Page 43 of Alessio

She peeked over at him.

“Faster?” he asked.

Ginevra grinned, faint as it was. “Yeah, sure.”

Five minutes later, Alessio joined them, too. On the opposite side of Ginevra, he started the treadmill he preferred because he’d pre-programmed paces into it, from a slow jog, to a sprint, and then to a full run before switching all the way back again.

She didn’t want to talk.

Fine.

They would still be there.

They would still do this.

A month was a blink in time for Corrado, but especially when he wasn’t doing anything. Days melted into one another, turning into weeks, and then changing into a month before he even realized what had happened.

An entire month with the three of them sharing the same space. And hey, nobody had ripped anybody’s head off yet. He took that as a win.

Corrado only realized the date because his father said it in his ear, and he checked the calendar on his desk to confirm that Gian was correct. Surprise, he was.

“How is everything over there?” his father asked on the call.

“Better.”

Gian chuckled. “You know, I never realized how nosy I was until one of you five boys had something … interesting going on in your personal lives.”

Corrado wasn’t stupid—that was his father’s sly way of asking about their situation. Mostly, his father allowed all his children their privacy and space.

Sometimes, though, he didn’t.

Like now.

“It’s a complicated thing,” Corrado said quietly, eyeing the open doorway of his office. Ginevra had been playing a game in the sitting room, and Alessio was in the gym again, beating the hell out of a punching bag. “But then again, it was a complicated thing before she ever showed up, too.”

“And delicate, I imagine.”

Corrado cleared his throat. “Yeah, that, too.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it figured out. You got that message from your mother, oui?”

“I did. She’s like you—elle est trop curieuse.”

He only got to speak French with his father, and Corrado tried to sneak it because he could. None of his brothers, except for Marcus, had picked up French from their father like he did. Just bits and pieces, but not enough for him to hold a proper conversation. He liked to use it when he could.

“She is not too curious, Corrado. That is not why she asked for lunch.”

“Right,” Corrado said fast before his father could make up another excuse for Cara, “not at all.”

“Maybe that’s the case, but she also gets whatever she wants, and what she wants right now is to spend time with—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Corrado’s head snapped up, and he found Ginevra standing in the office’s doorway. Her gaze drifted from him to the bookshelves lining the wall at the left of his desk.

“I’ll just give you a minute,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Corrado told her, and then back on the call, “I will call you back, Papa, and yes, tomorrow is a go. Tell Ma.”