CHAPTER 148: TRAINING WHEELS

The three of them walked toward the glowing entrance, the crowd waiting inside like a wave ready to meet him.

The moment they stepped inside, the lights seemed to sharpen, catching on the crystal centerpieces and the sleek rows of cameras waiting near the entry.

The hum of conversation swelled, elegant and effortless, like everyone already knew how the night was supposed to go.

"Sir, over here—just a moment!" one of the photographers called, already raising his camera.

Luca flinched slightly, his steps faltering. The sudden attention made his throat tighten. "No, I—" he started, voice low and unsure.

But before he could turn away, his father’s hand landed on his back.

A gentle but firm pressure.

"Just one," his father murmured. Not asking. Decided.

Luca’s jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Jeff leaned in from behind him, voice soft. "It’s alright. Breathe, kid. Two seconds, then it’s over."

Luca didn’t respond, but he stayed still.

"Step a little closer, sir. Yes, right there—perfect," the photographer instructed, already adjusting his lens.

Luca’s father straightened beside him, posture sharp.

Luca stood just enough to match him, though the stiffness showed in his shoulders.

"Smile," came the instruction.

Luca didn’t. Not fully. But the corners of his mouth lifted into something polite. Almost convincing.

Click.

Click.

Flash.

"There, that wasn’t so hard," his father said under his breath, already stepping away.

Luca blinked, trying to refocus his vision. "I hate photos," he muttered, adjusting his cuff as though it would steady his nerves.

Jeff smirked, walking beside him. "You looked fine. A little stiff. Like a tree that does taxes. But fine."

That actually drew a small huff from Luca.

"You survived," Jeff added, clapping a light hand against his back. "That’s what matters."

Before Luca could reply, his father’s voice rang out again—already mid-handshake with a tall woman in a red evening gown. "Luca, over here."

Luca’s stomach tightened.

Jeff gave him a subtle nod. Go on. You’ve got this.

With a measured breath, Luca walked over.

The woman’s perfume was sharp—something floral but calculated.

"This is my son," his father announced, placing a brief hand on Luca’s shoulder like he was introducing an asset. "He’s studying business."

The woman smiled, practiced and polished. "It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard you’re doing well."

"Thank you," Luca replied, his voice quiet but steady.

His father had already turned to greet someone else.

Luca shifted, unsure whether to stay or retreat.

Jeff moved in beside him again, close enough that no one else could hear. "Okay, here’s your playbook—eye contact, firm handshake, no mumbling. You’re not applying for an apology."

Luca gave a dry glance. "Do I look that uncomfortable?"

"You look like you’re about to ask for directions at a funeral," Jeff said with a faint grin. "Relax your shoulders."

Luca did, barely.

They moved from one small circle to another—business executives, board members, legal advisors, spouses with sharp eyes.

His father led the way, effortlessly gliding through the room like he’d memorized every name and motive in advance.

Jeff remained his quiet shadow, subtly steering when needed.

"That’s Mr. Krane. He funds half the PR campaigns," Jeff whispered as they approached a greying man in a tux.

"Wait till he offers his hand," he reminded when Luca moved too fast.

"Chairman’s niece—don’t flirt. She’s engaged. And mean."

Each interaction left Luca more winded than the last, but he did it.

He nodded, he shook hands, he even remembered to maintain eye contact.

The names blurred, but Jeff’s voice cut through the noise like an anchor.

At one point, during a pause in introductions, Luca leaned slightly toward him. "You’re basically my training wheels."

Jeff didn’t look at him, just sipped his champagne. "Better me than your dad."

That wasn’t a joke—and Luca knew it.

He glanced over at his father, now laughing with a group near the balcony.

Always composed. Always in control.

But it was Jeff—calm, quietly protective, occasionally sarcastic—who made this whole evening bearable.

And Luca knew, without needing to say it, that if Jeff weren’t here... he might’ve walked out by now.

The murmur of conversation wrapped the hall like silk, broken only by the soft clink of champagne flutes,gently between greetings, and the light above shimmered just enough to reflect in the polished glass displays lining the far wall.

Luca had just finished another handshake when he heard his father’s voice, crisp and clear:

"Luca—come here."

He turned, his feet already heavy.

His father was standing near the bar, beside a tall man in a gray tailored suit... and a young woman, maybe around his age, with sleek dark hair pulled back in a low twist.

Her posture was flawless, her smile soft but measured.

She was looking straight at him.

Luca’s brows furrowed slightly, just for a second.

"I want you to meet someone," his father continued, gesturing him forward. "You remember Mr. Stanmore, from the planning commission—and this is his daughter."

The man extended his hand. "Pleasure to see you again, Luca. It’s been years."

Luca blinked. The name sounded vaguely familiar. The face didn’t.

Before he could scramble for a response, Jeff appeared beside him like a shadow slipping into place.

He leaned in, voice low. "That’s Elise. You two used to ride bikes together. Her family moved abroad when you were ten. She’s back now. Stanford grad. Real estate development. Don’t let her pin you in a corner—she’s sharp."

Luca’s spine straightened. "Right."

He turned back, smile sliding onto his face like it belonged there all along. "Elise. Wow... it’s been forever."

She gave a soft laugh. "It has." Her eyes lingered on him, searching for traces of the boy she remembered. "I almost didn’t recognize you."

"Same," he said smoothly, though he absolutely didn’t remember her. "You look... different."

She smiled. "Hopefully in a good way."

"Definitely." He cleared his throat, hand shifting in his pocket. "So, uh... when did you move back?"

"Last month," she replied. "My dad’s firm brought us back for a few projects. And yours invited us to this. I wasn’t going to come, but then he said you’d be here."

Luca nodded slowly. His brain tried to keep up, piecing together half-memories of sunny streets and bicycle races, popsicles on a front step. Maybe.

"Well, I’m glad you came," he said.

She tilted her head, lips quirking slightly. "You don’t remember me at all, do you?"

Luca hesitated for a breath too long.

Then Jeff coughed into his hand behind him. "He does. Selective memory. Especially when he falls off his bike in front of someone."

Luca gave him a glare. Elise just laughed.

"You fell off your bike?"

"Apparently," Luca muttered.

"Headfirst into the flowerbed," Jeff added, totally deadpan.

Luca turned toward her again with a dry smile. "And this is why I block childhood memories."

She laughed again—genuine this time. Her shoulders relaxed a little. "Well, it’s good to see you again. Really."

"You too," Luca replied, more naturally now.

His father, satisfied, had already turned to shake someone else’s hand.

Elise glanced once more toward Luca. "I’ll catch you later?"

"Sure."

She moved off, heels clicking softly against the marble.

Luca exhaled, barely.

Jeff leaned in. "You handled that well."

"I didn’t remember a thing."

"That’s what made it convincing."

A wry smile tugged at Luca’s mouth. "This night’s just beginning, isn’t it?"

Jeff’s smirk said it all. "It is."

The hall had mellowed slightly, the buzz softening as glasses refilled and voices turned more casual.

Luca stood near the back now, beside a long glass table displaying miniature desserts—his plate untouched.

Jeff had momentarily slipped off, and with him, the comforting presence that buffered the edge of every conversation.

"Still not a fan of crowds?" Elise’s voice cut through gently.

Luca turned, surprised to see her again so soon. "You could say that."

She offered him a faint smile. "Same. I’ve already forgotten half the people I’ve greeted."

He gestured to the chocolate tartlets. "Feel free to pretend we’re discussing pastry architecture. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last ten minutes."

Elise laughed quietly and stepped closer. "Deal."

They chatted with ease, slipping into small, relaxed exchanges.

She told him about a project in Cape Town, and he mentioned a class that nearly made him drop his entire major.

Their laughter didn’t carry far, but it was easy—unexpectedly easy.

Across the room, near the roped-off VIP section, their fathers stood by a decorative column, half-shadowed in gold lighting.

Mr. Stanmore took a sip from his glass, then leaned slightly toward Mr. Smith.

"They seem to get along well," he said, voice low but measured. "They were close, back then. Natural fit."

Mr. Smith didn’t smile, but his eyes followed the two by the dessert table for a quiet moment. "They’re catching up. That’s all."

"You’ve considered it, haven’t you?" Mr. Stanmore continued. "Merging ties. It would be a solid bond—business and personal."

Mr. Smith didn’t respond at first.

He turned his gaze slightly, watching Luca’s subtle gestures, the way he shifted his weight as Elise spoke. Not exactly uncomfortable, but not fully open either. Still guarded.

"Times have changed," he said finally, voice calm. "Luca’s not a child. I won’t set his life for him."

Stanmore gave a polite smile. "Of course. Just thinking aloud. Sometimes all it takes is a little encouragement."

Mr. Smith looked at him fully now—cool, firm.

"If something’s meant to happen, they’ll decide that on their own. I won’t choose his future for him. Not that way."

There was no edge in his voice, no anger. Just clarity.

Mr. Stanmore raised his glass slightly. "Fair enough."

They turned toward another guest approaching, but Mr. Smith’s gaze lingered for a moment longer on his son.