Chapter 17 - No More Pretending
Spring arrived in Manhattan slowly.
By April, Luca and I had been together four months.
By May, people stopped calling me “Luca Moretti’s assistant girlfriend.”
Mostly.
By June, I became Vice President of Strategic Operations after leading the restructuring of two underperforming divisions.
The promotion came from the COO.
Luca abstained from the compensation vote.
When I discovered that, I kissed him.
“You’re rewarding me for not interfering?”
“Yes.”
“That seems unfair.”
“You’re learning.”
Our relationship remained public.
But private where it mattered.
We attended galas.
Board dinners.
Family events.
Then went home and argued about thermostat settings like ordinary people.
Luca liked the apartment cold enough to preserve meat.
I preferred human temperatures.
We compromised badly.
One Friday in July, he arrived at my apartment carrying groceries.
“You cook?”
“No.”
“Then why do you have groceries?”
“I’m attempting personal growth.”
“This I need to see.”
Forty minutes later, he nearly burned pasta.
I laughed until I cried.
“This is sabotage.”
“You put pasta into water.”
“The instructions were unclear.”
“They were on the box.”
“I don’t read boxes.”
“Apparently.”
We ate takeout.
It was perfect.
Later, sitting on my balcony, Luca became quiet.
“What?”
“I received an offer.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“To acquire Bellmont Group.”
“That’s huge.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you sound unhappy?”
“It requires six months in London.”
I stared.
“When?”
“September.”
“And you want to go?”
“Professionally, yes.”
I looked toward the city.
Here it was.
A real test.
No villains.
No blackmail.
No trust clause.
Just two careers.
Two lives.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“I don’t want six months without you.”
His face softened.
“I don’t want it either.”
“But?”
“But I won’t ask you to move.”
I looked at him.
“Why not?”
“Because your career is here.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“Do you want me to ask you not to go?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“You should go.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You just said—”
“I can hate it and still think you should do it.”
He smiled faintly.
“That sounds annoyingly mature.”
“I dislike it.”
“So do I.”
We worked it out.
Not perfectly.
Flights.
Weekends.
Video calls.
I visited London twice.
He returned to New York constantly.
Distance was difficult.
But it was healthy difficulty.
The kind that taught us who we were when nothing was forcing us together.
In November, Luca came home permanently.
He walked into my office unannounced.
I looked up.
“You’re supposed to be in London.”
“Finished.”
“Finished what?”
“The acquisition.”
“Three weeks early?”
“I’m efficient.”
“You’re impossible.”
He approached my desk.
“You look beautiful.”
“I’m wearing glasses and eating pretzels.”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“Why are you really here?”
“To invite you to Christmas.”
I groaned.
“No.”
He laughed.
“One year later.”
“Absolutely not.”
“My grandmother already planned dinner.”
“Of course she did.”
“No fake dating.”
“Good.”
“No arranged marriage.”
“Better.”
“No board coup.”
“Promising.”
“No public declaration.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You swear?”
He raised one hand.
“I swear.”
I should have known better.
Christmas Eve arrived.
The mansion looked almost exactly as it had one year earlier.
Same tree.
Same marble staircase.
Same red roses.
Same golden lights.
But everything felt different.
I entered beside Luca.
No whispers.
No shock.
Alessandra hugged me.
Julian handed me champagne.
Sofia complimented my dress.
Red again.
My choice this time.
During dinner, Alessandra looked suspiciously emotional.
Julian smiled too much.
Luca seemed calm.
Too calm.
I kicked him under the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m chewing.”
“Luca.”
“Emma.”
I narrowed my eyes.
After dinner, he guided me toward the staircase.
I stopped.
“No.”
“What?”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughed.
“What do you think is happening?”
“I know you.”
“Do you?”
“Unfortunately.”
He took my hand.
“No audience.”
I looked around.
Everyone was very deliberately not watching.
“Your entire family is pretending not to watch.”
“They’re bad actors.”
“Terrible.”
He led me halfway up the staircase.
Exactly where we had stood a year earlier.
My heart accelerated.
“Luca.”
He turned.
“One year ago, I stood here and told everyone you were the only woman I would ever choose.”
My eyes filled immediately.
“That was supposed to be fake.”
“I know.”
“You broke the rules.”
“I know.”
“You caused an international corporate scandal.”
“That part was mostly Victor.”
“Debatable.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“I’m not going to ask you anything tonight.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I promised no public declaration.”
Confusion replaced anticipation.
He took both my hands.
“I only wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“For teaching me that love is not choosing someone once.”
His voice softened.
“It’s choosing them every day while still letting them choose themselves.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
“That is disgustingly good.”
“I practiced.”
I laughed through tears.
Then kissed him.
Behind us, Julian whispered,
“Can we clap?”
Sofia hissed,
“No.”
I laughed harder.
Luca pulled me closer.
No proposal.
No spectacle.
No expectation.
Just us.
May you like
And that was why, three days later, when I found a small velvet box hidden in the back of Luca’s kitchen cabinet, I nearly had a heart attack.
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