Page 77 of Alessio

That didn’t mean he stayed silent though.

“And?” Corrado asked, his voice a murmur, his gaze still taking in the paper.

“Give her a minute. Let her absorb it all.”

Corrado hummed his agreement, then turned to peer at Alessio as he smothered a pancake in maple syrup. The thing he loved the most about Canada, next to the fact it was Corrado’s birthplace, was that they didn’t do that fake syrup shit flavored like maple.

“And what about you? Are you good?”

Alessio arched a brow. “You’re right.”

“Oh? I usually am, but do tell. It’s not every day you say you’re right and not you’re not wrong. Because one is you outright admitting you were wrong, and the other is your way of trying to keep from showing your whole ass in a conversation.”

“Fuck off,” Alessio muttered, chuckling.

He peeked up from his plate, but Corrado hadn’t looked away from him. Their gazes met, and Alessio relaxed in a way he hadn’t before.

“Not a lie, though,” Corrado said, shrugging.

“Not a lie,” Alessio echoed. “And I meant … about her. You were right. She’s like art.”

Fucking her had been a privilege.

And not one he was sure he deserved.

Corrado made an appreciative noise under his breath, and his attention quickly went back to the paper. “I know, now so do you.”

Right.

He was a quarter of the way through his plate when Ginevra darkened the entryway of the kitchen. She hesitated only momentarily before joining the two at the table, taking a seat at Corrado’s right, across from Alessio.

Ginevra didn’t reach for the food.

Alessio continued eating, and Corrado didn’t turn his attention away from the paper in his hands. It was like any other morning, except it wasn’t.

He could feel the change, now.

It was palpable.

Corrado flipped the corner of the paper down and winked at Ginevra. “Eat, kitten. Food is better when it’s hot.”

“Oh, I like that better,” Alessio said more to himself than anyone else at the table. “Kitten—it’s appropriate.”

“Right? That’s what I thought.”

“Makes sense.”

Ginevra let out a breathy laugh. “You two are horrible.”

“But are we?” Alessio asked.

“We are a little,” Corrado said, and then to Ginevra, “Unless you want a plate made for you. All you have to do is ask.”

For anything, Alessio added silently.

He was sure they’d figure out a way to give it to her now.

Ginevra smiled. “I do like being spoiled.”