“The curse broke! We felt it break! Your father collapsed in the middle of a meeting—the good kind of collapse, he was crying. And then we couldn’t reach you for HOURS.”
“There was a demon. It’s handled now.”
“A demon. Naturally. Of course there was a demon.” His mother’s voice cracked between laughter and tears. “Estelle called eventually. Said you’d saved the town. Said there was a woman involved.”
Alessandro thought of Marina, covered in ash, exhausted, fierce, facing down a centuries-old demon with nothing but a selkie’s song and absolute refusal to yield.
“There’s a woman involved,” he confirmed.
“Tell me everything.”
He told her. Not everything; some things were private, sacred, not for family consumption. But enough. The bakery. The bond. The discovery that the curse’s key had been hidden in a recipe book for two hundred years. The five-foot-four baker who had stared down a two-hundred-year-old demon and sung him into submission.
His mother was quiet after he finished.
“You love her,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Does she love you?”
“She does,” he said. “God knows why, after everything I put her through, but she does.”
“Then bring her home. I want to meet this woman who taught my son to ask for help.”
His father’s voice rumbled in the background, gruff, uncomfortable with emotions, exactly as Alessandro remembered. But then: “Tell him… tell him I’m proud of him.”
Alessandro blinked. His father had never said those words. Not once, in thirty-two years. The Draven patriarch showed love through wire transfers and unsolicited legal advice. He didn’t sayproud.
“Father says he’s proud,” his mother translated unnecessarily.
“I heard.”
“He also says you should have asked for help sooner, but he’s learning not to criticize good results. We’re both learning, I suppose. It seems to be the night for it.”
“Well. Miracles everywhere tonight. We’ll expect you both for dinner next week. Don’t argue. Your father has already agreed to be civil, which means you have no excuse.”
Alessandro started to reflexively push back, to explain why that wouldn’t work, to assert control over his own schedule.
Then he stopped. Breathed. Let go.
“Next week,” he agreed. “I’ll check with Marina first.”
The pause on the other end was eloquent. “You’ll check with her first,” his mother repeated.
“It affects her. She should have a say.”
“The woman really has changed you. Or maybe she just brought out who you always could have been.”
After they hung up, Alessandro sat in the dark kitchen. The instincts hadn’t disappeared. But he was learning.
Marina appeared at the top of the stairs, damp from the shower, wearing an oversized sweater that swallowed her small frame. She looked content, but there was a question in her eyes.
“Your family?” she asked.
“The curse is broken. They felt it happen.” He crossed the room to stand at the base of the stairs. “My mother wants to meet you. Next week. Dinner at the family estate.”
Marina’s eyes went wide. “That’s… soon.”
