Page 32 of The Art of Ruin

I turn my head slightly, not all the way. “Good night, Adriano.”

His name feels dangerous in my mouth.

I leave before either of us can notice that too much.

4.Casey

The first morningfeels different before I even open my eyes.

It isn’t the room—I’ve already adjusted to the soft light through the curtains, the unfamiliar ceiling, the faint scent of clean linen and something citrus I can’t quite place. It’s the awareness underneath it all. The quiet knowledge that today isn’t a transition or an arrival.

Today is a new start.

I glance at the clock and see it’s 6:15. Amazingly, I feel refreshed. I’d worried I wouldn’t sleep well, but the second my head touched the pillow, I was out, and I slept through without waking once, which is unusual for me.

I lie there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the house wake up around me. There’s movement somewhere beyond the annex, a door closing, footsteps somewhere in the house, the low murmur of a voice I’m already beginning to recognize.

Adriano.

I don’t know why that thought settles so heavily.

I push it aside and sit up, stretching out all the kinks in my muscles and groaning in pleasure. One of life’s simple pleasuresis the morning stretch. I throw the covers back and jump out of bed, ready to start the day, but first, coffee and a shower.

Caffeine, for me, is a necessary part of my routine. Without it, my brain feels sluggish, and focus is a slow start. But I also like the structure of my morning routine. Working with children can be a mix of routine and complete chaos. The only thing I can control is what I do until I figure out this household and its occupants. I have a feeling routine is important here, and I like that. It means I know where I stand.

I glance at the documents I read and signed before I went to bed last night. Adriano is very detailed in what he does and does not want. I know a little about his family history, and what and who his father was, through Isabella. It should scare me that his family was the head of the Mob, but weirdly, I don’t feel the tiniest bit of fear around him. That Mr. Mancini senior had steered his family out of that life, because it was his wife’s dying wish, tells me a lot about who they are inside. I don’t know the ins and outs of Mob life, but I can’t imagine it was an easy thing to do.

That’s the kind of love I want one day. I sigh and push the thought away. It serves no purpose other than to make me feel sad right now, and I have too much to do today to let myself dwell on things I can’t control.

Still, the contract and the NDA remind me of why I’m here. I’m the nanny; that’s what I’m here for. I dress in dark denim jeans, a chunky gray knit sweater, and gray sneakers. It’s smart-casual and perfect for a day of planning activities for Letty and entertaining a four-year-old.

By the time I step into the main house, the kitchen is already in motion. Letty is perched on the counter, swinging her legs, her hair only half contained in a loose ponytail that looks like it was attempted and abandoned midway through. There’s a bowlin front of her and a spoon in her hand, though most of the cereal seems to be orbiting the bowl rather than staying in it.

Adriano stands at the stove, sleeves rolled, attention divided between whatever is in the pan and the small voice narrating her morning beside him.

“You said I could have strawberries.”

“You are having strawberries.”

“That is one strawberry.”

“It’s the first strawberry.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It is if you wait.”

“I don’t like waiting.”

“I’m aware.”

I hover in the doorway for a second longer than necessary, taking it in before I step fully inside. “Good morning.”

Letty’s head snaps toward me immediately. “Casey!”

The brightness in her voice catches me off guard. “Good morning,” I say again, softer this time.

“You said you’d practice.”