CHAPTER 99: I’M BISEXUAL, MAMMA
CHAPTER 99: I’M BISEXUAL, MAMMA
LUCA
My tie refuses to cooperate.
I yank at the silk fabric, irritated that the stupid thing keeps mocking me. One day, I’m a master at something, and the next day, I feel like a rookie.
Especially when it comes to this. Stupid. Tie.
I yank at it again until a familiar pair of hands reaches in. I look in the mirror to see Kristian standing behind me, adjusting the tie with slow, careful movements.
“Relax,” he says softly, his breath warm on my neck. “You’ll scare the fabric.”
I laugh quietly. “I don’t think silk can feel fear.”
“Then you’ve never worn Swedish silk. We’ve bullied the fabric into complete submission.”
I laugh again, and he does too. I take a deep breath and lean slightly closer, seeking his warmth.
After adjusting the back of the tie, he moves to stand in front of me, and my heart skips.
“Breathe, Luca,” he says, but I see his pulse ticking erratically in his neck.
His fingers work quickly, looping and pulling. I study every detail of his face—his brows furrowed in focus, tousled hair, the birthmark near his left eye, the soft freckles across his nose from the Roman sun.
There’s a softness in his touch that makes my chest ache with want.
He swallows. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
His cheeks flush, and I realize how much I’ve missed teasing him.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
I chuckle. “I can’t stop looking at you, Your Highness. You’re right in front of me.”
“I need to focus so I can knot your tie properly.”
“Right. And is that supposed to take this long?”
He half glares. “Says the man who just spent ten minutes struggling.”
I look down at his hands as they flip the tie again. I resume staring, and the flush deepens.
He clears his throat. “We should move the tasting outdoors next time,” he says, trying to distract me. And it works.
“We should?”
“Yeah. Maybe a vineyard. Let the guests see the process and meet the farmers. It’s more natural than indoors.”
“That would be expensive. Risky.”
“But honest. And intimate.” He shrugs. “People respond to stories. Give them one.”
I nod. “Let’s have the farmers speak tonight. Five minutes. Let them share what their vineyards mean to them.”
He meets my eyes. “That’s brilliant.”
I shrug. “We don’t even know if there’ll be a next time. Once this project ends, we’ll return to our normal lives.”
His jaw twitches. “How does that make you feel? Knowing we’ll go our separate ways?”
The question surprises me, almost as much as the pained look on his face.
“I can’t say it makes me happy.”
“Me neither. I’ll miss you.”
My breath catches. My gaze shifts from his eyes to his lips.
The space between us shrinks—until the door swings open.
My mother steps in, in a deep blue gown and pearls. Her gaze lands on us, and Kristian instinctively steps back.
Her mouth lifts slightly, but her eyes dart between us with that familiar look—disapproval dressed as composure.
The same look she wore yesterday, last week, during the press shoot. Since the conversation we had that night, it’s been the same: a breath held, a flick of the eye, a quiet step back.
I turn toward Kristian. “You didn’t finish the tie.”
He hesitates.
“Finish it,” I say, voice firm.
His fingers brush my collar again. My mother watches silently as he finishes.
When he’s done, Kristian turns to her with a polite nod. “We’re ready, Prime Minister.”
She smiles tightly. We walk out together.
Giovanni stands just outside in a sharp suit. He looks at her, then at Kristian, then at me.
“You okay?” he asks under his breath.
“Nothing outside the usual,” I reply with a dry smile.
The palazzo’s ballroom has been transformed—long tables lined with wine glasses, wood barrels stacked for decor, string lights stretched like a canopy overhead.
Flags from each region wave gently. Soft acoustic Italian music plays. The air smells of cheese, truffle, and dark grapes.
I move through the crowd, greeting vineyard owners with calloused hands and proud smiles. One older man, Pietro, clasps my arm and tells me about his great-grandfather, who planted his first vine at fifteen.
“Fifteen,” I repeat. “That’s younger than I was when I poured my first glass.”
He laughs. “But I bet you poured it better.”
A younger woman, Chiara, hands me a glass and talks about the dry season that nearly ruined their harvest.
“But we survived,” she says. “Like we always do.”
They speak with pride. They remind me what this is about. And still, my mind is elsewhere.
Kristian hovers nearby, chatting with an organizer. Every time our eyes meet, something tightens in my chest—an urge to be near him. To hold his hand. To show him off to the whole damn world.
We’re led to the large tasting table. Crystal glasses line the surface, with boards of bread and fruit between the seats. I take mine. Kristian moves toward the one beside me.
“Oh,” my mother says lightly, “that seat’s reserved. Your Highness. There’s a special one just across.”
Kristian pauses. “Of course.” He smiles and moves.
I look at her. “Reserved for who?”
She lifts her wine glass. “Zara Bianchi. She’s lovely. Her father is a wealthy oil magnate. Educated in London. Very charming.”
I stare. “You’re setting me up?”
“It’s just a conversation,” she shrugs.
My hand tightens around the stem of my glass. “I’m not interested.”
She sips. “Luca, it’s time you started thinking about the future. About stability…”
The word she doesn’t say fills the silence. Appearances.
I can’t believe she’s still on this. I thought her silence meant remorse. My head spins—and it’s not the wine.
I glance at Kristian. He’s smiling at something someone said, but I see the tension in his jaw. He’s listening.
I turn back to her and say, loudly, “I’m bisexual, Mamma. I like men, too. You know that, right?”
She chokes on her wine, eyes bulging.
Forks freeze. Across the table, Kristian’s smile fades, eyes locked on me.
She recovers and wipes her mouth. But her gaze sharpens—not at me. At him.
I hold my ground.
Kristian doesn’t flinch.
And that’s how we sit—at a table surrounded by silence, broken only by the subtle clink of glass and the soft Italian song playing far, far in the background.