Emma
Luca lends me his office when the planner arrives. She's obviously Italian. Her sun-kissed skin and brown hair proved that before her mouth even opened, but her greeting in Italian, stating her name was Alessandra, further supported my thoughts.
I should be ecstatic that I'm planning my wedding day, but after this morning and the memory of the knife I pulled on Luca, my thoughts have been spiralling into the depths of my own hell.
Why did I reach for my knife?
And why the f**k did I press so hard that a line appeared in crimson over his neck?
I'm spiralling when she sets things on the desk I'm sitting behind. Luca's smell is surrounding me, and though that should be comforting, it isn't.
"Luca instructed me that the invites must be delivered no later than tomorrow morning. I hav
