CHAPTER 41: RESERVATIONS

CHAPTER 41: RESERVATIONS
Luca entered the bedroom quietly two hours later, closing the door behind him as softly as possible. He expected tension…Isabella was unpredictable these days…but he still wasn’t prepared for the firestorm waiting for him.
She came out of the bathroom immediately she heard the door, and stood in the middle of the room like a lit fuse. The bouquet was lying beside the dress on the bed, carelessly tossed from the look of things.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped the moment their eyes met. “Why would you get me a dress? Why would you even think I wanted something like this? Why are you reading meaning into things that don’t fucking exist?”
He didn't react…Not even a sigh. He just stood there in silence with that same maddening composure that made her want to scream even more.
“I wasn’t reading meaning into anything,” Luca answered softly. “You took care of me. Whether you would have done it for anyone or not doesn’t matter to me. I’m just grateful.”
He made it sound as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like gratitude was the natural response to give when someone cleaned your blood off the floor, stayed awake watching you breathe, and made sure you didn’t die in your sleep.
Isabella got even more angry at the thought. She wasn’t supposed to care at all…she wasn't supposed to feel anything other than hatred, suspicion, and cold vengeance. But hearing him acknowledge her gesture so plainly without the usual Moretti arrogance completely caught her off guard.
“I didn’t do it for you,” she hissed back, even though the truth was messier than she wanted to admit. “And stop trying to pretend that you're a good person, Luca. You're not, and that's never going to change.”
Luca didn't argue or respond. He refused to take the bait, simply walking past her calmly as if she had not just all but called him a devil again.
He moved toward the closet, and Isabella’s scowl deepened. Was he ignoring her? No…worse. He was literally showing her that her hurtful words didn't phase him in any way.
“Did you hear what I said?” she snapped, moving as if she wanted to block him.
“Yes, Bella,” Luca replied calmly. “And I’m still grateful.”
She hated how calm he sounded.
She hated the fact that she couldn’t shake him.
She hated that a tiny, traitorous part of her heart respected the restraint it took not to throw her words back at her.
Inside the closet, he began to change. Isabella hovered near the doorway, fuming, determined to keep attacking until he cracked…but she paused midway through her next insult.
Luca had just slid a tuxedo jacket over his broad shoulders, and the sight of him…tall, composed despite the healing wound, elegant in deep black…completely knocked the breath from her lungs.
She didn’t want it to.
She hated that it did.
But there was no denying the fact that the man in front of her was a specimen that many women would die to have by their side…one they would worship the ground he walked on.
His hair was now brushed back neatly, his cufflinks shone brilliantly, and he did everything with an effortless and captivating confidence that seemed to disorient her, and made her forget what she had been angry about in the first place.
But she soon regained her senses and continued her assault with renewed anger.
“So you think dressing up and probably running off is the solution? Have you forgotten the agreement we made before I came here? That there should be nothing emotional between us? That we’re not supposed to be doing… any of this dinner bullshit?”
He finished adjusting his tux before turning to her. His silence wasn’t defensive…he simply wasn’t troubled by her nagging. Then he took a step toward her…not too close, but close enough for her to smell his brilliant cologne, clean and warm and infuriatingly alluring. Her pulse stumbled, and she scowled at him in an attempt to hide it.
“Isabella,” he said softly, “I’m not forcing anything on you. The dress was a gift, and the invitation is a kind gesture. You can say no.”
She didn't say a word, but her heart had skipped a beat when he suggested that she say no.
“But I meant what I wrote,” he continued. “It’s my own way of saying thank you.”
The sincerity in his voice hit her heavily. She wasn’t prepared for that…she had expected some sort of manipulation, charm, or some twisted Moretti tactic. But he meant it…Genuinely.
He adjusted his cuffs with calm finality. “Reservations have been made. I’ll be downstairs.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but he raised a hand…just slightly, just enough to halt her without commanding her.
“If you choose not to join me, I’ll assume you don’t want to go,” he said, meeting her eyes with a steady resolve. “And I’ll respect that.”
Respect. From Luca Moretti…A man infamous for bending the world to his will. It irritated her more than any insult ever could.
He walked toward the door, and Isabella’s anger trembled at the edges, mixed with something unwelcome and dangerous. Confusion. Curiosity.
“Luca,” she called after him.
He paused at the entrance.
She expected some kind of hesitation, a stutter, something…anything…to show she had shaken him at least, but he was just standing there with that same calm confidence.
“Yes?”
She opened her mouth, ready to whip out another round of verbal assault, but nothing came up. She scoured the deepest parts of her mind for something harsh enough to regain control, but all she managed was…
“Why are you doing all of this?”
“Because I care about you,” he said with a chuckle and a small shake of the head. “And I’m not pretending.”
She was stunned into silence.
Luca didn't wait for a response or another question. He simply nodded to her, then walked out and closed the door quietly behind him.
Isabella stood there in confusion.
What just happened?
Why did he say it like that?
Why did it feel so… real?
She looked at the bouquet on the bed. The dress she had thrown aside. The note she had read until the words burned into her mind.
She shouldn’t be feeling anything.
She shouldn’t be hesitating.
She shouldn’t be letting her guard slip.
But the image of Luca…bleeding, collapsing, vulnerable…flashed through her memory. The way he had looked at her before passing out, calm and unthreatening. The gratitude in his voice.
And then the soft, almost unnoticeable kiss he had placed on her forehead when she was asleep…something she had felt in her dreams but tried to dismiss as a her imagination running wild
Isabella felt her heart lurch again. No…She wasn’t here to fall for him. She wasn’t here to be charmed, softened, or swayed.
She was here for revenge.
To destroy him.
To make him pay.
So why were her hands trembling?