Luca Returned Without an Office Waiting for Him

Chapter 10 - Luca Returned Without an Office Waiting for Him

I chose a diner with cracked red booths and excellent pie.

Luca arrived early.

Of course.

He stood when I walked in.

Then seemed unsure whether standing looked formal.

I sat.

“You look different.”

He smiled.

“You too.”

“What changed?”

“Your hair.”

“That is cowardly.”

He laughed.

More gray at the temples.

Less weight in his face.

Same tattoos.

Same broad shoulders.

Prison had not converted him into a gentle-looking man.

Good.

We ordered coffee.

He had no office waiting.

Moretti Holdings’ independent CEO remained.

Luca held ownership interests and one suspended board seat subject to compliance terms.

A professional fiduciary handled certain votes.

He managed passive investments through monitored structures.

“Do you hate it?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I laughed.

He added:

“Less every month.”

Better.

Then:

“What do you do when somebody makes a decision you think is wrong?”

“Write down why I think it is wrong.”

“And?”

“Sometimes nothing.”

“That must be terrible.”

“It is.”

We smiled.

Then he asked about my work.

I told him about accessible-housing appeals.

Equipment reimbursement.

The way families often mistook power of attorney for ownership.

He listened.

No offer to fund the nonprofit.

No call to anyone.

Then:

“How is Joe?”

“You see him more than I do.”

“He tells you different things.”

True.

Joe told me Luca had become a tolerable grocery shopper.

Luca apparently bought expensive olive oil and forgot paper towels.

Then the silence.

The thing we had not named.

He said:

“I was attracted to you before I went away.”

I looked at him.

“Bad timing.”

“Yes.”

“I was your employee.”

“Yes.”

“You were grateful because I brought Joe inside.”

“Yes.”

“You were also engaged.”

He looked embarrassed.

“Yes.”

Good.

Then:

“I am still attracted to you.”

I took a sip of coffee.

“That is inconvenient.”

“I know.”

“What are you asking?”

“Nothing today.”

That answer surprised me.

Then he said:

“I would like to know you outside every role we had in that house.”

That was closer to something I could accept.

Coffee became dinner two weeks later.

Then another.

No dates at Moretti clubs.

No security man sitting six feet away.

Security existed.

He had genuine threats.

But distance.

Choice.

The first time he drove me home, he asked:

“Can I walk you up?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

The first time he tried to kiss me, he stopped.

“Can I?”

I wanted to say yes.

That scared me.

“Not tonight.”

He nodded.

No persuasion.

Two weeks later I kissed him first in the parking lot outside Joe’s apartment.

Joe saw from his window.

The next morning he called.

“Terrible technique.”

I hung up.

He called back laughing.

Then real dating.

Money.

We had to talk about it.

Luca could spend on dinner what I paid in rent.

Pretending that difference did not exist would be its own lie.

So we set rules.

Places I could reasonably choose.

If he wanted to invite me somewhere expensive, he called it a gift before the reservation.

I could say no.

No surprise jewelry.

No paying my bills.

No donations to my employer through me.

No career introductions unless I asked.

He agreed.

Then broke one rule accidentally.

My nonprofit needed a new wheelchair-accessible van.

At dinner, I complained about fundraising.

Two weeks later a Moretti charitable entity sent a $100,000 unsolicited grant.

I found out.

Called him.

“Did you do this?”

Silence.

“Yes.”

I was furious.

“It helps.”

“That is not the point.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He sounded ashamed.

“I thought because it went through the foundation—”

“You thought the process made the decision clean.”

“Yes.”

The foundation had independent review, but Luca had suggested the recipient.

Conflict.

My nonprofit declined the grant pending review.

Luca disclosed the relationship to the foundation board.

The board later reopened the grant through a blind scoring process.

My nonprofit ranked second.

Did not receive it.

We survived.

Good.

Luca apologized.

No replacement donation.

That rupture mattered more than perfect dating would have.

He was not cured of control.

He was learning what to do after he caught himself using it.

I had my own version.

At work, one of my coordinators asked to change shifts because her mother was ill.

I immediately started explaining why coverage would be difficult.

Then I heard myself.

She had not asked me to solve her family.

She had asked for a schedule change.

I stopped.

Asked what she needed.

We found coverage.

That night I told Luca.

He said:

“Do you want me to say we’re both terrible?”

“No.”

“Good, because I was going to say we’re both learning.”

I threw a napkin at him.

Romance became safer when neither of us needed the other to be morally superior.

Then my side.

I hated asking for help so much that I once paid an emergency plumbing bill on a high-interest card rather than tell him I was short that month.

When he found out, he said:

“You know refusing help can become its own kind of performance.”

I got angry.

Then realized he was right.

I asked him for advice.

Not money.

He helped me compare repayment options.

No transfer.

No lecture.

Boundaries worked both directions.

Then the first anniversary of our first coffee.

Joe invited us to dinner.

Macaroni.

Jar sauce.

Luca brought wine.

Joe looked at us.

“You two going to get married?”

I nearly choked.

Luca said:

“Uncle Joe.”

“What?”

I answered:

“Not your business.”

Joe smiled.

“Good.”

He loved being told no when he had no authority.

Probably because it proved someone could.

Then Luca’s board restriction eased.

He was offered one nonexecutive board seat.

No chair.

Independent compliance committee.

He accepted.

Before doing so, he asked the board to make his safety and permit recusal obligations permanent for three additional years.

I did not know until after.

He told me at dinner.

Then watched my face.

I caught it.

“You want a grade?”

He laughed.

“A little.”

“No.”

“Fair.”

We ate.

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That was love becoming less useful as evidence.

More useful as company.