Page 95 of The Art of Ruin

“You’re late,” she says, like this is a personal failure.

“I’m sorry, Jellybean, but we’re here now,” I reply, settling her against me.

“I missed you.”

God, this child humbles me every time. No matter what I do in my life, getting to be her father is the one thing that gives me the most pride and joy. “Missed you too, Jellybean.” My voice has a rasp to it I can’t hide.

Her head drops to my shoulder for a minute, and I take in the scent of her shampoo and just hold her. I know there will come a time when she won’t want hugs like this from me. “Have you been good?”

Her head lifts and she considers that question seriously, then nods. “Yes.”

“Good.”

She pats my cheek before twisting slightly to look past me. “Casey!”

I turn before I think about it.

She’s just inside the doorway, taking it all in—the noise, the movement, the sheer number of people talking at once—and for a second, there’s that same pause I’ve started to recognize. Wariness, wondering if she should stay outside or if she’s welcome on the inside.

Then she smiles, and I feel something heavy in my chest shift.

Fuck. I’m in trouble.

The room fills around us quickly.

Voices overlap, conversations start and restart before they finish, Matteo is already talking over Nico about something neither of them is willing to concede on, Rossi looks like he’sgiven up trying to follow it entirely, and Elena is laughing softly like she’s heard this argument before.

“Tell me you didn’t let him try his hand at your rosemary focaccia,” Matteo says, pointing at Nico as he looks accusingly at Elena.

“She didn’t. Elena is my mother-in-law, for the record, not yours, and knows my limits.” Nico replies. “And I value our continued survival and love my wife too much to risk her health with my bread-making skills.”

“Debatable,” Rossi mutters.

“Oh, so we’re laying claim to Elena as your mother-in-law now, are we? What happened to family and sharing? I don’t have a mother or a mother-in-law. Stop being so selfish, Nic.”

I rub the bridge of my nose, a headache already forming as I listen to their antics. I love my brothers, I truly do, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. But right now I need a drink, some food, and a nap. Taking care of Casey meant I didn’t sleep much. I kept watching her for signs of pain, or at least that’s what I tell myself.

“Hi,” Isabella says, pulling Casey into a hug that’s gentle but deliberate, her eyes scanning her quickly in a way that doesn’t miss much.

Letty scrambles out of my arms, and I watch her carefully as she runs toward Casey.

“You look tired.”

I groan internally at my daughter’s brutal honesty and give Casey an apologetic look.

“I feel a lot better, but yes, I am a little tired,” Casey replies.

It’s close enough to the truth that no one questions it. She’s a lot better, but she’s far from okay, and that’s the part she leaves out.

Letty is talking again, now explaining something about snow and marshmallows and a system that sounds suspiciously likeshe’s already negotiated her way into more than she should have.

Casey laughs at something she says, soft but genuine, and I feel it more than I expect to.

Not the sound.

The ease of it. The fact that she’s here and a part of us.

She handles the room well.