Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)
“What do I wear?” I groaned, tossing another dress onto the bed.
Delilah’s voice called from the kitchen, “Everything you wear is cute. You’re beautiful.”
“That doesn’t help!” I yelled back, still panicking as I scanned my closet like it held the answer to world peace.
She ran upstairs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Miss, it’s dinner. Not the Met Gala.”
“Yeah, dinner… with my ex-husband-who-might-not-be-an-ex-anymore and who also might want to start over,” I muttered.
Delilah laughed and walked over to the clothes pile. “You’re overthinking it.”
I sighed and sat down in front of the mirror. My vanity lights glowed warmly as I stared at myself. I started curling my hair, letting the dark waves fall softly around my shoulders. My makeup was light, dewy—something soft with a touch of pink on my lips.
After minutes of panicked indecision, I finally chose a dress.
It was simple—cream-colored with a soft silk texture, cinched slightly at the waist, and falling just above my knees. It had delicate off-shoulder sleeves and tiny pearl buttons down the front. Casual, but elegant. Sweet, but not trying too hard.
“Perfect,” Delilah said as she peeked into the room again. “Now stop stressing. He’s already here.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. “What?”
“He’s downstairs,” she grinned, heading back down. “Holding flowers. Like a proper gentleman.”
I grabbed my breath—literally—and made my way down the stairs slowly.
And there he was. Luca Steele.
Standing in the foyer of my estate, holding a bouquet of white tulips and lilacs. He wore a black button-up, sleeves rolled slightly at the arms, no tie—effortlessly sharp. And when he saw me, his lips tugged into the softest smile.
“These are for you,” he said, holding out the bouquet.
“Thank you so much,” I said, taking them gently, inhaling the scent. “They’re beautiful.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, eyes steady on mine. “Everything for a beautiful lady.”
I blushed. Not a small one. A real, full-body kind of blush.
Delilah saved me from combusting by waving us into the dining room. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s eat before I burn the garlic bread.”
Dinner was already set—a warm pasta alfredo with grilled chicken, roasted vegetables on the side, and her famous homemade garlic bread. The plates were decorated, the candles lit. It looked straight out of a romance film.
We sat across from each other, forks clinking lightly against the plates, the conversation… surprisingly easy.
“So,” Luca asked, sipping from his wine glass, “what did you do for fun when you were younger?”
I twirled pasta around my fork. “I used to play the piano. Still do sometimes.”
“You play the piano?” he raised his brows. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Mhm.”
He leaned forward. “You’ve been hiding talent this whole time?”
I laughed. “You never asked.”
“Well,” he smirked. “Now I’m asking. Play something for me after dinner?”
“Of course,” I smiled.
After the plates were cleared and the food devoured, we moved into the living room. The baby grand piano sat in the corner, near the window, looking like it had been waiting for me.
I sat down and ran my fingers gently across the keys.
“Any requests?”
He shrugged. “Play what you love.”
So I played “River Flows in You”—soft, emotional, flowing with feeling. The notes filled the room like a gentle whisper.
While I played, Delilah walked in one last time with a small tray and a teasing smile.
“Mimosas for the couple,” she said, setting down two glasses.
“Thank you, Delilah,” I said.
“Goodnight, my dear. And you too, Mr. Steele.” She winked and left, shutting the door softly behind her.
I finished the song and turned toward him. “Well?”
He clapped lightly. “Beautiful. All of it. You. The song. The moment.”
We both sipped our mimosas, the mood slowly shifting. Softer. More intimate.
Then he got up, walked toward the TV, and with a few clicks, soft instrumental music began playing. Romantic. Old-fashioned. Perfect.
He held out a hand. “Dance with me?”
I blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
I took his hand, and he pulled me gently into his arms. One of his hands settled on my waist, the other held mine, and we began to sway.
Right there in the middle of the living room. No big ballroom. No crowd. Just him and me. And the music.
I had never seen this side of him. This warm, teasing, human version of Luca. It felt like I’d unlocked a new level. A different man. One who wasn’t afraid to just… be.
“You really are full of surprises,” I whispered.
“So are you,” he murmured back, staring down at me.
Then—he kissed me.
Soft and slow. No rush. No heat of the moment. Just lips pressed gently against mine, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of me.
I melted into it.
When we pulled apart, I looked up at him, breathless. He didn’t say anything. Just smiled.
We moved to the couch, still holding our drinks, and I sat down.
Then he pulled me gently onto his lap, arms wrapping around my waist like I belonged there.
