The night of the date came. The December evening was humid but mild, and Luca opted to pick up Margherita on his motorbike. He'd gotten his driving license as soon as he'd turned eighteen, but driving a car in Milan was an inefficient nightmare, particularly so close to the holidays. Also, his cars were a little too showy, and he'd rather enjoy Margherita's undivided attention for once. Not to mention that any excuse to be close to her sounded pretty amazing, and he loved his motorbike.
Margherita came down from her apartment building in skinny jeans, her white combat boots, and a gray sweater that hit mid thigh. She was the most underdressed date Luca had ever had (and the first to get on his bike). Well, she looked amazing without even trying.
Except that, unbeknownst to Re, she had been trying, since she wore some mascara and lipgloss. Immediately, Luca thought about kissing her but, chastised by Giuliano's advice, swallowed the impulse.
"Hi," she said, moving a lock of hair behind her ear, looking at the sidewalk.
Margherita had not expected Luca to be on a motorbike and was ecstatic. He was all in black, including his bike, and smiled, which shorted her brain for the best part of a minute. Excitement and terror mixed inside her in equal parts.
Humidity buzzed against the electric lines, and a cat scuttled out of a dumpster. Small and colorful Christmas trees crammed the balconies of the many public housing towers, and a few strings of lights blinked, asymmetrically draped around the occasional window. That was it as far as holiday decorations; the contrast with downtown was striking.
Re, breathless, offered her a helmet. "Climb up?" He felt like the prince in Cinderella, except for the distinct feeling that he was the one being rescued.
She nodded, put the helmet on, and swiftly took the back seat. Re shuddered as her hand rested on his shoulder as she adjusted.
He added, "Hold on tight, and lean with me, okay? Avoid sudden movements."
Margherita, like most Italians, had been on bikes before but appreciated the refresher. Unbeknownst to her, Luca had raced since he was fourteen and could handle the bike in most situations.
Marghe put her arms around him, like she'd wanted to do at least since Bormio but, possibly, much earlier. She loved being physically close to Re, thrilled and safe at the same time, although on a motorbike the thrills were amped up (the safety not so much). It occurred to her that, despite Re's ugly past, she trusted him, and she felt dumb for it.
Luca was electrified, yet hyperaware of traffic, focusing on the road. To her amazement, the bike was quiet.
"It's electric," he hollered over the traffic and the wind, when she asked.
Re drove back downtown, a quick twenty-minute ride on a motorbike, and parked in front of a restaurant Margherita had never heard of. Then again, Margherita didn't know what Michelin stars were. Luca had pried from Chiara that sushi was Margherita's favorite food. Well, she was in for a surprise.
Margherita removed her helmet, admiring the beautiful Christmas lights that adorned downtown: showers of snowflakes, sleds gliding through the sky, and best wishes in soft golden hues reached across the street. Windows exploded with red velvet, holly, glass baubles, and fake snow.
"It's so unfair!" She exclaimed. "We never get decorations like this."
"Well, it makes sense for the city to invest in districts with businesses, where people will spend money. Everybody wins."
Margherita frowned. "Except people with no money, but I guess we're not the center of the world."
Re absorbed her comment, quietly, and led her inside the restaurant. At least he had not messed up any words, yet. He had reserved a private room—he had to, unless he wanted to be photographed. The president would have had a heart attack if she'd discovered the signorotto had gone out with a non-pre-vetted date. As enticing as the thought of his mother croaking was, the president's ghost would have probably come back to haunt Re anyway.
Their private room was cozy, candle-lit, with lush plants flowing down the walls. Re had always found dates tedious; his pre-vetted companions made eyes at him at best. He'd inevitably felt like a bored (and boring) hunk of meat. Instead, Margherita chattered as if Re was a person.
She gushed, "The fuck, Re, how much was in your party budget? Like, can you save the world instead of filling pools with flowers?"
"What did you have in mind?"
Margherita had expected a snark retort, not an opening. They sat at the table and she told him about this community kitchen she volunteered at during the holidays. "They barely get by. I bet this dinner would feed everyone through spring."
"Can you not get angry and explain why people can't afford to buy their own food?" His question had been serious and not polemic at all.
So, Margherita explained how, often, even multiple jobs could not support families with dependants such as children, elderly, and sick ones.
"You know," she said. "Your life is so absurd to me that I bet you'd feel the same about mine. I wish you could try, for a month, to live on a minimum-pay salary."
"Interesting idea. I bet I'd make me a better businessman. Um, why is my life absurd?" Not like he disagreed.
She explained that most teenagers lived on a daily budget of a few euros. "Text messages, a snack, most of us can't afford more." His reaction told her that, indeed, he found that inconceivable.
The chef himself brought out wine and appetizers, bowing to the signorotto, inquiring about the health of his parents, and explaining that this was a degustation menu. He segued with intricate descriptions of foods prepared in elaborate ways.
As soon as he left, Luca explained what a degustation menu was. "He brings out several dishes and we try them all."
"I knew that!" She hadn't. "By the way, isn't your family big on fossil fuels? How come your motorbike is electric?"
A heated conversation about the environment revealed that, Re, unexpectedly, was well aligned with Margherita's ideas. He hated the direction that the House of Vincitore had taken in lobbying in favor of fossil fuels.
"Yet, if not for oil, I wouldn't be here..." The conversation took a dark turn. Re had never shared these private details, even though they were public knowledge, but not for Margherita, who'd never followed the gossip.
Meanwhile, Margherita tasted the tuna tartare; the explosion of flavor combined with the velvety texture brought tears to her eyes.
Luca elaborated. "The only people I consider my true family, Francesca and the P2, are not related to me by blood."
Francesca's mother had been in poor health and died quite young. Her dad, the legitimate heir of the Vincitore estate, had remarried with Luca's mother, who'd ostensibly been his mistress for years. When he'd died of a stroke, she'd taken the reins of the company under the supervision of Luca's grandmother, who was old school (women ran the household) and had no interest in business.
"Is that when your mom became 'the president'?"
"Yes, but she'll always be 'the witch' to me."
The president had expanded the Vincitore's portfolio by marrying an Egyptian magnate with huge stakes in the oil industry: Luca's father. "It turns out the Vincitore heir has no Vincitore blood at all."
Margherita was stuffing her face, intrigued. "Then why isn't Francesca the heiress?"
"Because that's not a word."
"It is."
Luca's face heated. "Not in the witch's vocabulary. My mother used sexism to ensure her spawn got the title." Also, Francesca hadn't cared at all about the company. "However, I do love business and working with people. What I hate is how my mother does that: with the only goal to increase capital."
Marghe hung from his lips. She had not expected to be this engaged by his conversation. "And what is your goal?"
No one had ever asked Re such a question. He thought about it. "Change. To leave the world better than I found it."
Which was why Margherita's question about changing the world had resonated so much with him. Still, he felt stupid and naive as soon as the words left his mouth. Yet, Margherita took him seriously.
She asked, "Then, why do you treat people like shit?"
Re saddened. "Because it's exhausting to defend myself against people who want to use me, but if not for change, what's the point of money? Because it sure doesn't buy happiness, as someone taught me once."
Margherita smiled but shook her head, teasing. "I take that back. Now that I've tried this food..."
Re burst out laughing.
Eye contact across the table was excruciating. Luca wanted Margherita on his lap, in his arms. He'd wanted her for years, and now she was so close, and out of her own volition. Being apart from her was physically painful.
Patience.
Yet, when he talked to Margherita, his brain exploded with ideas and his body with want. It turned out that he loved dates, as long as they were with Margherita. He wanted to kiss her so badly right now...Taking things slow was not Luca's forte, but he did not want to scare Pescatore away either.
By the time both of them were full, food remained for all of her family to have at least a taste, but Margherita dared not ask. Luca excused himself, and she watched the server take the sushi away. Such a waste.
In the bathroom, Luca washed his face to calm himself down. This had gone so, so well. Better than his wildest hopes. He loved being with her; it was like an addiction. If only this date could never end, but he should not push it. If she also had a good time, then they would definitely see each other again. Right?
When he returned, he helped Margherita in her puffer jacket.
She protested, flustered by the unduly formal attention, "Geez, I got this! Thanks though."
He'd been taught manners that were unusual to Margherita, but the fact that she wasn't eager to be close to him was discouraging. Little did he know that she wanted to be close to him so much that she feared she might do something stupid if he came too close.
The server returned and handed Luca a small bag that could have been fancy jewelry, judging by the weight of the paper and the heft of the silk ribbon: the leftovers. He handed her the bag without a word.
She beamed at him. Nothing gave him more satisfaction than anticipating her wishes.
"So, your treat?" He joked.
She bumped her shoulder into him. "Dickhead."
He almost seized her in the middle of the restaurant, stumbled, choked a little. "Fine, fine. Wait for me outside."
After their conversation about daily budgets, he really didn't want her to know what a dinner like that cost (about a thousand euros), not to mention he was planning a little surprise, too. This was an average meal for the Vincitores. Only now he was more aware of how inconsiderate that might have been to others.
Margherita waited outside the restaurant, giddy. She had not expected to have so much in common with Re, nor for him to be so engaging or forward thinking. Flushed, she looked up at the winter sky, rendered a dull orange by light pollution, inhaling the pungent scent of pine that emanated from the wreaths outside the restaurant's doors.
Someone barged into her, sending her precious leftovers flying on the sidewalk. Horror stricken, she glared at the stranger.
"What's that smell? Pescatore or the fish?" Stefania Dellatorre taunted.
"Do you know her?" The guy who'd rammed into her asked. "I was on my phone, and she came out of nowhere. She didn't even apologize."
"I was standing here!" Margherita protested.
At the same time, completely ignoring her, Stefania answered, full of spite, "She got a full ride to the academy because she's poor. Pescatore, did you come here to collect the leftovers? You must be hungry. Do you want to wait for ours as well?"
Re emerged from the restaurant. "What's going on?" The evil grin congealed on Stefania's face.
The guy beamed at him. "The king himself! What's up? Wait, is she with you? What is this, some Vincitore charity case?" Luca's impassive gaze shrunk the guy to nothing; his sass waning into regret. "I'm sorry. I meant no offense," he added, chastised.
Luca nodded toward Margherita.
The man bowed to Margherita. "I'm sorry, Miss. My mistake."
"Go eat glass," Margherita retorted. "Although hanging out with Dellatorre is probably punishment enough."
She walked away like the queen Re had always known her to be.
"Home?" Re asked, looming by the motorbike.
Margherita tilted her head.
Re rushed to add, "I mean, do you want me to take you back to your house? Not like I'm asking you to come to my place, which we totally could—"
"What about a movie? At the theater, I mean."
Luca was so in love. He nodded. "You choose."
She hesitated, wondering how much to disclose. "Um, do you like anime?"
"I love anime!" Mostly he loved hentai, but that was a different story.
Apparently an anime festival was taking place in the suburbs, and they had a drive-in section. They rented one of the cars available on location to stay warm. Of course Luca chose the V.I.P. vintage model at the very front, but it was also the only one still available. They slipped inside. The dashboard was a phenomenal yellow, the plush one seater perfect for making out.
Margherita plopped the popcorn cup they'd gotten at the entrance right in between them because she was terrified to kiss Re, more so in such a public place. She'd been so into it in the past—and she hadn't even liked him then. What would she do to him now? And she wasn't ready to take the leap. In all honesty, she'd thought that this date would have proven how incompatible they were, that he was a dick. She had not planned to fall head-over-heels for the villain.
Re, correctly, took her gesture as a red light. Giuliano had been clear about reading signals, and Re knew he tended to go at a million kilometers per second. Dejected, he focused on the screen.
The movie was amazing. He could relate to the main character, a loner everyone admired because he was skilled at this one survival game popular in the post-apocalyptic scenario of the film. No one could break his bubble, until this girl, a weirdo, really, literally fell out of the sky, trampled all over his boundaries, and pushed all of his buttons.
The characters were having an intense moment, staring into each other's eyes under the moonlight.
Luca fidgeted, stealing side glances at Margherita; he wanted to kiss her so badly, but did she? He had no idea how to create the right atmosphere.
Eye-contact. He side-glanced at her—again.
Margherita couldn't even remember how to swallow her own saliva at the moment. She stared stubbornly ahead, petrified by her own unruly emotions, wishing for him to look away—or not? She side-glanced and they made awkward eye contact. Both looked away.
Re cringed inside. Not smooth.
The main characters kissed, for an ungodly long time.
Why was it so hot in the car? Re took off his scarf and the leather jacket.
Margherita noticed. He stopped mid-gesture, self-conscious. Hopefully, she did not misunderstand; he wasn't trying to draw attention to himself.
Margherita was overheating herself. Man, that sweater fell perfectly against his chest.
Re panicked. "I'm hot. I mean, I was warm."
She grinned, roguish. "You are hot."
The hair on the back of his neck bristled, in a very good way. His heart stopped. There it was, the eye contact. He was about to leap on her, when her phone buzzed. The ringtone was some hectic K-pop tune.
Margherita clutched the cell, and almost dropped it. "Mom? Is everything okay?"
Mom was freaking out. They'd just received a whole sushi dinner, courtesy of Luca Vincitore. Mom was delirious. "Oh my god! Don't tell Dad, but I think this was my first orgasm!"
"Mom!" Margherita covered the phone hoping Re hadn't heard.
He had. He was cracking up, hiding his mouth behind his knuckles.
Mom added, "Please, marry him. Tonight. You have my blessings." Hopefully, she was kidding.
Dad's voice rang in the phone. "Alessandro, cover your ears. She meant a different type of orgasm, honey. Your mom and I are very happy—"
"Dad! Okay, bye." She hung up, horrified.
Re said, "Straight out: don't get mad. It wasn't for you. Not trying to buy you or anything. Don't even taste it."
Margherita smiled.
Luca was sure that Margherita was into him; she'd flirted, they'd laughed. The attraction between them had been so thick he could have floated in it; breathing was difficult. So why was she hesitating, still?
The movie came to an end, and Re drove Margherita home. She clung to him on the motorbike, no space between her chest and his back.
Re was euphoric, buoyant; the anticipation of kissing her goodnight exhilarated him. Unfortunately, Margherita was clinging to him so tight because she was talking herself into letting him go.
As soon as he parked in front of her building, Margherita hopped off the bike, called "Goodnight!", and rushed inside.
Had he misread her, again?
Author's note: Oh, so many of my favorite things in this chapter! Star if you liked it 💖 Beside the feels, I'm a sucker for sushi and motorbikes. Indeed, I'm the proud owner of a CF Moto 300SS 😍 See you all next week!