She found herself smiling.
“The library story sounds fascinating,” she said, “but I actually need help in the kitchen. Alessandro, would you mind?”
“Of course,” he said, and followed her through the swinging door.
Behind them, Dante launched into another story, something about Alessandro’s first day of law school and a misunderstanding involving a professor’s toupee, but the sound faded as the kitchen door swung shut.
In the kitchen, away from Dante’s performance, Alessandro leaned against the counter and exhaled slowly. Some of the tension left his shoulders. Here, surrounded by bread and sugar and flour-dusted warmth, he looked more human than she’d ever seen him.
“I apologize for my brother.”
“Don’t. He’s wonderful.”
“He’s a menace.”
“He loves you.” Marina pulled mixing bowls from the shelf, giving him something to focus on besides his embarrassment. “The stories aren’t meant to humiliate you. They’re meant to show people who you were before…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Before you had to carry everything alone.”
She watched him process the words. Recognizing truth he hadn’t wanted to see.
“He worries,” Alessandro said. “He thinks I’ve forgotten how to be human. That I’ve let the curse consume me the way it consumed our grandfather. The way it’s consuming our father.”
“Has it?”
He was quiet. Whatever he was reaching for, it wasn’t one of his polished deflections; she’d learned the texture of those by now, and this wasn’t it. This was him deciding, for once, to tell the truth.
“I thought I had to become something hard to survive,” he said slowly. “Something that couldn’t be hurt. The curse takes everything we love, Marina. Every investment fails. Every venture collapses. Everyone we care about eventually sees us as failures or leaves before the losses drag them down too.” He stared at the counter. “I decided it was easier not to care. Not to let anyone close. If I didn’t have anything to lose, the curse couldn’t take it from me.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It was practical.”
“It sounds lonely,” she repeated, softer this time.
He looked at her, really looked, with those dark eyes that seemed to see everything she tried to hide.
“I’m remembering,” he said. “What it feels like to want something anyway. Even knowing I might lose it.”
Neither of them spoke. The meaning was clear enough without words.
The kitchen door swung open.
“There you are!” Bea swept in with her usual hurricane energy, purple hair practically vibrating. “Dante says you’re hiding. I told him…” She stopped. Her eyes went wide. “Oh. OH. Your auras are doing the thing again.”
“What thing?” Marina asked, though she already knew.
“The pink and gold spiral thing. The ‘about to make a terrible decision’ thing.” Bea grinned. “Don’t stop on my account. I’ll just…”
“Beatrice!” Dante’s voice carried from the front. “I have questions about your chaos magic.”
Bea’s expression shifted to something between intrigue and alarm. “Did that disaster of a dragon just call me by my full name?”
“He does that,” Alessandro said. “Consider it a warning sign.”
“Noted.” But she was already heading for the door, drawn by whatever force of nature Dante Draven represented. “This isn’t over, Marina. We’re discussing those auras later. In detail. With diagrams.”
The door swung shut behind her, and Marina could hear the explosion of conversation in the front: Dante’s theatrical voice tangling with Bea’s sharp responses, both of them apparently delighted to have found someone equally dramatic to argue with.
“They’re going to be insufferable together,” Alessandro observed.
