Page 34 of The Art of Ruin

“I can tell.”

She beams at me like I’ve just passed some kind of test.

Something warm flickers low in my chest.

The morning settlesinto a rhythm faster than I expect. Shoes are found, though not without protest. Hair is redone twice before Letty declares it acceptable. A backpack is located, inspected, repacked, and abandoned until the last possible moment.

I move through it all with practiced ease, stepping in where needed, stepping back when not, learning the cadence of their routine without disrupting it. I feel he wants to step in, but this is why I’m here, so he can step back and get to work. Still, I observe as much as I can.

Adriano notices.

I know he does. I feel his eyes on me. Not in a pervy or sexual way, but in a watchful way. He’s trying to get a read on me, and in this situation, I’m an open book. Behind the doors of my work persona, I’m different, and I wonder if he senses the change in me. I haven’t flirted with him once, and my loud energy is considerably quieter. Not that it matters if he notices or not.

He doesn’t comment, but his gaze tracks me more than it needs to, catching small adjustments, quiet corrections, the way I redirect Letty without making it a battle.

By the time we’re heading out the door, Letty is ready, fed, and only mildly disgruntled about something that no longer matters.

“I’ll take her,” I say, reaching for the car keys on the side table.

Adriano pauses. “I’ll come today,” he says.

Of course he will.

First day.

Trust isn’t given. It’s earned.

“That’s fine.”

We walk out together, Letty between us, her hand slipping easily into mine like it belongs there.

I feel Adriano notice it.

I don’t look at him.

The day unfolds in small,manageable pieces. Drop-off goes smoothly. He signs some paperwork to add me to her list of approved adults. Letty barely looks back, already absorbed in something more interesting than either of us. Adriano lingers for a moment longer than necessary before stepping away, his gaze moving from her to me and back again like he’s calibrating something he hasn’t quite defined yet.

“I’ll handle pick-up,” I say.

“I’ll be available if needed.”

“I’ll call if there’s an issue.”

Another pause.

“Good.”

Then he leaves.

Just like that.

No lingering.

No unnecessary words. He walks toward a black town car that I hadn’t even seen idling and is gone.

It should make things easier.

It does.