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“How nice.”
“Not for me,” she says with a laugh, and Peyton grins.
Understanding and warmth dance in Peyton’s eyes. “You miss them.”
“I do, terribly,” she says, and gives Peyton a wink. “Someday you’ll understand that.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Peyton says, playing the part of my wife as the two share a bonding moment. Laughter comes from the deck.
“Sounds like the party has started without us,” Sofia says, her voice a bit tight, and Peyton casts me a quick glance, her eyes telegraphing a secret message. I nod slightly. Yeah, I get it. Sofia doesn’t appear to be a fan of her early-bird guests.
We step out onto the back deck, and I glance out at the Mediterranean Sea, which is right on their doorstep. “Nice place you have here,” I say.
Sofia smiles at me. “Thank you. Let me fix you a drink.” She angles her head. “Let me guess, a scotch drinker.”
I chuckle. “How did you know?”
“A woman knows these things,” she says. “Peyton, how about you?”
“Wine girl.”
“Ah, I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Sofia jokes, and Andrew stands to greet us.
“Great to see you both again,” he says, and gestures to the empty chairs around the table. We greet Richard and Paula, who are both sipping on some kind of cocktail, and Sofia comes back with our drinks and sits at the other end of the table, opposite her husband. She turns to glance at Peyton.
“How was your first day?” Sofia asks, and before Peyton can say a word, Paula jumps in to explain how much her husband loved meeting the children, and how they all loved him in return. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. We all listen quietly, politely of course, since most of us around the table have manners. I reach out and put my hand on Peyton’s leg to give it a squeeze. The look on her face suggests she wants to give a hard eye roll, and I grin back.
When Paula finally stops talking, Sofia turns to Peyton. “How about you, Peyton?”
“It was enjoyable. I really liked—”
Paula gasps and we all go quiet. “You’re Roman Bianchi,” she blurts out.
“That’s right,” I say, and roll the ice around in my glass.
Paula taps her husband’s arm repeatedly. “Richard, Richard, this is Roman Bianchi. Remember we read about him in the paper. He’s from a family of Italian elites. His ex-fiancée left him before their grand wedding. There was a whole spread done on him.”
I shift, uncomfortable as she rudely narrates the horrible articles splashed in the trash magazines.
“I remember,” Richard says, and I don’t like the gleam in his eyes as his gaze goes from me to Peyton, back to me. “You went into hiding for a while.”
“I wasn’t hiding.” Both Andrew and Sofia go quiet, clearly uncomfortable by the direction Richard is taking this conversation. “I was in New York working.”
“New York’s most eligible bachelor.” He laughs lightly, but it belies the vindictive look in his eyes. “I believe I recall you saying something about being a bachelor for life?”
I put my arm around Peyton and her body is stiff. I laugh and take a drink of my scotch, playing it off. “You can’t tell me you believe everything you read in the paper, now can you, Richard?”
“No,” he says, and pushes back in his chair to mimic my relaxed posture. “You’re right about that.” He focuses in on Peyton’s ring. “Tell me, how long have you two been married?”
“Six months,” we both say quickly, maybe too quickly.
“Newlyweds,” Sofia says. “How romantic.”
“A big wedding, with all your family?” Richard asks.
“No, we wanted a private wedding. I love my family, but they can be overbearing at times, so we just sneaked off. I’m sure they’ll want to throw us a party when we go to Sicily to see them.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting them all,” Peyton says.
