Page 56 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
INDIA
We only learnthe unconscious man’s name after Poppy’s examination, when Cyrus pats him down dispassionately and retrieves a wallet from the guy’s back pocket.
“There,” he grunts, passing the wallet to Poppy. “Luca Slater.”
“Luca Slater,” she repeats with a little frown, inspecting the ID. “Well, I think he’s fine, but let’s try to wake him up and see how he feels.”
Cyrus crosses the kitchen, leaving footprints in the dusting of flour—the flour that so far no one has asked about; that’s how chaotic this whole event has been. He opens the cupboard next to the sink and pulls out a glass. Then he fills it with water and returns to where we’re huddled around this guy—Luca, I guess. He doesn’t so much as hesitate or even blink before throwing the water right into Luca’s face.
Luca twitches at first, a little jolt of energy that seems to zip through him. Then he startles violently, sitting upright so fast that he almost collides with more than one of us. We all back away at his sudden return to consciousness, except for Juliet—who flings herself at him, throws her arms around his neck, and bursts into tears.
“You’realive,” she wails, the words almost incoherent.
Luca Slater goes rigid, his face dripping water, glasses obscured, expression bewildered as he no doubt struggles to register the twenty-four-year-old woman now clinging to him like a life raft.
“What the—” he mutters.
“Get off him, Jules,” Aurora says, darting in to pull Juliet away.
Juliet unwinds her arms from around Luca’s neck and collapses into Aurora’s arms instead. “I thought he was dead,” she sobs. “And we were all going to go to jail?—”
“I know,” Aurora says, patting her firmly on the back. “I know, but everyone is fine. Calm down.”
“And he’s sohandsome,” Jules goes on through her tears, “and his children would grow up without their father?—”
But as I look at him now, I’m not sure Luca Slater is old enough to have multiple children. He seems closer to Cyrus’s age; his hair is thick and dark, his jaw sharp, his face still confused but youthful enough.
We’re all confused, for that matter—because this guy looks too bewildered to have been breaking in or robbing the place, which means he’s probably a tenant our parents forgot to tell us about. The only two who don’t seem befuddled are Cy and Felix; they both look mutinous instead.
“Luca Slater,” Cyrus says with an expression that could turn coal into diamonds, “what are you doing here?”
“I’m renting this house,” Luca Slater says, confirming my worst fears as he takes the group of us in, his posture defiant now. “Who are you?”
Understandably,Luca Slater has some concerns.
When he’s climbed to his feet and we’ve confirmed that no one is seriously injured, Jules and I manage to get out an explanation.
“And once again,” I finish as I try valiantly to make eye contact even though I’m mortified, “I’m so, so sorry. Truly.” I swallow and force myself not to fidget as we face each other in the kitchen. The dusting of flour is still on the floor, and it’s going to be a pain and a half to clean. “I had no idea you were the tenant,” I go on.
“And you were reaching for the knives,” Juliet adds tremulously, her eyes big and watery.
“I was hanging up my keys,” Luca says, sounding exhausted and frustrated. For the first time I notice a set of keys on the floor, and my eyes jump to the little hook on the wall above the knife block. It’s where my mom hung stray potholders and keychains and…yeah.
Sometimes her keys.
“Let’s get down to business,” Felix says when no one responds, a steely, unfamiliar glint in his eyes. Gone is the playful, flirtatious man I’ve gotten to know; in fact, Felix and Cyrus are still glowering, wearing identicaldon’t-mess-with-meexpressions, their arms folded tightly across their chests as they lean back against the kitchen counter.
For the first time in my life, I might understand how they get along so well. And I guess I’ll hand in my feminism card, because there’s something attractive about Felix like this—protective and caveman-ish. My eyes trail over him again, over the brow that furrowed when he rushed to me earlier, checking if I was okay—over the hands that held me in place so he could inspect my body and my well-being.
I swallow at the memory and look away.
“What business?” Luca Slater says, sighing like he’sso donewith us.
Which, to be fair, is not unwarranted.
“Are you going to press charges?” Cyrus says now. He jerks his chin toward me and Jules. “They didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“They definitely did,” Luca mutters with a dark look at us. “But no. I have no desire to press charges against anyone. Just—clean up the flour”—he gestures at the dusted kitchen floor—“and don’t barge in whenever you feel like it, and I’ll be fine.”
