Page 27 of The Art of Ruin

She narrows her eyes like she doesn’t entirely trust me, then lets herself be guided away.

Adriano pauses just long enough to glance back at me. “Dinner’s usually at six,” he says. “Tomorrow we’ll keep to schedule.”

“Understood.”

A beat passes, like there’s something else he could say.

He doesn’t.

Then he turns and takes the stairs. Letty is already talking again before they reach the top. The house shifts as they disappear, her voice softening with distance, his answering murmur lower still.

And just like that, I’m alone in the kitchen.

The kitchen feels different without them in it. Larger. Less certain. I rinse my bowl despite being told not to work, then stop myself before I begin cleaning everything else. Boundaries. I need to learn the ones in this house before I accidentally trip over them.

From somewhere above me, Letty’s voice rises, muffled through the ceiling.

“No, the other pajamas.”

A lower answer. Adriano’s.

Then Letty again, indignant. “They are not the same. Those are sleepy cats. I want the angry cats.”

I stand by the sink with my hands damp and listen before I can stop myself.

There’s something disarming about hearing a powerful man negotiate with a tiny tyrant over pajamas. Something almost indecently intimate about it. I shouldn’t be listening, but the house carries sound softly, and I’m only human, despite recent evidence suggesting I might be turning into something colder.

Footsteps cross above. A drawer opens. Letty laughs. Then there’s quiet for a while, broken by the low murmur of his voice.

Reading, maybe.

I picture him sitting on the edge of her bed, sleeves still rolled, one hand holding a book too small for him, his voice stripped down to something only she gets.

My throat tightens.

I turn the faucet on to cover the silence and rinse my hands again even though they’re already clean.

By the time he comes downstairs, I’m in the living room, standing near the edge of a bookshelf, pretending I haven’t been staring at family photos.

There aren’t many.

Letty at the beach, laughing so hard her eyes are closed. Nico holding her upside down while Isabella looks both horrified and delighted. Matteo wearing a paper crown too small for his head. Adriano in the background of several pictures rather than the center, always present, rarely posed.

And one photo of a woman I don’t know. Dark hair. Soft smile. Letty’s eyes.

I look away before he reaches the room.

“Casey.”

My name in his voice lands differently when the house is quiet. I turn.

He stands at the entrance to the living room. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to go over expectations before tomorrow.”

There it is.