Chapter 3: Dinner for two

Luciono’s POV

Dinner was at a quiet bistro tucked into a narrow cobbled street—one of those places that smelled like melted butter and roasted garlic and looked like a secret. She picked it, of course. Natalie never liked crowds, not when it came to intimate things.

The hostess seated us at a small table by the window. The city outside glowed amber and wet, the reflections of streetlamps shimmering in puddles.

She looked across at me like she always had—like I was still the boy she knew. And that both thrilled and wrecked me.

“You look tired,” she said softly, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Jet lag,” I lied.

She tilted her head. “And?”

“And… I might have spent most of the flight over replaying every conversation we’ve ever had.”

She blinked, surprised. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just missed my best friend.”

Her eyes held mine for a beat longer than comfort allowed. Then she smiled.

⸻

Two Years Ago — Flashback

It was 2:12 a.m. London time. I was back home. She was curled up in bed, staring at me through her phone screen.

Her hair was a mess. Her voice was groggy. Her eyes were glassy.

“I hate it here tonight,” she whispered.

“What happened?”

“My boss ripped up one of my designs in front of the whole team. Said it looked like a cheap runway knockoff.”

“That guy’s a washed-up has-been with a superiority complex,” I snapped. “You’re brilliant.”

“I don’t feel brilliant,” she murmured, voice breaking. “I feel stupid. I want to come home.”

There was a long pause.

Then I said what I’d rehearsed in my head a hundred times but never out loud.

“You’re already home, Nat. You just took it with you.”

She blinked fast, breath catching.

“I’m serious,” I said. “You’re not building a life. You are one. The rest of us are just lucky to orbit it.”

She smiled like she was about to cry.

“You’re the only one who knows how to talk to me like that,” she whispered. “Even from 3,000 miles away.”

Especially from 3,000 miles away.

⸻

Present Day

“I never thanked you for staying up with me that night,” she said suddenly, twirling her fork through her pasta.

I froze mid-bite. “You remember?”

“Of course I do.” Her eyes softened. “You told me I took home with me. That was the night I stopped looking for it in everyone else.”

My throat tightened.

“Natalie—”

She reached across the table and touched my hand. It felt like I was touching a hot stove and loved it

“I’ve missed you. Not just in the hey-how-are-you way. I missed you like a limb.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I squeezed her fingers instead.

And we sat there, two people tangled in the past, the present, and something dangerously close to a future—if only we’d dare reach for it. If only she’d let me