“Landing a man like Luca. It’s quite the upgrade from cleaning his floors.”
Emma felt the anger rise like a wave.
But before she could respond, Teresa’s voice sliced through the tension.
“Camille. A word.”
It wasn’t a request.
Camille’s face went pale. She followed Teresa out of the room with the rigid posture of someone walking toward execution.
The moment they were gone, Emma turned to Luca.
“What did you just do?”
“Exactly what I should have done three months ago.”
“Luca—”
“You’re not my maid anymore, Emma. You’re not my hired liar. You’re not someone I pay to make my life easier.”
“Then what am I?”
Luca looked at her like she’d asked him to explain breathing.
“You’re the woman I’m falling in love with.”
The words detonated in the space between them.
Emma couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything except stare at the man who had just rewritten the entire architecture of her life in a single sentence.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know you take your coffee black because you think adding milk is wasteful. I know you read in the kitchen after your shifts because your room doesn’t have good light. I know you sing when you think no one’s listening and you have terrible taste in music and you’re terrified of letting people help you because the last time you trusted someone, they hurt your sister.”
Emma’s eyes burned.
“I know,” Luca continued, voice low and wrecked, “that you’re the first person in ten years to look at me and see someone worth arguing with instead of someone to fear.”
“This is insane.”
“Probably.”
“Your grandmother will expect—”
“I don’t care what she expects.”
“Your family—”
“Emma.” Luca framed her face with both hands. “Stop looking for reasons this can’t work and just tell me if you want it to.”
Emma’s breath shattered.
She wanted to say no. Wanted to walk away. Wanted to protect herself from the inevitable moment when Luca realized she wasn’t extraordinary, just desperate and stubborn and so tired of pretending she didn’t feel the same thing he did.
