Page 147 of Can't Always Get What You Want

I hesitate, unsure. “This isn’t a revenge plot, right?”

“Nah,” Gio says hastily. “Definitely not revenge.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” I say.

“You won’t,” he promises. “We’re gonna be dramatic and see what the little brat does, eh? See how she reacts.”

That lands. Heavy. Real.

“Fine. But if this backfires, I’m blaming you.”

He claps his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Deal.”

33

nova

Luca is coming over and I am literally ill.

Sick to my stomach. Not metaphorically. Not vaguely nervous. I mean actual, full-body, cold-sweatdreadruns through my veins.

I pace my apartment like a caged cheetah at the zoo, too keyed up to sit, too nauseous to eat.

The doorman said he’d buzz when Luca arrived, but when the knock comes directly at my door—with no warning—I straight up panic.

PANIC I SAY!

“Shit.” Deep breath in. “It’s fine. Just tell him how you feel.”

Deep breath out.

Smoothing my hands down the front of my pants, I check my reflectionone last timein the mirror before pulling open the door with a fake smile already pasted on my face.

There he is…

Filling the doorway, Luca looksridiculouslydelicious in a black Henley and jeans, his dark hair is a mess as if he got caught up in a windstorm on his way into the building and hadn’t bothered to fix it. He smells like soap. And sin.

And I missed it.

Holding a paper bag in one hand and a plastic-wrapped bundle in the other, he has a grin on his face that almost matches mine, except his seems genuine.

I glance down at the bundle.

Flowers.

Flowers?

I frown, confused, at the bold, beautiful bouquet of wildflowers and roses.

Why is he bringing me flowers? I’m the one who fucked up. I’m the one who?—

He leans down, kissing me on the cheek, leaving me flustered and staring off after him as he heads to the kitchen. I can only trail along behind him.

“What on Earth is happening right now?” I hover near the edge of the island like an interloper in my own space. Which is RIDICULOUS.

Luca glances up, lifting a brow. “What do you mean?”

“What do I—” I blink, gesturing vaguely between us. “I’ve been spiraling for days, and you show up with dinner and flowers like we didn’t almost implode?”

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