been Re's specialty, but his voice came out coarse and broken, "They gotta go, man. I can't exist here with them, and I can't change schools." His family owned the academy and, with his attitude he'd be expelled anywhere else. "I need them out of the academy."
Sam and Giu look at each other. Re was losing it. How would he get Margherita and Lorenzo expelled?
On the next day, Giuliano paced back and forth in the P2 lounge at the academy. The P2 hung out either here or at the Vincitore's mansion, but Re was missing in action and not answering his phone.
Giu had been the most concerned about Re's emotional well-being. Lorenzo would have been, too, if he hadn't been dating Margherita, and Sam did not quite compute when it came down to feelings, since he did his best to have none. Sam had been playing some shooter game nonstop, which might as well have been his way of coping with the unprecedented quake that had split the P2 apart.
"I'm calling Francesca," Giuliano stated.
"What for?" Sam asked, eyes fixed on the screen, fingers nimbly taking down zombies.
Good question. Re wouldn't hurt himself, but he was extremely volatile and never before had he gone radio silent like this. The truth was that Giuliano needed to vent, since Sam was no use, and the P2 were short on reliable adults.
Giuliano's first vocal message to Re's sister, Francesca Vincitore, had been from Sharm on the morning of "beachmageddon," as Giuliano had dubbed the day of Lorenzo kissing Pescatore.
In the message he'd said that Re had finally fallen in love, but he'd full-throttled in, terrorizing the girl—yes, it had been a girl—who also happened to be a smart-ass commoner with no interest in social status, nor, possibly, Re. Now, Lorenzo, who'd been all caught up in his feels after breaking up with Ludo, had kissed said girl, and Luca was having a nuclear meltdown. Giuliano added that all this would be irrelevant if Luca's feelings hadn't transformed him into a decent human being, though briefly, and Giuliano was afraid the king would soon revert to feral.
Francesca, who'd been living in New York since her marriage, five years ago, had noticed the changes in her little brother even long distance. Re had closed up more and more since Francesca had left, but in the last year he'd been more excited, talkative, affectionate, and she was elated for Giuliano's confirmation that the king was, indeed, in love. She asked Giuliano to keep her informed, so Giu's call was not completely unwarranted. Either way, she'd be in Milan soon enough for the annual gala the Vincitores hosted for Luca's birthday.
Giuliano dialed Francesca's number.
Francesca answered on the first ring, voice concerned. "Giu, what's up?"
"I can't get a hold of Re. The girl he likes, Margherita, is going on a date with Lorenzo tomorrow."
"Well, shit. How did he take it?"
"Nuclear. He's losing his mind. He's made an appointment with the principal on Monday to get them kicked out of school."
Francesca scoffed. "On what basis?"
Giu sighed. "He wants to threaten school funds."
"So, blackmail. Ridiculous! Thanks for calling. I'll be heading to the airport now. See you tomorrow." She hung up.
By Saturday, Margherita's emotions had transitioned from guilt to anger. Re's parting words looped in her head, over and over again.
So much for being in love, freaking jerk!
He'd tossed her like trash.
Was it such a crime to need time to figure out if she actually liked someone she hadn't known that well? And Re came with an impressive rap sheet, not to mention his gargantuan name and expectations. And personality. And attitude.
Was Margherita property to be passed along? Screw him!
Honestly, she still could not figure out why Re had noticed her in the first place. Lorenzo would have never bothered, if Luca hadn't made such a fuss to begin with.
Yet, here she was. Saturday, and she was excited for her date with Lorenzo, ready to move past the ugly episode with the king.
"You look nice! Where are you off to?" Mom pried, by the door of their tiny apartment, her Korean accent heavy.
Mom very much looked like Margherita, except that she was tiny. Margherita's height came from Dad.
"A date, in fact." Margherita was wearing a gray jeans miniskirt with leggings and a white hoodie.
Mom swooned. "Say hi to Luca!"
"Not with Luca, Mom. We weren't dating."
"Oh." Mom paused. "Coulda fooled me." Among other shenanigans, Luca had shown up at the Pescatore's apartment when Margherita had been sick and charmed the parents with his princely manners. "Are you okay?"
Margherita leaned against the wall. "Honestly, I don't know." She explained how she'd always liked Lorenzo, but her attraction to Re had muddled her judgement, despite Margherita disliking so many of Re's traits.
"Inyeon," Mom dropped, confident.
Margherita frowned. "Mom, that's not a word."
Mom laughed. "In Korean it is. Inyeon is the relationship between two peoples across different reincarnations."
Margherita blinked, confused.
Mom elaborated, "Sometimes you meet someone and all the feelings from your previous lives are still there. It's a lot." She nodded for emphasis.
Margherita smiled. "That's quite romantic, but wouldn't we end up together, then?"
Mom shrugged. "Maybe not in this life. Definitely not if he's a dick."
"Mom! That's a bad word."
"Not if it's true. Be safe with Lorenzo." She closed her fist and yelled, "Fighting!" Which she insisted was a Korean encouragement.
"Fighting!" Replied Margherita, before leaving the apartment.
Author's note: Thanks so much for reading chapter two! Star the chapter if you liked it 🥰 I love the scene between Re and Giu because it goes against the stereotypes of toxic masculinity representing men as unable to feel or to support and be affectionate with each other 😤 At this point you've almost met the entire gang...Who's your favorite so far? I'm really looking forward to Margherita and Lorenzo's date next week (though my heart breaks for poor Re!) 😢 Follow me to get notified about updates!
Thanks so much for reading, commenting, and starring 🥰