Chapter 5

“You really think that's what happened,” he whispered.

“I believe what I saw.”

“And you never thought it wasn't real?” He stepped closer. His jaw worked, as though there were something he desperately wanted to say and something else holding him back. “Forget it. It seems even my explanation wouldn't make you believe it.”

That sentence should have made me feel triumphant. But instead, my chest felt heavy, as though pressed down by a weight.

I waited for the anger that usually followed. None came.

There was only Luca, standing beneath the dim light with his shoulders slightly slumped, like someone who had carried something alone for far too long.

“I'm sorry for hurting you so badly five years ago.” The words slipped out of nowhere.

“Luca—”

His thumb lifted, pausing briefly in the air as if asking for permission. I didn't react, remaining frozen in place.

He gently wiped the tears from my cheek.

The touch was warm and hesitant. It was as though he feared making me uncomfortable, yet this time I didn't want to pull away. For some reason, my heart felt safe in that moment.

Strangely enough, that was precisely what made my body refuse to move.

“You're shaking,” he said, slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over my shoulders. “If you're cold, we should go inside.”

Yet my feet wouldn't budge.

I knew that being alone inside that room would mean overwhelming cold and darkness. For some reason, I still wanted to stay close to Luca.

His jacket still held his warmth, and his scent immediately enveloped me—the exact same cologne I had always missed. A scent I used to know by heart, and one I had spent five years hating because I could never manage to forget it.

“Just a little longer,” I said softly. “I don't want to go in yet.”

Luca didn't argue. He simply nodded and stood beside me, maintaining just enough distance to keep me from feeling trapped.

From the direction of the tent, soft jazz drifted over, mingling with the warm, humid Miami breeze.

“You used to say jazz makes you sleepy,” he noted.

“I did.”

“And you fell asleep on my shoulder at that concert.”

“You forced me to come.” I nearly smiled, then quickly caught myself. “And you said it was fine. That your shoulder was available.”

The corners of his lips lifted. Not with his usual mockery, but with a small smile I hadn't seen in a very long time—a look from eyes that used to gaze at me with deep warmth.

My chest trembled faintly.

Luca extended his hand, palm facing upward, stopping right between us.

“One song,” he said. “After that, I'll let you go.”

“I can't dance.”

“I know.” His eyes darkened softly. “I just want to stand that close to you without making you afraid.”

I stared at his open hand. There was no coercion, no demands. If I refused, he would pull his hand back without asking questions.

I placed my palm over his.

His fingers closed instantly, very gently. His other hand rested against my waist, then paused as if waiting.

“Here?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

We moved slowly, more like swaying than dancing, amidst the shadows of the palm trees and the distant glow of string lights. Without realizing it, my head rested near his shoulder. I could hear his heartbeat—fast and erratic, mirroring my own.

“I got you,” he whispered right against my ear.

My eyes drifted shut.

That phrase used to make me believe that no matter how high I fell, he would always be there to catch me. For five years, I had buried those words right alongside him. And tonight, they returned uninvited.

He lowered his head until his forehead rested against mine. Our breaths mingled. I could sense him holding something back, with every ounce of strength he had.

“I won't kiss you unless you ask for it,” he whispered hoarsely. For some reason, he never forced me, always respecting every boundary and decision I made, no matter what.

Though he never asked about what I had been through, it was as though he instinctively knew I carried trauma and despised being forced.

“We're siblings, Luca.”

“I know.” His voice nearly fractured. “That's why I won't ask anything of you.”

I didn't step back. I didn't reply. I simply stood there with my eyes closed, my heart beating far too fast, unsure whether I was falling or being saved.

Until the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the quiet, accompanied by a voice all too familiar.

“Luca,” the woman called out.

We both turned toward the source of the sound, and there she was again. The blonde woman, Sabrina Hale.

She walked toward us with graceful strides and a sweet smile.

“I came with my parents, but I couldn't find you. So this is where you were,” she said, immediately hooking her arm through Luca's.

My gaze locked onto her hand resting on Luca's arm, and the fact that he made no move to brush her off.

“Avery, congratulations on your new family,” she greeted cheerfully.

I shifted my gaze between her and Luca. “Mm, thanks.”

“Luca, my parents are looking for you. Come on,” she urged, tugging at his arm.

“I'll come later,” Luca answered.

“No, Luca. You have to come meet them right now to discuss our relationship.” Sabrina forcibly pulled Luca, who finally yielded and followed her.

They walked away from me without a word—including Luca, who remained entirely silent.

Our relationship?

Only a few steps away, Luca turned his head back to look at me.

Damn it, my chest feels so suffocating.

No, Avery. Don't cry.