Page 97 of Tinsel in Telluride

“Open the results.”

“No.”

Desperation takes hold and I issue a plea of my own. “I need to know if he’s yours.”

So I can plan.

Wrap my head around our future.

“No.”

A frustrated huff escapes me. “You stubborn—Luca. Please.”

“Fine.” His glare rips through me before he turns on his heel and exits the room. He’s back in seconds, a large, folded envelope in his hand.“You can open them. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me what I already know.”

And with that final sentiment, he tosses the results on the floor and storms from the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

LUCA

So much for happy endings.

That singular thought has grown legs, procured a ten-inch blade, and is stabbing my heart—repeatedly.

I stumble out the door to where my best friends are all drinking beers, laughing in the hot tub. Silence washes over the deck as the door slams behind me, and they all swing their heads in my direction.

“Luca? Are you okay?”

I’m not sure which of them says it, but it doesn’t matter, because no. I’m not okay. Nothing about me is okay.

I thought we were on the same page. Wanted the same things. In my mind, it was romantic—a grand gesture, if you will—telling off my mother and stating my intention to marry the woman who has consumed every fiber of my being. Isn’t that what guys do in the romance books she reads? Wasn’t that what she wanted?

Fuck, how did this go so wrong?

Crossing the deck in a haze, I swing my legs over the edge of the hot tub and splash down, not bothering to undress.

“What the fuck, Luca?” Bash yells.

“My thoughts exactly,” I mutter.

“Where’s Leigh?” Holt asks. “And why do you look like someone killed your dog right in front of you?”

“Inside. And because she did. Only replace dog with dreams of a future.”

Enzo’s eyes narrow. “Start from the beginning.”

So I do.

Though I’m pretty sure I black out because I don’t remember telling the story by the time I’ve finished. But I must’ve, because each of my friends is looking at me through the steam like they are ready to punch my teeth in.

The only one with a good excuse to do so is Enzo.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen my twin look as homicidal as he does right now.

“That’s a lot to unpack, but let’s put a pin in the way you colossally fucked up with Leigh and talk about you and ourlovelymother.” Enzo’s voice is melancholy with a hint of murder. “How long have you been talking to her?”

“Enzo, I?—”

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