Page 57 of The Art of Ruin

Casey chokes on her coffee. Actually chokes.

For one glorious second, she looks genuinely unguarded, coughing and laughing at the same time while Isabella collapses sideways against the floor cushions, wheezing.

Even Nico looks amused.

“You cannot say that in front of children,” Elena says.

“I absolutely can. I just did.”

“Adriano,” Elena demands.

“I’m choosing silence. Seriously, Elena, there’s no hope for Matteo.”

“Coward,” Matteo informs me.

Casey wipes carefully beneath her eyes, still laughing quietly under her breath.

The sound settles oddly low in my chest.

Because it’s different from the polite version she gives at home.

Warmer.

Real.

And suddenly I understand why Isabella keeps watching her with concern when she thinks nobody notices.

Lunch becomes louder after that.

Rossi and Matteo argue over football. Elena keeps trying to feed everyone. Letty smuggles extra marshmallows onto dessert plates like a tiny criminal mastermind while Casey helps Isabella carry dishes back and forth from the kitchen despite repeated instructions to stop helping.

Every now and then, I catch glimpses of the woman from Thanksgiving again.

A sarcastic comment under her breath.

A quick grin.

The way she nudges Isabella with her hip while stealing a piece of bread straight from the cutting board.

Then her phone lights up.

And the version of her that’s slowly emerging folds quietly back inward again.

By the third time it happens, irritation starts pressing steadily at the base of my skull.

Not because of the interruption.

Because whoever keeps contacting her is clearly upsetting her enough that she stops participating in conversations every single time the screen lights up.

“You’re glaring,” Nico says quietly beside me.

“I’m thinking.”

“That expression usually costs people money.”

“I’ll try to seem less threatening.”

“You won’t.”