CHAPTER 95: ROADSIDE BRAWLS

CHAPTER 95: ROADSIDE BRAWLS
KRISTIAN

Of all the hundred million things he could have dared me to do.

“You can’t possibly be serious,” I say, blinking at him.

“Hmm?”

“I…can’t get a tattoo,” I reply, my voice low against the hum of the night buzz.

Luca lifts his brows, eyes dark behind the mask he’s still wearing. “Why not?”

I swallow. “I’m the Crown Prince of Sweden. It wouldn’t be proper to have ink on my skin.”

He stares at me, expression unreadable, as if he’s weighing every syllable. Then he stands, fluid motion, and—

Walks away.

“Luca!” I call out, staring at his back with wide eyes.

He doesn’t turn. The echo of my voice follows him down the narrow lane. I have about ten seconds of disbelief that he’s really just walking away from me.

Then I rise too, chasing him through the cobblestones, my heart pounding heavily in my chest.

I catch up and reach for his hand. He jerks it away, anger flashing in his dark eyes.

“Stop,” he snaps. 

My chest heaves. “Stop what?”

“You’re playing with my feelings,” he continues through gritted teeth.

My breath catches. “I’m not playing.”

He whirls on me. “Back in Sweden, you pushed me away like I was a disease. You acted like I was a menace to your reputation.”

“That wasn’t—”

“It was.” His words slice the air. “Every time I reached for you, you retreated. You pretended I didn’t matter.”

I step closer. “I was trying to figure out my feelings. Everything was so new and scary, Luca.”

He shakes his head. “You say that now, and that’s fine. Figuring out your feelings is a human thing to do, and I respect that. But how about you try figuring them out without playing with mine?”

“Luca. I don’t understand.” How the hell did we get here from ‘I dare you to get a tattoo’?

He sighs and really looks me in the eyes. “Lately, it seems like you’ve actually figured your feelings out. Not like you’re trying to. You’ve been following me around, talking about screwing the consequences. Telling me to open up to you and trying to break down my walls and all that bullshit.”

“I want to be there for you,” I say softly. 

“You want to be there for me, or you want me? There’s a difference, Your Highness.”

The way he says my title—like he’s mocking me—sparks something in my chest.

“I don’t think I deserve to be criticized like this when I was just trying to help.”

Luca takes a step forward. “You don’t understand what I’m trying to say.”

I take a step forward. “Help me understand.”

“I’ve never been subtle about the way I feel about you, Kristian. But you made it loud and clear that you didn’t feel the same way.”

My heart falls, and a lump forms in my throat as I remember all the times I cruelly pushed him away. 

“Then we come to Italy, and you act like you’re ready to throw everything in the wind. You act like you’re ready to see where this leads and damn all the consequences but you’re not.”

My eyes narrow. “And how do you know that?”

“Because you're not even ready for the consequences of something as little as a tattoo. How the fuck are you going to bear the consequences of a whole ass relationship?”

So that’s it. I gave him a blank check, and he turned it into a weapon—to show me that I’m not as ready for this as I think I am.

It’s a painful realization to come to, and my chest feels heavy.

“Can I ask you something, Kristian?”

I nod, numb. 

“Are you being this way because of the conversation with my mother you overheard? Because you pity me?”

My head snaps up. “Don’t do that. You know what I feel for you is not pity.”

He waves his hand, frustration bleeding into his voice. “How would you even know the difference?”

“Because I do,” I insist, closing the distance between us. “What I feel for you is real.” I wouldn’t be this terrified of it if it wasn’t.

His eyes narrow. He steps forward until we’re chest to chest. “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not trying to. Yes, I empathize with you. Yes, coming here and seeing all you have to deal with showed me that you have more depth. But no, I’m not doing this out of pity.”

His jaw trembles. “You sound so sure.”

I laugh, a short, broken sound. “Because I am.”

He swallows. “Kristian.”

The way he says my name makes me head spin. I can’t hold back any longer.

I reach up, grab his lapels, and pull him into a kiss. Hard. Insistent. All the words I can’t say explode between our lips.

He kisses me back, breath rattling as his mask bumps against mine. He tastes of sweat and champagne and something I've only ever dreamed of.

I press closer, oblivious to the night around us.

“HEY!”

A shout from the shadows breaks the moment, and we part, blinking. Four men in rumpled jackets stand at the end of the alley, faces twisted. One—tall, broad-shouldered—steps forward, pointing.

“What’s this? Two fags in my neighborhood?”

The slur lands like a slap, cuts through us like jagged glass.

Luca’s face hardens, and a spark ignites in me.

“Get lost,” I hiss.

The men laugh, and the taller one adds. “Get the fuck out of this neighborhood. There’s plenty of pussy out there. Go find one and—”

My fist flies before I can register the movement. It slams into the tallest one’s jaw, and he staggers back, surprise and rage lighting his eyes.

Men like these live for roadside brawls, so they instantly react.

The alley explodes. Fists swing. Luca fights beside me, dodging and landing as many hits as he can. 

The scent of sweat and dust swirls. My suit jacket rips at the shoulder. I taste blood when I crash into a brick wall.

Then the sound of sirens cuts through the air. 

Luca's hand clamps around mine. “We go—now.”