Twisted Obsession (Editing)

69 - Anchored Hearts

Lorenzo Vincelli

The gentle sway of the yacht against the waves had lulled everything into a hush—until my phone started convulsing on the nightstand like it was possessed. It buzzed once, twice, then launched itself off the edge and clattered to the floor with a thud.

I groaned, dragging a heavy hand across my face before blindly fishing for it. The screen lit up. Mamma.

Of course.

I answered with a voice rough from sleep. "Mmh... yeah?"

"How dare you not tell me you and Luciana are together?" she snapped, her voice slicing through the haze in my head like a hot espresso shot straight to the cortex.

"What?" I croaked. My mouth was dry, my throat raw. I sat up slowly, the chill of the morning sea air brushing my bare shoulders. Everything was still a blur—salt in the air, the faint scent of her perfume on the sheets, and the lingering aftertaste of last night's wine and recklessness.

"You clearly haven't checked the news," she continued, drama thick in her tone. "The paparazzi apparently live on your yacht now. And this morning? Every outlet is running stories about you and Luciana. Together. On. Your. Yacht. It's rather... graphic, tesoro."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, heart picking up pace. "Shit. Seriously?"

Still on the call, I pulled up the browser. There it was. Everywhere. Headlines dripping in romantic speculation, heart emojis, and—Madonna santa. That photo.

Luciana. In my lap. My hands buried in her hair, her lips parted against mine. Skin. Contact. The golden hour had been far too kind to the camera lens.

"Jesus," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. "We were just kissing."

"It's not just kissing when your tongue is halfway down that poor girl's throat," she snapped back, with that lethal blend of sass and maternal horror.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'm hanging up now."

But her laugh rang through the speaker—warm, delighted, dangerous. "Before you do, amore, one little question?"

"Yes, ma?" I muttered, bracing myself.

"When's the wedding?" she asked, bubbling with glee.

I blinked. "Mamma—I— goodbye."

"You're such a shy baby when it comes to Luciana." She laughs softly.

A reluctant smile tugged at the edge of my mouth. Damn woman knew exactly how to hit the brakes on any rebellion.

"Stop wasting time, Enzo. Also, If you hurt her again I'll smack you so hard you see your ancestors, Lorenzo Vincelli." My mom threatens me before she cuts the call.

I glanced over.

Luciana was still asleep—curled beneath the silk sheets like a secret the morning hadn't yet discovered. One bare shoulder peeked out, soft and warm in the hush of golden light. Her breathing was slow, steady. Lashes like brushstrokes against her cheek. She looked like something painted, not real. Not mine.

And yet, there she was.

The sunlight spilled through the cabin windows, catching the ripples on the water and casting them across her skin like shifting gold. I stared too long. My chest tightened in that maddening, familiar way.

Mamma always gets what she wants.

I slipped outside.

The morning air hit me—salt-heavy and cool. The deck creaked gently beneath my feet, the yacht swaying like it was still half-asleep too. Sunlight glimmered off the waves. Everything was quiet.