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“Because they invited us, and in Milan a refused invitation says more than an accepted one.” He adds an inch to my glass, unbidden. “You’ll be charming, they’ll be charming, and everyone goes home keeping their teeth.”

“So, this is not a social call?”

“Oh, it is. Just not the kind of social call I like.” The pause runs three seconds past casual. Eight days of reading this man have taught me that his pauses say more than he’s willing to.

It leaves me very suspicious. “And Allegra is what to you?”

He smirks just a little at the eyes. “What makes you think Matteo isn’t something to me?”

The thought clicks at the wrong angle. Oh. OH. “Well, given how you are with me, I didn’t think you were into… I should have considered all the options, I guess, but I didn’t. What is he to you?”

“An old acquaintance. They both are.”

“You dated the brother and the sister?”

He chuckles. “No. I’m just fucking with you on that score.” He finishes his drink and sets the glass down with the softest click, conversation concluding itself. “Friday, eight o’clock. Convincing, Doctor. Married enough that nobody thinks to ask questions.”

“Well, which one did you date?”

“No questions, remember?” He closes the door behind himself, but I hear his footsteps trail to Sarah’s room, then disappear.

I stay in the library with two swallows of someone’s excellent scotch and a brand-new line in my mental chart on this man. He word-lawyers everyone. But in eight days of marriage he has never once been this concerned about my performance with strangers. Not until the night the Brancatis entered the chat.

Allegra and Matteo. And he’s left it up to the wind regarding who he dated. The tease of it bugs me. Which is why he did it.

I finish the scotch, and it goes down warm and expensive and answers nothing. Then I text Adeline one thing before bed: His name is Lupo. It means wolf.

The three dots start up. I watch them pulse, and I decide the rest of that conversation belongs to a version of me who knows what the rest of the truth is.

That version of me doesn’t exist yet.

10

LUPO

My daughter has appointed herself judge of the evening, enthroned on the third stair with my mother beside her in the role of assistant judge, both of them waiting for the show. I stand at the bottom in a dinner jacket, checking my watch. I’ve been planning this night in three directions since the card arrived.

One, Matteo makes no moves, and the night goes as advertised. Or the opposite.

Two, Allegra pulls some Allegra shit, and Veda ends the night in tears.

Three, some third thing I have no plan for.

It’s the third thing that has me on the fence about attending this shindig. I don’t like bringing Veda out into the field on this. Not with Matteo being a worm. He’s always been just shy of an asshole, but now it’s like he’s decided to embrace it. If he so much as⁠—

Veda. Top of the stairs. Looking like that. Holy shit. The fuck was I thinking about a second ago?

Royal purple. Silk that pours from her shoulders and follows her down, cut low enough in the back to make every thought evaporate. Her hair is up off her long, silky neck. Her mouth is painted a shade darker than usual. Dark enough to make me remember other parts of her that flush that color when they’re happy.

“Ten!” Sarah rules, holding up both hands.

“Bellissima,” my mother agrees, and then, to me, in the tone of a woman issuing orders to a subordinate, “You will not let her out of your sight.”

“No, ma’am, I will not.” Pretty sure I can’t blink right now.

Veda reaches the bottom step and takes my arm with a smile. Under it, quieter, just for me, “Stop staring, Sartorre. You’ve seen the merchandise.”

“Tonight Milan gets a look too, and I am a jealous man.” I put her hand through my elbow and hold it there. “You’re radiant, Doctor.”