Behind the Lies: I Was Always His (Lyla and Luca) novel Chapter 27

Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)

“What do I wear?” I groaned, tossing another dress onto the bed.

Delilah’s voice called from the kitchen, “Everything you wear is cute. You’re beautiful.”

“That doesn’t help!” I yelled back, still panicking as I scanned my closet like it held the answer to world peace.

She ran upstairs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Miss, it’s dinner. Not the Met Gala.”

“Yeah, dinner… with my ex-husband-who-might-not-be-an-ex-anymore and who also might want to start over,” I muttered.

Delilah laughed and walked over to the clothes pile. “You’re overthinking it.”

I sighed and sat down in front of the mirror. My vanity lights glowed warmly as I stared at myself. I started curling my hair, letting the dark waves fall softly around my shoulders. My makeup was light, dewy—something soft with a touch of pink on my lips.

After minutes of panicked indecision, I finally chose a dress.

It was simple—cream-colored with a soft silk texture, cinched slightly at the waist, and falling just above my knees. It had delicate off-shoulder sleeves and tiny pearl buttons down the front. Casual, but elegant. Sweet, but not trying too hard.

“Perfect,” Delilah said as she peeked into the room again. “Now stop stressing. He’s already here.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “What?”

“He’s downstairs,” she grinned, heading back down. “Holding flowers. Like a proper gentleman.”

I grabbed my breath—literally—and made my way down the stairs slowly.

And there he was. Luca Steele.

Standing in the foyer of my estate, holding a bouquet of white tulips and lilacs. He wore a black button-up, sleeves rolled slightly at the arms, no tie—effortlessly sharp. And when he saw me, his lips tugged into the softest smile.

“These are for you,” he said, holding out the bouquet.

“Thank you so much,” I said, taking them gently, inhaling the scent. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, eyes steady on mine. “Everything for a beautiful lady.”

I blushed. Not a small one. A real, full-body kind of blush.

Delilah saved me from combusting by waving us into the dining room. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s eat before I burn the garlic bread.”

Dinner was already set—a warm pasta alfredo with grilled chicken, roasted vegetables on the side, and her famous homemade garlic bread. The plates were decorated, the candles lit. It looked straight out of a romance film.

We sat across from each other, forks clinking lightly against the plates, the conversation… surprisingly easy.

“So,” Luca asked, sipping from his wine glass, “what did you do for fun when you were younger?”

I twirled pasta around my fork. “I used to play the piano. Still do sometimes.”

“You play the piano?” he raised his brows. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “Mhm.”

He leaned forward. “You’ve been hiding talent this whole time?”

I laughed. “You never asked.”

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