Page 36 of The Art of Ruin

His jacket is gone, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark hair slightly less controlled than it was this morning, like he’s run his hands through it at least once during the day.

He lowers the phone the second Letty crashes into him.

“Daddy, I made a dragon, but it looked like a dog. Casey said we can fix it.”

“I’m sure we can.”

His gaze lifts to mine over her head.

A question.

A check.

“Good day?” he asks.

“Smooth as silk,” I reply. “She listened well.”

“She always does.”

Letty pulls back. “I don’t always listen.”

“You do when it matters.”

She considers that, then shrugs. “Okay.”

I step back.

Instinct.

Space.

Because this man takes up the whole room with his presence, and I like it. His heat, his scent, his energy changes the vibe.

“You’re all set for the evening,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, professional.

He watches me for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s it?” he asks.

I pause. “That’s the handoff. Letty has had a snack, finished her reading and letters, and dinner is in the oven. I made her meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

Something flickers in his expression, gone before I can name it.

“Right. Thank you.”

I nod once and turn toward the annex before the moment can stretch into something I don’t want to define.

My rooms feel smaller when I close the door behind me.

Not physically. Just… contained, but the oppressive energy is gone, and that’s a relief.

I lean against it for a second, exhaling slowly, letting the quiet settle around me.

The day replays in fragments.

Letty’s laugh.

Adriano’s gaze.

The ease I hadn’t expected.