PrologueEMERY
On paper, we never made sense.
He’s always wanted a family; I never even planned to get married. He surfs and hikes, bikes and runs; I hate sand and sun, and run only if death is the alternative or procuring coffee requires it. He’s an extrovert and charms everyone he meets; I like dogs more than people. He’s always down to dance with every grandma, drunk bridesmaid, and adorable flower girl at a wedding; you could not forcibly peel me from the wall during the “Cha Cha Slide.” He works to live; I live to work.
But when I surprised everyone and took a long weekend to attend my cousin’s wedding in Las Vegas, all it took was hearing his laugh from across the banquet hall for everything I thought I knew about myself to change.
Our eyes met, and his smile faltered for just a breath before he turned to the heavily tattooed man he was talking to, said something, and then made his way across the room to me, his eyes locked on mine. When he was only a foot away, I registered how tall he was, how broad, how attractive.
Shit.
I wanted to find some visible flaw. I couldn’t.
Beneath my sternum, an anxious lever flickered desperately, begging the universe to let me not fuck it up. I’d never been good at meet-cutes; my best friend had long since stopped bothering to set me up on blind dates. The first time, I apparently turned the guy off by talking about botflies while he tried to eat his orzo. I pissed thenext one off by correcting his use of “less” when he meant “fewer.” Then there was the guy who talked the entire meal about the mountain of supplements I should be taking—and could I use his referral code at checkout?—before asking about my gym routine. Joke’s on him: I don’t even know where the nearest gymis. The final nail in the blind-date coffin was the one that ended before we’d even ordered entrees. It started out fine, but then he mentioned his favorite book wasAmerican Psycho. I knew my time would be better spent back in the lab. For, like, forever.
So that’s what I did, and gave up on dating entirely. My job was the best partner I could ask for anyway.
But then I came to Vegas, heard a perfect laugh, and suddenlyhewas in front of me. My mind went blank. Standing this close to him—he was wearing a black suit, no tie, his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and exposing a peek of smooth, tanned collarbone—I felt as though the universe somehow answered my wish. I was no longer the lab-rat book nerd I’d always known myself to be. I was the woman in the blue strapless sequined dress who’d actually put on makeup for the first time in weeks, who’d agreed to let someone else braid her usually ponytailed hair into a woven crown on top of her head, who’d had two glasses of wine and wanted nothing more than to give the rest of the night to this man standing only inches away.
I would think back to this moment later when we stood side by side on Torrey Pines Beach, fingers intertwined, and the waves broke over our shins, cleaning away our trailing footprints like we’d never stepped anywhere but right where we were planted. That first night, he made me feel like I’d been spawned into the world, at this wedding, solely for him to walk across the room to me.
“I’m Luca,” he said, voice deep and calm.
“Emery.”
He took my hand, his smile turning from polite and a little unsure to flirtatious and elated. “Hi, Emery,” he whispered.
My heart did a painful lurch. Hotandendearing. My absolute kryptonite. “Hi, Luca.”
Luca huffed out a nervous chuckle as he released my hand. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his thick dark blond hair, and I tracked the movement, mesmerized. “I saw you looking over and, I don’t know. Wanted to come meet you.”
“Oh, I just looked over because I heard your laugh,” I said lamely.
“Yeah?”
“It cut through the room like a firecracker in a library.” I immediately wanted to suck the words back into my mouth, but Luca beamed like it was the greatest compliment he’d ever received.
“A firecracker in a library, huh?”
I nodded. “I mean, it’s a pretty great laugh.”
He tilted his head at me, smiling, and I could tell that he’d heard some approximation of this before, probably a million times. His was the kind of laugh that made everyone feel good.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he said, looking at each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on the bright spot of copper in my right one.
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
The song changed, from upbeat to slow, and he stood looking at me like he had nothing else in the world to do, and just when I was about to burst from the tension, from rummaging through the attic of my rom-com cortex, looking for one usable line, Luca calmly held out his hand to me. “Do you want to dance?”
And just like that, I became someone who danced.
To be fair, it was more of a sway.
But I don’t know how I would have moved more with how tightlyhe held me, how close we were. He led capably, occasionally pivoting us in smooth arcs before slowing, gently moving from side to side.
Does he dance like this with everyone?I wondered, and then cracked the whip on those thoughts. Five minutes into this interaction and I was already staking a claim.
But who wouldn’t? He’d dragged more attention with him across the room than an F1 car does around a track. Males, females, young, old, queer, straight—everyone was watching him. He was gorgeous, of course—the thick flaxen hair, tanned skin, dark brows, playful blue eyes—but it was more than that. Luca had an easiness in his body, a looseness in his limbs and a smile that carried the vibe of a hot, benevolent prince who had no idea of the power he held.
