How the hell did I not know that?
She’s been here for hours. I can tell by the cold coffee, the stack of completed notes, the comfortable sprawl of her materials across the desk. She didn’t ask permission. Didn’t wait for an invitation. She walked in and started.
Like she belonged here.
“You’re in my chair.”
Her head snaps up. The reading glasses magnify her eyes before she tugs them off. Her lips part, then press flat. A flush climbs her throat. Her chin lifts.
“I needed to do work.”
“So you broke into my study.”
“The door was unlocked.”
“That’s not an invitation.”
She sets down her pen. Folds her hands on the desk. Lifts her chin, shoulders squared, gaze locked on mine. Not backing down.
“I’ve been in this room dozens of times. Quarterly audits with my father for three years. I know where the ledgers are kept. I know the filing system. I know.”
She stops herself. Takes a measured inhale.
“I was going stir-crazy. I needed to work. I’ve been at this all week.”
I should be angry. This is my space, my territory, and she invaded it without asking.
My feet carry me into the room instead. Closer. Studying the spread of papers, the columns flagged in her careful handwriting. The chair I should be reclaiming.
“Nonna Rosa mentioned you had tea with her this morning.”
Her head tilts. A beat of silence before she recalibrates.
“Yes. She invited me. I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Nonna Rosa doesn’t invite people to tea. She tolerates their presence or she doesn’t.”
Cassia processes this. Her lips part. Her eyes brighten as they search mine.
“She was kind to me. Told me stories about your mother.”
Of course she did. Nonna Rosa adored Mama. If she’s sharing those stories with Cassia, it means Nonna Rosa has decided my wife is worth getting to know.
So have I. Somewhere along the way, without meaning to.
“What are you looking at?”
She hesitates. Her fingers brush the edge of a ledger, accounts receivable by the binding, and I see the moment she decides to show me.
“There’s a problem with these numbers.”
I move closer to the desk. Closer to her.
“Wrong how?”
“I’m not sure yet. But.”
“Don.” Romano’s voice from the threshold.
