𝐋𝐢𝐚

The whole family descended at the hospital in doves, rushing into his room as if they hadn't been blowing up my phone every ten minutes to demand an update. I could see panic and fear on each of their faces.

His mother almost fell at the door reaching for him, leaning her head on his chest as if she wanted to feel the evidence of life still beating within him.

"He is okay, Tesoro." his father whispered, kissing Luca on both cheeks while Alessa carefully stretched herself beside him on the small hospital bed, her tear-streaked face slightly touching his. Sienna, would have done the same if there had been room. I could tell she'd been crying too. It was times like this that reflected how much love lived with us.

By the time everyone had kissed and touched him, he looked exhausted, and so did I. Matteo, Dev, and I had not slept closer to twelve hours while we stood guard.

"You need sleep, sweetheart." my mom, Sophie Boselli,  said, stroking my hair, her eyes burning into mine with sympathy as if she understood the turmoil I was going through. Sometimes I suspected she and my aunts knew more about Luc and me than they let on. She was correct, though. I needed sleep and a good cry—weep out the mass of built-up fear that still clogged my throat. If I could, I would have helplessly bawled into her shoulders until my heart felt lighter.

Before I left the hospital, I leaned over Alessa to kiss his forehead, gently touching his face. I didn't know I had done it until my hand felt his stubble. It was a reflex, an voluntary action. Luckily, my family didn't find it strange, and if they did, none of them voiced it. 

We all stayed in Italy until Luc was discharged. Over the last six years, Luc had spent most of his time in this country, working to become the driver he was today. Although I had a special place in my heart for the country, considering it bore my heritage, there was a part of me that despised it. I felt, unfairly so, like it had stolen him from me.

Pulling Serena with me, we walked out of the room, uncle Romano—Serena's father, walking closely behind us. "Please come with me," I whispered to her. She did, no questions asked. She could tell my light was about to go off. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Dealing with Luc's near-death nearly tipped me off a cliff, but being near him and confronting his girlfriend was just as bad.

My eyes burned from the sun when we stepped out of the building; fatigue almost made me trip over my heels, but Serena held me up, wrapping her arm around mine so I could lean on her.

"Get in the Land Rover on your left," uncle Rom told us. Serena opened the door, gently pushed me inside before sliding in after me. Even though she was almost four years younger than me, she was one of my best friends. The way she took care of me felt like she knew exactly how I felt as if she could read my mind. I never knew how much I loved her until Luca left for Italy.

At ten, she had watched me break into pieces that day. She slept in my bed for more than a month. Always there, sitting in silence while I talked about him when I needed to.

She was my anchor—a sister that pushes me to be better, calls me out on my bullshit, which happens more than a few times, and celebrates every one of my wins, big or small. She was also the only one I told about Luc and me.

Uncle Rom flew us home and left for the hospital immediately.

"Need help?" Serena asked when we reached outside my door.

I shook my head. The housekeeper had done everything already, I knew my bed was ready, and everything I needed would be within reach.

Our Italian home was like a castle, big though not as massive as our main home in New York.

Once I got into my room, I rummaged through the wardrobe to find something to wear. I found a blue silk pajama shorts, which I placed on top of the bed before I headed to the bathroom for a shower. I decided on a shower over a bath because it would take less time.

I slept from 6pm to 9 am the following morning. I wouldn't have woken up if Nicolo hadn't banged on my door to wake me.

"You need to start knocking," I told him, peering at him through sleepy eyes. He was becoming so beautiful; I thought as I watched him slide open my curtain. He had his father's curly hair, his mother's complexion, and laugh lines that creased at the corner of his brown hazel eyes.

"Come have breakfast with us." I didn't want to. I wanted to sleep until I felt fully rested. "You haven't been with us for months, and you rarely visit." he complained, opening one window to let in the breeze in case I was thinking of refusing.

"Fine. I'll be there in a minute." I relented, motioning with my hand for him to get out. He nodded. I watched his tall lanky body sprint from my view.

I waited until I heard Nicolo's joyously humming disappear to get off the bed. I did not have time to shower, so I wore a long silk black robe to breakfast.

"Good morning, honey. Are you well rested?" My aunt Mia asked in a worried tone, stopping from pouring a cup of coffee to look at me. Everyone at the table looked at me too, worry plastered on their faces.

"I would have preferred sleep, but Nicolo thought differently." I glared at him, and he beamed with pure enjoyment even when his mother smacked him for waking me up.

I kissed all of them good morning before I sat down. It was great eating with them again after months of being away.

"How is LA? " my father asked. He was in his second cup of black coffee since I sat down.

"Intimidating. Hard and extremely terrifying. I've only had two gigs, and both were extras."

"What is extra?" Bemused, My uncle Bruno asked. He was in good spirit because, apparently, Luca's doctor had confirmed his injuries would heal in time, and he could be able to continue racing."

"I was in a crowd scene in one, and the other I was in a cafe. No speaking lines."

"That is wonderful," He claimed, grinning as if I had come up with a cure for the common cold.

"How comes you didn't tell us?"

"It's not a big deal, uncle Bruno." I insisted.

"It is." They all said in unison, staring at me with accusing glares.

"Fine. Neither of them has been released. I promise to tell you when they do.

"When will they be released?" my father asked, glancing at me with a determined look.

"The series will be out on the 26th of this month, and the movie next month."

"Good. We can all go to the theatre to watch it." my mother said, clasping her hands in pure delight. I didn't have the heart to spoil their day by mentioning my part would be a sec or less on the screen.

We flew from Italy the day after Luca was discharged. He seemed dull and frustrated, perhaps from pain of medication. I did not ask, nor did he tell me. We now had a different relationship, one where neither of us knew how to relate to the other.

Being home was great, but melancholic, especially with Luc around. This was where we met, grew up, fought, and loved. It was also where we had sex for the first and only time—where he left me without telling me why. Years later, the hurt was still throbbing in my chest.

Two days after we came home. A shadow appeared in the corner of my bedroom one night. I knew it wouldn't be an intruder because our house was airtight regarding security; however, that did not mean we were susceptible to attack. My father and uncles checked it periodically the same way people took their cars for servicing—an affair that lasted almost a week.

"It's me," Luca said before I could say anything. I couldn't see much because it was dark, but I could see his silhouette. He had not changed to pajamas which means he had just come back home.

"What are you doing here? And what time is it?"
I asked, sitting up on the bed while clasping my beddings to my chest.

He didn't respond, but he moved further near the bed, the moonlight revealing his tall frame, a baseball cap hiding his eyes.

"It's about three in the morning." I noticed he evaded the other question. He probably didn't know why he was in my room in the middle of the night other than an old habit.

"Should you be drinking when you're under medication?" I questioned with concern. Although he was healing, it was taking a bit of time, and Luc detested sitting around, feeling helpless or sorry for himself.

"I'm not drunk," he muttered under his breath, taking off his cap. "I'm not even legally allowed to drink." he added.

"Oh, please, " I snot, Like that ever stopped you before."

"Scoot over,"

"No. You're not getting into my bed in those clothes." I hissed, moving to the edge of the bed on his side to ensure he didn't get in.

"Please," He whispered, touching the nearest pillow. I relented. He looked forlorn; his head bent as if he didn't want me to see his face.

"I hate it when you climb into my bed in your day clothes." I begrudgingly moved over to allow him to get in, " at least remove the socks."

I swore when his cold feet touched my leg. "Sorry," he muttered, burrowing deeper into the covers. He smelled of the ocean—a scent I have associated with him since I caught a whiff when he hugged me the summer we turned seventeen.

"I've missed this?" I heard him say. I glanced at him to find his eyes closed,  as if he was reminiscing about the days past. I, too, missed our midnight visits.

"Why are you here, Luc?" I was about to light up my bedside lamp when he stopped me with his arm.

"It's dim," I murmured; he nodded, lifting his arm off me. I was glad I had worn a pajama suit instead of the black silk nightgown I bought last week from Neiman Marcus.

Once I light the lamp, we laid down in silence. It was as if we were suspended in time that neither of us wanted to break the comfort by having to bring up a conversation that would bring back memories of how it had been six years ago

"You changed the headboard," he murmured, opening his eyes to stare into space.

I changed it a few years ago from vertically brown padded to a smoke velvet with a hand-tufted design pattern.

"How did you know? You haven't been here for years. And don't tell me you have eyes in the back." A wry smile stretched across his lips, "I have come here quite often." he confessed, leaning sideways to look at me and, just as suddenly, looked away.

Being with Luc like this triggered several memories I wanted to keep as much as I tried to forget—beautiful memories built from childhood to young adulthood, where the consequences of one decision swept in like a tornado to cut them all short.

"Did you bring me anything?"

It was a tradition that he was to bring me something to eat every time he dropped by my bedroom for a midnight visit. We never did anything other than talk about books, movies, cars, and our family.

"Sorry, no. I had not planned for it. I just found myself in front of your bedroom door."

"So you crept in like a thief?"

"Yes."

I laughed, playfully shoving him with my shoulder.

What the hell was I doing? I didn't want to fall into the trap of falling in love with him all over again. I made the right choice to move from home to try for an acting career. That Luca had never been into my house was the icing on the cake. There were no memories of him there.

"I haven't thanked you for staying." He said in a quiet voice. I didn't understand the alternative.

Was I supposed to leave him alone when he was injured? Of course, he wouldn't have been alone; I know he has bodyguards, a team, and Matteo. But he was my family; I was taught family is the most important thing in the world. It was my duty as well as my responsibility to be there.

"Don't mention it. Im glad I was there."

He chortled—a beautiful, deep husky voice that left me breathless. "Caterina wasn't," he drawled,

Oh, God! I'm in trouble.

It was starting again. I was beginning to fall in love with him again, though I don't think I ever stopped. I needed to leave soon, I thought. Being together again in this house, especially on this bed brought back memories that I needed to stay buried.

"I want to say I'm sorry, but we both know I'm not. I don't like her."

"Don't be. The feeling is mutual." I knew that. If I were her, I would hate me too.

"Would you have liked her to see you?" I asked in a small voice. I didn't know I was holding my breath until he said no.

"I suspect we'll bump into each other soon," I told him. "We are in the same business."

While we lay side by side, it was hard not to notice he wasn't fourteen anymore; he was almost twenty-one years—tall, toned, and graceful, with longer hair than usual. When he laughed, it was throaty and alluring. He was different, and so was I.

I wasn't any taller than I had been at forteen, but I was fuller, prettier, if my parents were to be believed. I had learned to manage my hair—a process that required patience and a lot of self-acceptance. I had to love it first to be able to take care of it.

"Lia," he called with urgency in his voice, turning his body, so we were face to face.

"Hmm," my voice trembled without knowing why it did. He was about to tell me something important, and I wondered whether I was ready.

"Please be kind to me." I exhaled loudly with relief, "what?"

"Be kind to me."

"I have...I have, " I stammered, staring at him and getting lost in his green eyes. "I have no idea what you mean." my mouth went dry, and my heart began to race a marathon as we stared at each other.

"Be my friend again. Treat me the same way you do the rest of the family."

This boy had shattered my heart once without looking back, relocated to another country barely a week after we slept together wanted kindness.

What exactly did that mean?

"I am kind to you." 

He shook his head, sitting up the bed without taking his eyes off me. I couldn't read any emotions in his gaze—another thing he got with age.

"You treat me with a distance."Yes, I did. I was protecting myself.

"So you're allowed to put a physical distance between us but dare I put up an emotional one?"
I asked bitterly; I was about to slip off the bed when I remembered I was in my bed; he should be the one to leave.

"I know. I know. I promise to make it up to you."

What did that mean? I panicked,

"No, no. Don't. I think we are okay the way we are."

"Are you?"

I nodded.

"Well, I'm not. I want to be able to call you when I win a race. I hate that I can't share it with you."

"That was your choice." I said sharply, starting to get angry at how he was poking at the things that hurt me the most.

He built a career from scratch and didn't involve me in any way; I could have liked to hear the excitement in his voice, the fear, and the uncertainty of wondering whether that was the right path for him. But mostly, I would have liked to experience my coming of age with him too. He took that away from me as well.

"I don't think we should talk about this now?"

"Why the fuck not?" why was he getting mad at me? He was in the wrong, not me.

I'm the one that stayed. He left.

"Because you'll never convince me how you left was right?"

"What if I say I was wrong?"

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to vote and comments to let me know how you find this chapter.