Chapter 26 – The First Time He Makes Her Laugh

• His breathing was deep and steady, body relaxed in a way she had never seen before. No armor. No careful distance. Just a man—unmasked.
• Alina let her eyes close again, only for a minute. Just long enough to memorize the stillness. The quiet peace of it. The terrifying safety.
• When she did slip out of bed, his arm loosened but didn’t reach for her.
• She padded barefoot through the room and into the bathroom had her shower and came back into the room.
• He was no where to be seen.
• She changed into a summer dress and padded her way through the hall and into the garden, sketchbook in hand.
• The air smelled of wet earth and roses. Dew clung to the leaves, and the only sound was the distant roll of waves. She settled into her usual stone bench near the fountain and let her pencil move.
• Without fully realizing it, she started sketching him.
• The slope of his back. His head bowed in thought. The guarded focus that always seemed to flicker in his eyes. And something else—a quiet kind of ache.
• Luciano, when he thought no one was looking.
• She didn’t hear him approach until it was too late.
• The sketchbook slipped from her lap the moment his voice echoed across the courtyard.
• “That better not be me, cara mia.”
• Alina jerked her head up. Luciano stood a few paces away, his sleeves rolled, forearms dusted with dirt. He must’ve come from the stables. She tried to hide the sketchbook, but it was too late—he’d already seen the smudges of charcoal that outlined his profile.
• He started toward her.
• “You were spying,” he accused with mock gravity, eyes glinting.
• “It’s called observational drawing.” She closed the book and stood, backing away. “Very respectable technique.”
• “Oh?” He lunged.
• She yelped, dodged him, and bolted past the fountain. “Luciano—don’t you dare!”
• But he did.
• He chased her with startling speed, soaking his boots as he stomped through the edge of the fountain’s spray. Alina shrieked as cold water splashed up her legs. Her sketchbook nearly fell again. Luciano caught her by the waist just as she reached the far corner of the garden. She twisted, breathless, laughing despite herself.
• He grabbed the book and held it above his head.
• “Give it back!” she cried, half-giggling, half-panicked.
• “Hmm. Maybe I’ll auction it. A rare original by the girl who dared sketch the devil.”
• “Devils aren’t usually this dramatic.”
• His brow arched. “And muses aren’t usually this bold.”
• Without warning, she jumped, grabbing for the book. He stepped back. She slipped—fell into him. They both tumbled to the grass, breathless and soaked, Luciano still clutching the sketchbook like a trophy.
• Alina burst out laughing.
• Not a polite laugh. Not one masked in tension. It tore from her chest—real and unguarded.
• Luciano’s eyes locked on hers. He was quiet, frozen in wonder.
• “I haven’t heard that,” he said softly.
• She propped herself up on her elbow. “Heard what?”
• “That laugh.” His voice was low. “Not from you. Not like that.”
• She smiled, cheeks warm. “You’ve been too busy terrorizing me.”
• His mouth curved. “Maybe.”
• He looked down at the sketchbook between them. Flipping it open, he found the page again—the side of his face, shadowed, captured in lines so precise it made his throat tighten.
• “She did this too,” he murmured.
• Alina’s smile faded. “Your mother?”
• He nodded. “I never laughed like that after she died. Until now.”
• She sat up slowly. Water clung to her skin. “You loved her.”
• “More than life.” A beat passed. “I failed her. I was too young, too scared to stop my father.”
• The sketchbook rested between them like a fragile offering. Alina picked it up and tore the page free. She handed it to him without a word.
• His hands trembled slightly as he took it.
• “I shouldn’t keep this,” he said. “It’s yours.”
• “I want you to have it,” she replied. “I want you to see yourself the way I do. Sometimes.”
• Luciano looked up, eyes full of something unspoken.
• Rain began to fall again—soft and silver, like the world exhaling.
• They didn’t move.
• He leaned closer, lips parting to say something—but stopped.
• His voice was barely a whisper. “If I had met you first… before all of this…”
• Her breath caught.
• “I would’ve begged you to love me.”