Page 170 of Bitter When He Begs

And that’s enough.

Because I’ll never need anything more than this. Not when I already have everything I was too scared to ask for.

Epilogue

SAGE

Thesunisjuststarting to dip below the horizon, casting this stupid, golden, picturesque glow over everything, and I’m gripping the handle on the passenger door like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the planet.

Luca glances over, one hand loosely on the wheel, the other tapping out a beat on his thigh like this is just another drive, like he’s not about to meet the one person whose opinion still kind of scares the shit out of me—my dad.

“Babe,” he says without looking, “you’re breathing like we’re heading into a hostage negotiation.”

“Because it feels like one,” I mutter, shifting in my seat for the fifth time in two minutes. “I mean, what if he hates you?”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Luca finally looks over, eyebrows lifted and jaw slack in mock offense. “Sage. He texts me.”

“That means nothing,” I shoot back, immediately cringing because it does. It means a lot. My dad doesn’t text anyone unless he actually likes them or they’re a producer who owes him money. “Okay, it means a little. But what if he sees you and decides you’re too… football?”

Luca barks out a laugh. “Too football?”

“You know what I mean,” I grumble, folding my arms. “Big. Loud. Gorgeous. Muscles.”

He snorts. “You trying to calm yourself down or gas me up?”

I roll my eyes, but my face is heating up because I know it’s true. Luca’s all of those things—six-foot-three, built like he was carved out of quarterback porn, and somehow both rough and terrifyingly soft when no one’s looking. He’s also smart, way smarter than people give him credit for, and calm in a way that makes me feel like the world isn’t constantly on fire. Which is ironic, considering he’s the most combustible person I know outside of myself.

“Okay,” I admit. “I’m spiraling.”

He reaches over, long fingers finding my thigh, squeezing once. “Babe. You survived your grandfather’s birthday in Florence. You’ve stood in front of studio execs and called them out for being misogynistic dinosaurs. You looked my father in the face and told him to go fuck himself.”

I exhale, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. “You make a solid point.”

“Always do.”

I shoot him a sideways look. “He’s kind of intense, though.”

“I’m used to intense,” Luca says, eyes back on the road. “I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

I flip him off, but there’s no heat in it. Just nerves. Deep, rooted ones. My dad and I have always been close. He’s not just a parent, he’s someone I admire, someone whose opinion still matters more than I’d ever admit out loud. And this is the firstperson I’ve ever really brought home. Officially. Not just some summer fling or brief disaster he doesn’t need to remember.

This is Luca.

And Luca’s… more.

I glance over again, watching the way the light hits his jaw, the way he’s got that quiet concentration on his face that only ever shows up when he’s trying not to make a big deal out of something he secretly thinks is a big deal. His hair’s a mess from the wind, and he’s wearing the dark hoodie he stole back from me, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

“You think I’m gonna embarrass you or something?”

“No. I think I’m gonna embarrass me.” I look down at our hands, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like it’s second nature. “What if he sees how serious this is and freaks out?”

Luca squeezes my hand. “Then he freaks out. But I don’t think he will.”

“You’re not nervous?” I ask.

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