This last bit he said with a glare at his father, who glared right back, and the mood in the room slipped from jovial to wary in about five seconds.
“More wine,” Elena muttered to herself, scooting out of the room. “Always more wine.”
“What about my homemade limoncello?” Nonna said, half chasing after her. “You said you’d try it.”
“She only said she’d try it because you wouldn’t shut up,” Luc’s mother said, following the other two women out of the room. “If she wanted limoncello, she’d have my limoncello.”
Anth and Vin exchanged a glance. “Scotch?”
“Me too!” Luc called after them. “Make it a double.”
This conversation was over.
He started to follow his brothers, but his father’s hand found his shoulder. “Luca.”
Luc stiffened.
“I…” His father cleared his throat. “I did what I did…I say what I say…I want to protect you.”
“Because I’m the bambino,” Luc said, unable to keep the frustrated hostility out of his voice.
Tony met his eyes unflinchingly. “Because you’re my son. You think I haven’t kept an eye on all my boys? You think it was easy to be police commissioner and father to four cops? You think it’s not a daily struggle, even now, to let you live your lives without wanting to fight for you?”
No, Luc thought, searching his father’s face.
It wouldn’t be easy.
Not for a man who was even more dedicated to being a good dad than he had been to being a world-class cop.
Slowly, Luc nodded. “I get it.”
I forgive you.
Not that his father was expecting, or even wanting forgiveness.
His father nodded back.
As far as communication went, it left a lot to be desired. But for now, it was enough.
Or so Luc thought.
“Luca,” his father said when Luc was about to step into the hallway to seek out a much needed drink.
“Yeah.”
“I like Ava,” his father said after a brief pause. “She’s smart.”
Luc said nothing, bracing for the but.
“Just…be careful. If you’re as confident as you seem that there’s nothing but a short-term fling between you two, there’s also nothing to stop her from prioritizing her career over your non-relationship.”
The tension that had just started to dissipate increased tenfold as Luc took in the truth of what his father was trying to tell him.
He and Ava had made damn sure they both understood their zero-commitment situation.
And his father was right.
Ava wanted to be anchorwoman more than anything.
Hell, he liked that about her.
But if Luc was little more than a fuck-buddy…
What was to stop her from using him as a stepping-stone to her ultimate goal?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I swear to God, Sims, if you’re going to try to put makeup on me again for this interview…”
“Nope,” she said, topping off both of their wineglasses at her tiny kitchen table. “I’ve already told the crew that you’ve insisted on looking blotchy and tired on national television.”
“Blotchy and tired, huh?” Luc asked as he took their Thai food out of the delivery bag. “You didn’t seem to think I was blotchy and tired when you jumped my bones as soon as I entered the door.”
She took a sip of wine. “What can I say? I may be changing my mind about that whole man-in-uniform thing.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Told you. Chicks dig it.”
Ava frowned before she could catch herself.
Chicks dig it.
As in, other women liked Luc in uniform.
Other women probably liked Luc out of uniform too.
Ava’s frown became a full-on scowl, and she moved to the fridge to put the wine away before he could catch her expression.
She had no claim on him. She knew that. Ava didn’t want a claim on Luc Moretti or any other man. Fidelity for as long as they were sleeping together, sure. But they both knew the name of the game:
They’d part ways before things got serious.
He’d see other women. She’d…
Well…
Crap. The thought of other men didn’t appeal.