Page 76 of The Slug Crystal
"Welcome to Villa Bianchi," Luca announces as we pull into the circular driveway. "My childhood summer escape."
We pile out of the taxi, and I barely manage to avoid falling to my knees on the ground to kiss it. Luca grabs my arm, tugging me inside while the rest of the men deal with the luggage.
Inside, the villa is cool and spacious, with high ceilings and stone floors offering relief from the Italian heat. Sunlight streams through tall windows, illuminating walls the color of fresh cream and furniture that manages to be both elegant and inviting. I immediately notice the shimmer of turquoise through the back windows—a pool glinting in the golden light.
"Your rooms are upstairs," Luca explains, leading us through the main floor. "Four bedrooms, three bathrooms. My uncle renovated last year."
I carefully place Alex's terrarium on a side table in the living room, making sure it's stable and out of direct sunlight. The blue snail immediately begins exploring his glass home as if sensing the change in location. I watch him for a moment, guilt gnawing at me—are we giving up? Just playing house in a beautiful villa while he remains trapped in that shell?
"This is exactly what we need," Jake says, coming to stand beside me. His voice is low, intended just for me. "One day to reset, to think clearly. We'll figure this out, Emma."
I nod, unable to trust my voice. His hand squeezes mine briefly, a promise without words, before he turns to help bring the bags in from the taxi.
"I propose," Jake announces to the group once we've assembled in the living room, "that we take today to settle in, get some real rest, and start fresh tomorrow. Clear heads make better plans."
"Agreed," Marco says, already examining the villa's extensive bookshelves with scholarly interest. "We've beenoperating on adrenaline and desperation. A tactical pause is wise."
Before anyone can respond, Ben drops his bag to the floor with a dramatic thud. "Screw planning," he announces, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion to reveal his toned torso. "Last one in the pool buys dinner!"
He's out the door before anyone can stop him, his triumphant whoop followed by the unmistakable splash of a cannonball. Water arcs through the open doors, spattering the stone floor and catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds.
Luca indignantly states, "My uncle just had those tiles refinished!"
But the words just collide with Jake's surprised laugh and Marco's resigned sigh. Despite everything, the layers of disappointment, uncertainty, and guilt, I find myself smiling at the absurdity of our situation.
“Give me five minutes to change and I’ll join you!” I yell, rolling my bag towards the stairs.
Luca intercepts me, picking up my bag. He carries it up the wide stone staircase as if it weighs nothing, his long stride unhurried, and confident. Sunlight pours through tall arched windows, painting gold across the polished banister. The villa smells faintly of lemon oil and cool stone, a relief after the brief, but heavy Roman heat outside.
At the end of the hall, he nudges open a door with his shoulder. The bedroom that unfolds feels like a dream: high ceilings with pale timber beams, walls washed in creamy white, a four-poster bed draped in linen that stirs gently in the breeze from the open windows. The floor is tiled in soft terracotta, cool against my sandals. Through an archway, I glimpse an attached bathroom, all marble and brass, a clawfoot tub gleaming like a pearl.
“This one suits you,” Luca says, placing my bag carefully on the carved dresser, his accent curling around each word.
I drop to my knees in front of the bag, digging through themess I crammed in days ago. The turquoise shimmer of the pool outside is lodged in my mind, calling to me, and I need my new swimsuit. My fingers shove past wrinkled shirts, jeans, and the sweater I used to wrap Alex’s terrarium earlier on the journey.
The bed creaks behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find Luca stretched across the mattress like he owns it, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped lazily across his chest. His storm-blue eyes are heavy-lidded, following the curve of my back, the tilt of my hips, every shift as I rummage.
I pause, heat prickling my cheeks. “Out.” I gesture toward the door.
His mouth curves in a slow, wicked smile. “Why would I leave? I don’t mind watching.” His voice is velvet wrapped in smoke, that Italian lilt making the words sound far more dangerous than playful.
My hand stills on the zipper. “You’re impossible.”
“Then let me be impossible,” he murmurs, levering himself up on one elbow. That gaze of his doesn’t waver, like he’s daring me.
A war sparks inside me—common sense and pride against the sudden ache low in my stomach. Finally, I exhale and turn to face him. “Fine. But only look. No touching.”
His breath leaves him in a ragged groan, head tipping back. “Dio mio, stella,” he says, voice thick with hunger. “You’ll kill me.”
Slowly, deliberately, I peel out of my clothes. The air in the room thickens, heavy with his attention. I slip the bikini top over my shoulders, tie the strings behind my neck; his eyes track the movement as if memorizing every knot. When I shimmy into the bottoms, the silence breaks with another strangled sound from him.
I straighten at last, smoothing the straps against my hips. He’s propped up now, jaw clenched, chest rising too quickly. “You’re a tease,” he growls, accent roughened, almost guttural.
I let a smile curl my lips, toss my towel over my shoulder. “You knew the rules. Let’s go down to the pool.”
He drags a hand over his face like a man half-destroyed. “Go without me, amore,” he says hoarsely. “I need… a minute.”
My laugh rings sharp and smug as I step toward the door, leaving him sprawled on the bed, undone. His groan follows me into the hallway, sweet as victory.
