dance in the rain (Luca)

The Bangkok air hit me like a warm embrace as we descended the steps of Papa's private jet, the city's lights twinkling like earthbound stars in the growing dusk. I was still trying to process Nicholas's presence on what was supposed to be a family vacation. When Papa had mentioned bringing a guest, I'd never imagined... well, I'd never imagined *him*. The man who'd haunted both my dreams and my canvases since that electric night at the race.

"Isn't this exciting?" Leona linked her arm through mine, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. My sister, usually the picture of aristocratic grace, had been vibrating with barely contained energy since we'd taken off from Rome. "Our first time in Thailand! Though I wish Mamma could have joined us."

"She seemed pretty excited about her business meetings in Seoul," Louis chimed in, adjusting his designer sunglasses despite the late hour – my brother's eternal attempt to look effortlessly cool. "You know how she gets about expanding the fashion line into new markets. She practically lit up when the Korean distributors called."

"True," I agreed, watching as Nicholas walked ahead with Papa, their heads bent in conversation. His newly styled mullet caught the golden hour light, the shorter layers framing his face in a way that made him look younger, more approachable. More like the man I'd glimpsed that night at the race, less like the cold CEO of King Enterprises. The cut suited him perfectly, softening the sharp angles of his jaw while still maintaining that edge of danger that seemed to follow him everywhere.

Louis caught me staring and smirked. "See something interesting, little brother?"

I elbowed him in the ribs, earning a theatrical grunt. "Shut up. I'm just... surprised he's here. Papa could have mentioned it."

"Where would the fun be in that?" Leona grinned, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, you should have seen your face when he walked up to the plane. I wish I'd taken a picture."

Our hotel suite was predictably luxurious – Papa never did anything by halves. The Mandarin Oriental's Royal Suite sprawled across the top floor, each of our rooms branching off from a central living area that looked like it had been lifted straight from a palace. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Bangkok's skyline and the Chao Phraya River below, its waters reflecting the city's lights like scattered diamonds.

I was grateful for the privacy of my own room as I collapsed onto the king-sized bed, mind whirling. The unfinished painting in my studio back home haunted me – the one I'd been working on obsessively since that race night. Dark eyes in my rearview mirror, the blur of lights, the electric tension in the air. I'd been stuck on it for weeks, unable to capture that ineffable something that had made the moment so magnetic. And now here he was, just a few doors down, completely unaware that he'd become my artistic obsession.

Sleep eventually claimed me, but morning came too soon, sunlight streaming through windows I'd forgotten to curtain. The suite's dining room was already busy when I emerged, my hair still damp from the shower. Papa was deep in his morning papers, while Louis and Leona argued good-naturedly about their shopping plans over coffee and tropical fruits.

Nicholas sat at the far end of the table, and I nearly stopped breathing when I saw him. He'd traded his usual business armor for an oversized white t-shirt with a playful peach print, black shorts that showed off his muscled calves, and casual sandals. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd just run his fingers through it, and he looked... human. Approachable. Dangerous in an entirely different way than usual.

"Ah, Luca!" Papa looked up from his paper. "We were just discussing plans for the day. What would you like to see first?"

Before I could answer, Leona jumped in. "We should split up," she suggested, stirring her coffee with practiced elegance. "Cover more ground that way. Louis and I want to check out the major shopping districts – especially the new luxury mall Papa mentioned."

"And you two could explore the older parts of the city," Papa added, looking between Nicholas and me with poorly concealed amusement. "The temples, the markets... Bangkok has so much history to offer."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Louis cut me off. "Perfect! Leona and I can take the car, and you two can use the river boats – much more authentic experience, right?"

And just like that, the groups were decided. Which is how I found myself walking beside Nicholas through Bangkok's bustling streets an hour later, trying not to stare at how his casual outfit somehow made him even more attractive than his usual suits. I'd opted for a white linen shirt over a tank top, paired with linen shorts and my favorite Birkenstocks – comfortable and suitable for the humid climate. The dragon tattoo on my left arm was fully visible, and more than once I caught Nicholas's eyes tracing its curves.

We visited the Grand Palace first, its golden spires reaching into the impossibly blue sky. Nicholas surprised me with his knowledge of Thai history, speaking with genuine passion about the Chakri Dynasty and the architectural influences visible in the temple designs.

"I didn't expect you to be such a history buff," I admitted as we stood before the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, the morning sun making the golden decorations almost too bright to look at.

Nicholas's lips curved in a slight smile. "There's a lot you don't know about me." His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. "I like to understand the stories behind things – whether it's a business I'm acquiring or a place I'm visiting. Nothing exists in isolation."

"That's... surprisingly poetic for a businessman," I said, pulling out my sketchbook to capture the way the light played across the temple's ornate surface. Without thinking, I added a quick study of Nicholas's profile in the corner of the page.

"Says the artist who races cars illegally," he countered, and I nearly dropped my pencil. It was the first time either of us had directly acknowledged that night.

At the flower market, the air was thick with the scent of jasmine and orchids. Nicholas insisted on buying garlands, reminding me of my childhood obsession with flower crowns. "Your father mentioned you used to make these," he said, carefully placing one around my neck. The gesture felt strangely intimate, his fingers brushing against my skin for just a moment longer than necessary.

"I did," I admitted, fighting a blush. "Drove my tutors crazy, showing up to lessons with flowers in my hair. But Mamma always defended me – said artists need to express themselves."

"She was right." Nicholas's voice was soft. "The world needs more beauty in it."

We took photos everywhere – Nicholas turned out to be unexpectedly playful behind the camera, catching me mid-laugh, in moments of wonder, studying street art with my artist's eye. I got a few shots of him too – one particularly good one where he was feeding a street cat, his usually stern face soft with affection. The cat, a scraggly orange thing, had wound around his ankles and refused to leave until he'd shared his grilled chicken skewer.

"Don't you dare show that to anyone," he warned, but there was no heat in it. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Your secret's safe with me," I promised, already planning how to capture that gentle expression in paint.

The rain caught us in a small market street lined with food stalls. It came suddenly, as tropical rains do, but neither of us made a move to seek shelter. Instead, Nicholas grabbed my hand.

"Dance with me," he said, and before I could process the request, he was spinning me in the warm rain. We must have looked ridiculous – two grown men twirling and laughing in a Bangkok downpour, our clothes soaked through, hair plastered to our faces. But in that moment, I didn't care. Nicholas's hand was warm in mine, his smile unreserved for the first time since I'd met him, and the artist in me wanted to capture this version of him forever.

The rain made everything softer, somehow – the city lights blurred into watercolor smears, the sounds muffled by the steady drumming of droplets. Nicholas pulled me closer as we spun, and I could feel the heat of him even through our soaked clothes. His cologne mixed with the petrichor, creating a scent that made my head spin – or maybe that was just from the dancing.

"You're full of surprises, Mr. King," I said as we finally made our way back to the suite, both of us dripping on the expensive marble floors.

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and something in his gaze made my breath catch. "Nicholas," he corrected softly. "And you haven't seen anything yet."

Later, lying in my bed listening to the continuing rainfall, I pulled out my sketchbook. The lines flowed easily now – Nicholas feeding the cat, Nicholas in the rain, Nicholas laughing. Page after page of him, each sketch capturing a different facet of the man I was quickly realizing I couldn't stop thinking about.

The painting back home was still unfinished, but somehow it didn't matter anymore. That night at the race had just been the beginning – the sketch, if you will. The real masterpiece was just starting to take shape, and I was both terrified and exhilarated to see what colors it would reveal.

As I drifted off to sleep, I could still feel the phantom warmth of his hand in mine, still see the way his eyes had softened in the rain. For the first time in years, the art in my head was quieter than my heartbeat, and I wasn't sure whether to thank or curse Nicholas King for that miracle.

To be continued

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