Page 76 of Spotlight Hearts

Jealousy burns through me—hot, ugly, and completely unfair.

I have no right to feel this. But seeing him with someone else twists something dark inside my chest. I lock my phone and shove it back into my pocket.

“He was in L.A. last week,” I say. “Pap photos caught him outside a club.”

“Shit. What if he was murdered?” Michael says as he pops to his feet. “Doesn’t Harry have Dax’s phone number? He could call his dad…”

“I’m sure Luca would love that,” I mutter.

Tasha sighs. “We can’t wait much longer. The pilot says we have a narrow window for takeoff.”

Michael looks at me. “Kai…you were the last one with him. Did he say anything?”

I shake my head. My throat feels tight.

“No.”

The boarding announcement crackles over the speakers. Tasha looks at her watch again, then at the empty chair where Luca should be sitting.

“We have to go,” she says reluctantly. “We’ll figure it out in the air. Maybe he’ll meet us in London.”

I stand up. My legs feel heavy. As we walk toward the jet, I glance back at the terminal entrance one last time. No Luca. No sign of him.

The automatic doors slide open for a family dragging suitcases behind them. A businessman rushes through with his phone pressed to his ear. A flight attendant hurries past us toward another gate.

But it’s not him.

My chest tightens.

I knew he wouldn’t come. I knew the moment I walked out of that villa that I’d broken something between us that might not be fixable.

Still—part of me hoped.

We climb the stairs to the jet. The cabin smells faintly of leather and coffee. The crew greets us with practiced smiles, but even they seem to sense something’s off.

This jet is larger than our normal one. It has private quarters for each of us to get some rest if we want. Not that I’ll be sleeping much. I’m pretty sure the guilty can’t sleep.

Michael drops into the chair across from mine with a frustrated sigh. Min-ho takes the window seat and pulls his headphones around his neck without putting them on.

Tasha talks quietly with the pilot near the front.

“Maybe he overslept,” Michael mutters.

Min-ho gives him a look. “I think he’d be answering his phone if that was the case.”

The flight attendants start the pre-checks. My stomach drops. This is actually happening. We’re leaving without him. I pull my phone out again before I can stop myself.

Still nothing. No messages. No missed calls. But, at this point, I didn’t expect anything else.

The only thing that keeps looping inside my head is the photos that I can’t stop looking at, attempting to dissect the look on his face. Was it a smile? Has he moved on? The thought punches straight through my ribs, stealing my breath.

Maybe he has. Maybe that night meant a lot more to me than it did to him, and I just made things easier for him.

Tasha checks her watch again.

“He has five minutes,” she says. “Then we close the door.”

Five minutes.