Page 24 of The Art of Ruin

He returns quickly and retakes his seat. “Let’s eat.”

Dinner begins with movement instead of ceremony. Adriano fills bowls for us from the pot in the center of the table, and I take mine with a small smile, wondering how on earth I’m going to eat the huge pile of pasta in my bowl. Letty talks through all of it, and Adriano cuts the pasta in Letty’s bowl into smaller pieces with the same focus he probably gives to contracts worth millions.

“I can do it,” Letty says, though she makes no move to take the fork.

“I know.”

He keeps cutting.

She lets him, her little body already drooping with that end-of-day tiredness children get. A wall is coming up, and he needs to get her fed before she hits it. That he’s aware of that makes me realize just how hands-on a father he is. I knew this from Isabella, but seeing it is different.

I look down at my own bowl because the small intimacy of it hits somewhere bruised. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it isn’t. Because he doesn’t perform affection. He just does the thing that needs doing and lets her accept it like she’s never had to question whether care will be there.

That kind of certainty is hard to look at right now.

“So, Casey,” Adriano says, not looking at me as he breaks Letty’s bread into smaller pieces, his tone measured, almost casual, “Isabella tells me you’ve worked with families all over.”

The question surprises me just enough that I take a second before answering. “A few,” I say, grateful for something neutral. “Mostly between New York and Los Angeles. Some travel. Some long-term placements.”

“She came from Los Angeles,” Letty says, like she’s contributing important intelligence.

“I did.”

“Is it far?”

“Far enough.”

Her eyes brighten. “Farther than the moon?”

Across the table, Adriano’s fork stills for half a second.

I glance at him, then back at Letty. “Not quite.”

She nods, satisfied. “Daddy said that too.”

“Then he was right.”

Adriano’s gaze lifts to mine.

Only briefly.

Still, I feel it.

“And you like children?” he asks, his attention returning to Letty’s plate as if the question doesn’t matter, even though something in the way he says it suggests it does.

I smile down at my bowl. “Most days.”

Letty gasps. “Only most?”

“Well, some days they make you be a princess when you’re clearly better suited to being a dragon.”

Letty giggles, delighted, and nearly drops pasta on her lap.

Adriano catches the edge of her bowl before it tips.

Not hurried. Not dramatic. His hand is simply there.

“Careful,” he says.