HOLLYI wasn’t expecting him today. Then again, I never do. Luca Fazzari doesn’t operate on schedules — he moves like smoke, slipping into my life when I least expect it, and leaving traces I can’t scrub clean.He’s leaning against the doorframe of the tea shop, arms crossed, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing worth looking at. I hate how easily he does that — makes me forget why I’m here, what I’m after.“You’re early,” I say, wiping down the counter.“I’m always early when I miss you,” he replies, and I roll my eyes because he knows exactly what that does to me.“Flattery won’t get you free tea.”“I’m not here for tea,” he says, stepping inside. “I’m here to invite you to dinner.”I pause. “We just had dinner two nights ago.”“This one’s different.”I raise a brow. “Different how?”“It’s at Casa Da Varano.”I freeze. Not visibly — I’ve trained for that — but inside, everything goes still. This is it. The next level. The place I’ve been trying to reach since the day I learned
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