Chapter 9

The next morning, his phone was blowing up. Six missed calls from his father. Three from his assistant. Serena had texted twice, short, clipped messages that carried more weight than entire conversations.

They’re talking. You need to get ahead of this.

Call me before Paolo does.

He sat up, heart thudding. His pulse hadn’t slowed since last night. Since that moment in the garden with Asher. Since he invited him to the lake house like it wasn’t the most reckless thing he’d ever done.

Now the world was noticing.

Of course they are, he thought bitterly. Two glances. One headline. That was all it took for the machine to spin its gears.

Luca opened the first link in his inbox. A photo from the brunch, zoomed in on Asher. Then another, Luca, barely in frame, watching Asher from across the room.

The caption read:

"Tension or Temptation? Mystery Around Virelli’s Gaze at Future Brother in Law Sparks Speculation.”

He dropped the phone.

Elsewhere in the estate, Asher was making eggs.

Yes, eggs.

He moved around the guest kitchen in a loose black tank and joggers, barefoot and unbothered, like he wasn’t the subject of a dozen rumors and half a scandal.

His tattoos peeked from beneath the cotton, his dog tags clinking faintly as he turned the burner down.

Serena walked in, crisp and furious.

“You’re on every blog this morning.”

Asher didn’t look up. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

She crossed her arms. “You looked straight into a paparazzo’s lens.”

“Technically, that’s on them for being creepy.”

“You smirked.”

He flipped the eggs onto a plate and finally turned toward her. “And?”

“You know what this looks like.”

“I know exactly what it looks like.”

Serena narrowed her eyes. “I warned you.”

“No,” he said, his tone sharpening. “You warned him. I’m not the one hiding.”

Her jaw tightened. “You're going to get him in trouble.”

“No,” Asher said. “He’ll get himself in trouble. All I did was exist. That seems to be enough to make this family spiral.”

She looked like she wanted to argue.

Instead, she asked, “Do you care about him?”

Asher stilled.

The silence between them stretched.

Then: “Yeah.”

Serena’s throat bobbed once, then she turned away.

And softly, so softly he almost missed it, she said, “Then don’t destroy him to prove a point.”

Luca’s day didn’t get any better.

By noon, he’d met with three PR reps, one crisis manager, and an image consultant who insisted on coaching his “laughing posture.”

“I don’t laugh,” Luca said dryly.

The woman blinked. “Well… maybe we start with smiling then.”

He left halfway through.

The only thing he wanted, needed, was Asher. Not to touch, or to kiss, but just to be around. It felt like oxygen.

By early evening, he finally found him in the old library at the east wing. Asher was sprawled in one of the leather chairs, flipping through an old travelogue, boots up on a priceless ottoman.

Luca paused at the doorway.

Asher looked up. “Hey, golden boy.”

Luca stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You’re trending.”

“I’m aware,” Asher said, deadpan. “Didn’t realize I was so photogenic.”

Luca didn’t smile. “They’re going to spin it. Twist it into something...”

“More interesting than it already is?”

Luca swallowed hard.

Asher closed the book, watching him carefully. “You scared?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Means it’s real.”

Luca crossed the room and dropped into the chair opposite him. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You should probably try harder.”

“I’m not joking.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other, heat simmering between the quiet.

Luca leaned forward. “Come to the lake house. We’ll be surrounded by family, but… maybe we can just..”

“Be ourselves?” Asher finished.

“Yes.”

“You’re still afraid.”

“I’m still trying.”

Asher sat forward too, eyes locked with his. “Then kiss me like you mean it.”

Luca hesitated.

Then he stood. Walked over. And without another word, he leaned down and kissed him.

Slowly. Deeply. Nothing frantic, nothing wild.

Just intent.

Asher’s hands slid up Luca’s shirt, fingers grazing skin, grounding him. Luca climbed onto his lap like he’d done it before, and maybe he had, in every fantasy he wasn’t allowed to have.

The kiss darkened. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation.

But before it could spiral further, Asher pulled back.

“Not here,” he whispered, breath hot against Luca’s cheek. “Not yet.”

Luca nodded, chest heaving.

He pulled away, pressing their foreheads together.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he admitted.

Asher’s hands stayed on his hips. “That makes two of us.”

Meanwhile, in another wing of the estate, someone else was paying attention.

Hannah Hartwell, the youngest cousin and professional meddler, was scrolling through gossip blogs with a wine glass in hand.

She paused when she saw the brunch photos.

Zoomed in.

Then again.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Well, well,” she muttered. “Isn’t that interesting.”

She picked up her phone and dialed.

“I think you’re going to want to see this,” she said to someone on the other end. “The golden boy’s hiding something. And I have a feeling it’s going to be delicious.”

Meanwhile Luca paused and looked around after they walked out of the library and noticed no one was around the east wing.

He reached for Asher, like something inside had finally broken loose.

Asher gripped the front of Luca’s shirt and pulled him close, slamming their mouths together again, this time deeper, slower.

Luca moaned softly against him, and Asher swallowed the sound, fingers tangling in his hair. They stumbled down the hallway, bumping into a wall, hands roaming, kisses getting sharper, dirtier.

By the time they made it into Asher’s guest room, the door slammed behind them, and everything else, the press, the family, the consequences, disappeared.