Chapter Text
There was a frenzy taking over the Modrić household. Although Luka was keen to compare it to a herd of agitated goats passing through each room, the comparison fell short. Luka had allowed himself to rest on a chair, a cold glass of water wetting the inside of his hand that he felt he wholeheartedly deserved after having vacuumed the dust and crumbs hidden in every corner of the family estate.
He felt himself catching his breath as he listened to the laughter coming from the other side of the house.
In the early hours of the morning, Luka’s mother and aunt had locked themselves in the spacious kitchen with the help of a couple of friendly ladies from the neighbourhood. In these parts, if a Modrić asked for a favour, all who could rose to the occasion.
A drop of sweat tickled Luka’s forehead as he watched his younger sister rearranging the decorations on the wooden furniture and straightening the frames holding family portraits. In the corridor to the bathroom, his uncle was stretching his neck trying to figure out how to safely replace a lightbulb on the chandelier.
Absentmindedly, Luka found himself searching for his grandmother in the living room where she would enjoy fluffing the cushions and cleaning the surfaces after Luka had finished dusting them off. Only Luka didn't find his grandmother and was forced to bitterly swallow the ice-cold water in his throat, hit by an unforgiving wave of grief.
A hand landing on the blonde’s shoulder jolted Luka out of his self-attributed break. Luka recognized it immediately as his father’s hand, the man’s comforting scent giving him away.
“Take this,” his father instructed him, slipping a few bills and coins in Luka’s hand. The feeling of the warm metal and crumpled paper rubbing into his moist palm made Luka want to grit his teeth.
“Walk to the cleaner and pick up the carpet. The lady said it would be ready by noon.”
At these words, the irritation that had built inside of Luka peeled away like a layer of onion. Luka simply gave his father a short nod and watched the older man walk away towards the corridor to offer Luka’s uncle an extra pair of hands.
Luka was walking to the village down the main road, feeling lighter on his feet now that he was free from the stifling atmosphere inside the house.
Hosting important guests had always been a chaotic event at the Modrić’s. Today’s guests proved to be extremely important, Luka thought to himself as he walked past the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the café – all stacked next to one another and all resting on the land that belonged to Luka’s family.
Luka’s grandfather had inherited almost half of the land in the region. It wasn’t particularly developed. The government had done its work, providing the inhabitants with running water, electricity and, more recently, high-speed internet. Nonetheless, the people here were proud of their heritage. The economy was one of small-scale commerce, pastoral farms and local tourism.
The earth-tone landscapes and quiet life had always made Luka feel entangled to the place. Luka felt as though he belonged there like a moon in the starry night sky. He was bubbly, and artistic, and perhaps a little too lively for the slow rhythm that his hometown had to offer.
But Luka was also soft and timid. He liked herding the goats around the rocky fields and painting the muted sunsets or the fine grasses that cycled through the seasons.
A bell jingled when Luka pushed the door to the cleaners open. The young man running the shop, a beta that Luka recognized as the owner’s son, was busy twisting and rubbing a piece of fabric in a sink full of steaming water.
“Just a minute,” the boy rushed, struggling to remove the rubber gloves that skipped past his elbows. When he turned around, Luka saw the boy blooming red as he tripped over his own feet. Luka could only assume that the boy had just come to realize that he had spoken too casually to a grandchild of Mr. Modrić.
Luka didn’t care for the formalities, but he couldn’t help the small smirk that barely stretched on his lips when the boy stuttered, asking Luka for the order number. Luka provided the information required, dropping the change his father had given him and waited patiently behind the counter.
“Here,” the shopkeeper said as he handed over the big carpet rolled up in a layer of translucent protective plastic.
Luka’s heart melted as he appreciated the familiar red of the carpet. The colour reminded Luka of his grandmother’s earrings which were now worn and cherished by Luka’s mother on a daily basis.
The carpet had always been a centrepiece of the Modrić estate’s living room.
Luka had heard the story countless times of how his grandmother had picked the luxurious item in a bazaar on her honeymoon. Her eyes would sparkle when she got to the point where she explained how Luka’s grandfather had displayed the best bartering skills, exchanging his favourite wristwatch to acquire the carpet.
It was an odd life that Luka lived. To live in a place where the locals considered your family royalty, but to pursue an education in visual arts at a simple university. To develop your craft and obtain a degree, but to return to your hometown and fold yourself back into the day-to-day routine of domesticity under the watchful eyes of his parents and grandparents.
As Luka hitched the rolled-up carpet on his shoulder, grunting when the weight landed harshly on his shirt and pulled its collar, he thought that maybe the peaceful life that he had been encouraged to curate for himself had expired when his grandmother had passed.
On his way back, a pointy rock lodged itself in between Luka’s heel and the sole of his shoes. Luka was obliged to contend with the maladapted gravel sidewalks in the village the same way he was obliged to contend with his grandfather’s change of heart.
The Modrić patriarch had made a name for himself thanks not only to a generous land inheritance at the time, but also to his honest and fair practices. The man was respected and generally appreciated by those who rented parcels of his land. He was humble in his display of riches and traditional in his values.
Grandfather Modrić had only accepted Luka’s venture in higher education because the subject of his studies would hardly push the omega to pursue a life outside of the nest. The man had even patted Luka’s head lovingly when his grandson had shown him his final portfolio at his graduation: pastoral paintings featuring familiar landscapes, animals, and plants.
But the veil of grief had made Luka’s grandfather turn sour. Sour and greedy for the taste of sweetness that had disappeared from his palate. The man was no longer satiated by the respectable estate, no longer satisfied with the mediocre inheritance he would pass down to his son and daughter.
And so the reason behind which Luka was tasked to bring back the freshly sanitized carpet to the estate was that it was a necessary step in the preparations for the arrival of an investor.
What Luka appreciated as the beautiful views of his childhood had caught the attention of a big name in the business of hotel and resort developments. The natural design of the region apparently lended itself to the creation of an immersive golf course and high-end hotel.
The investor, Mr. Ramos, was expected to arrive in a few hours in the company of his wife and son. Luka’s grandfather had ordered that the house look pristine and that a respectable set of hors d'oeuvres be prepared for their guests.
More importantly, the grandchildren were all required to wear their best set of clothes and to clean themselves up neatly. Luka had even gone to the barber the day before to get his long hair cut so that the blond locks framed his face beautifully.
His mother had always said his hair was his best attribute. Luka had learned to think so too.
After announcing himself as he stomped through the door with the heavy carpet still hooked over his shoulder, Luka’s aunt urged him to go to his room and take a shower.
“I don’t want any sweaty undertones laced into your scent,” she pestered him.
Luka’s aunt had always been obsessed with scents. Not that anyone was actually allowed to wear scent blockers in their house – as it was widely perceived as a form of rejection against the gifts of God – but Luka had always treated his scent as a secondary trait.
His parents said his scent was akin to the fragrance of honey while Luka’s younger sister, who had presented as a beta at the age of 18, liked to tease her brother and tell him he smelled like a cheap perfume.
Luka had only worn scent blockers periodically during his university days. A secret he had never shared with his family. During his first week of class, an alpha classmate had boldly told Luka that his scent was distracting. Not attractive. Not comforting. Distracting.
The mortifying memory materialized itself in Luka’s mind as he lathered his body with a neutral-fragrance cleansing exfoliant, careful not to corrupt his scent with an artificial one. After rinsing everything off, Luka patted his hair dry with a small towel in front of the misty mirror in the bathroom, careful not to slip on the wet tiles with his bare feet.
He tried not to feel pity for himself. Luka thought he looked unforgivably ordinary as he traced the prominent angle of his nose, the pale brown of his deep-set eyes, and his two front teeth that showed up the second his mouth opened, even if it was just for a short inhale.
When Luka observed his reflection, his eyes rarely latched onto the softness of his skin or the heart-shape of his lips. Nor did he pay much attention to his figure that his friends constantly liked to describe as both “cute and portable.”
A long sigh escaped Luka’s chest as he applied a bit of under-eye cream to attenuate the small wrinkles that had already formed below his eyes. Luka was only 24, but he already felt like an old rag past his prime.
His friends from university had all gotten engaged recently and Luka had barely survived the horrors of presenting himself to their weddings or baby showers without a plus one these last two summers.
As he twisted the cap back onto the cream container, Luka mentally worked to pump his self-esteem, whispering under his breath words of self-love and affirmation like Toni had taught him years ago.
At least he wouldn’t have to overthink choosing his outfit. The night before, his mother had fished out a pair of black dress pants that Luka thought was a little too tight on him but that his mother assured suited him perfectly fine. A recently ironed white button-up shirt was hanging on the backside of the door to Luka’s bedroom.
It was a simple, classic outfit. Perfect, Luka thought. He was confident that he would be able to blend in with the wallpaper of the living room.
Luka felt a cold sweat creeping on him when the doorbell rang. He knew not to move and to stay in his grandfather’s office until he, his sister and his cousins were to be called upon by the man of the house. Luka could only bite the cuticles around his nails to distract himself from the omnipresent aura of the Ramos trio entering the family household.
The previous night, under his blankets after messing on his phone for a good hour, Luka had let his curiosity win and had looked up the Ramos name online. A quick search had mostly provided information that Luka's parents had shared with him when the invitation was announced a week ago.
In addition to their hotel and resort ventures, the family also maintained a side business: a large farm that cared for numerous horses, many of which were trained for the highest levels of equestrian competitions.
Still, Luka had pushed his research a tad further, wondering what a wealthy family made up of only alphas could possibly look like.
Mr. and Mrs. Ramos looked powerful in the few pictures that Luka could find on his search engine.
After a bit more digging, Luka had stumbled upon the social media account of their two kids. Their eldest daughter was married and expecting a second child based on her most recent posts.
When Luka had clicked on the profile for Sergio Ramos, his mouth had dried up at the first video that came up: the man, tall and fit, was running on a treadmill with only the tiniest pair of shorts riding up his thighs and showcasing his extensively tattooed body. Luka had never swiped out of an app that fast before.
Just now remembering the video in the bright daylight coming through the window was enough to make Luka’s cheeks heat up. Before anyone in the room could make a comment on Luka’s sudden need to hide away from them, a knock on the door alerted everyone that they were to join the meeting in the living room.
Being the eldest of the grandchildren, Luka was the one who lead the walk down the corridor to the living room. He tried to exude more sureness in his posture, rolling his shoulders back like Toni would force him to do when he caught Luka slouching in class back in university.
The first thing Luka noticed when he stepped into the space was the lack of unfamiliar scents in the room. Luka had even remembered to breathe through his mouth to avoid a transparent reaction on his part to what could only be three intense scents carried by the new alphas in their house.
Instead, Luka spotted discrete blocker patches on each of their necks when he closed in on them, offering his arm for a handshake.
Mr. Ramos ignored Luka’s hand in favour of bringing the shorter man closer to kiss him on the far side of his cheek. Luka was momentarily stunned but adjusted his greeting with Mrs. Ramos when he moved on to her after providing Mr. Ramos with his name and title in the Modrić family.
Luka’s movements were stiff, but he was pleased with himself, trusting that he schooled his face well enough to keep presenting a polite smile the entire time.
When he got to their son, Sergio, Luka had to make the conscious effort to not let his eyes fall down to the floor. He wanted to shrink, feeling trapped by the dark eyes staring down at him. They didn't hold any animosity, but Luka sensed a nervous jitteriness in the alpha when he angled himself towards Luka to replicate his parents' form of greeting.
Luka was trying to process the warm hand that had shortly landed on his hip when a puff of air reached his earlobe as Sergio's cheek pressed against Luka’s. The omega cheered internally when he managed to keep his body from shivering in response, but his eyes were almost glued to the intricate tattoos etched on the man's hands.
The moment ended as soon as it had started when Luka sensed his sister waiting beside him to greet Sergio. Luka excused himself as fast as possible to another corner of the room, sitting on a chair and waiting for his sister and cousins to join him.
In the end, the meeting turned out to be one of the most boring moments Luka had ever witnessed.
Mr. Ramos was evidently a great presenter. His enunciation was clear, his arguments were connected, and the man was even funny at times. But Luka was never one for long speeches without proper visual support.
The words slowly started morphing into one another as Luka began tracing patterns on his thigh with his finger. The feeling of his nail grazing the fabric of his pants scratched an itch that was budding within him.
Luka almost forgot what the stakes of the conversation were until he heard his grandfather speak up.
“Your proposal is sound, and I appreciate that your outlook centres our local community. But my stance remains the same,” he stated calmly as he clasped his hands together. “I will only allow you the rights to this land through an official union of our names. The history of my family here cannot be erased.”
Luka observed the other party attentively.
Mr. and Mrs. Ramos did not seem surprised to hear this condition, and surprisingly so, so did their son. The alpha was sporting a cool look on his face, waiting for his parents to answer.
“Of course, we’ve discussed this matter at length with our son before our visit. You were very fair to warn us in advance,” Mrs. Ramos expressed with utmost respect.
She leaned towards her son and hooked her arm in his.
“This project means a lot to us, and our lovely Sergio also agrees that it is time he settles down.”
The Modrić patriarch cleared his throat before continuing.
“Good. Then it seems that we have reached the same conclusion,” he paused and gazed towards the table in the room where most of his grandchildren had gathered in silence.
“My grandchildren are all of age. I’m happy to let Sergio decide for himself which one he would like to marry.”
Luka’s parents had alluded that this moment might come, but his grandfather’s words still forced a chill down his spine. There was no going back now.
Luka couldn't stop himself from glancing at Sergio and sighed with relief when he noticed that Sergio’s eyes weren’t locked on him.
Watching his pretty sister and his cousins from the corner of his eyes, Luka was certain that he wouldn’t even be part of the discussion. He was fairly confident in his ability to charm others when needed and he had a few nice physical attributes he liked about himself. But the three women in the room that Luka was “competing” with were two to three years younger and displayed softer features on their face.
As Luka was listening to his grandfather who was offering Sergio a few more days to make his final decision, Luka rose from his spot to subtly address his mother to ask for permission to leave. The air inside the room had grown warm and carried a tension that was starting to weigh on Luka’s mind, making the hair on his arms rise and his head pound at any sound.
His mother shushed him, giving Luka a severe stare which she only reserved for when he was in trouble.
“You stay put.”
Luka stilled, finding that the people around him had turned eerily quiet and was inclined to turn around when he felt a warm hand loop around his wrist.
“Him.” Sergio's voice resonated in the room.