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“Why do you say that?”
She hesitates. “Things with Carmine were very… complicated at first. It was an arranged marriage. Well, he actually bought me. And he hated me at first. But he didn’t actually hate me? Very confusing.”
“Wow,” I say, laughing uncomfortably. “That’s, uh—”
“Complicated,” she supplies, beaming. “We meshed though. Fell in love. And now we have a family.”
“It’s nice. Your home, I mean, and I guess your relationship with your, uh, arranged husband.”
“Thank you,” she says, drinking her wine. “I guess I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, but I am saying it’s okay to let your guard down. If you’re into him. You are into him, right?”
I start to deny it, but hell, why pretend? “I’m into him. And I haven’t admitted that out loud until right now.”
“It’s okay,” she says, “I won’t tell.”
“Good. He’d never let me live it down.” I lean my head back, sighing. “It’s just confusing, is all. We’ve got this whole Russian killer thing happening, and my home life is a little complicated, and honestly? I’ve never felt this way before. I’m not sure what to do with these feelings.”
“Go with it,” she says simply. “That’s all you have to do.”
I tap my finger on the rim of the glass. “I’m worried that if I do keep going, and I let myself fall even more, then when this is all over—” I don’t finish that sentence. Instead, I take a long sip, feeling embarrassed. I barely know Brice and here I am, talking about my relationship with her.
“I understand what you mean,” she admits. “Lanzo’s a wanderer, always has been.”
“He won’t settle down for me and I wouldn’t ask him to. What’s the point of setting myself up for more hurt down the road?”
She’s quiet for a little bit. We sit in the comfortable late evening heat, watching the remnants of sunset toss pink streaks over the Texas sky. Eventually, Brice scoots her chair closer.
“My advice is accept that pain’s a possibility, and do it anyway. I learned that the hard way. Good things are worth the risk.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, but I’m not convinced. I have too many other things vying for my attention, namely Grandpop. I’ve been feeling guiltier every day leaving him alone, even if he has full-time nursing help. I miss him too and want to go back to our old routine together, even if that routine was leading me nowhere. Even if it was a dead end.
Grandpop was my whole life. I feel like I’m abandoning him.
Eventually, the boys come fetch us. We eat dinner cooked by their personal chef (of course they have a personal chef) in a lovely dining room (immaculately furnished too) and drink obscenely expensive wine from crystal glasses (which I’m tempted to break because they’retooperfect). Lanzo and Carmine tell stories from college, laughing together about their Atlas Organization antics.
It’s normal. Obscenely normal. I feel good, and for an hour, I don’t think about anything but laughing, good wine, nice company, and great food. This is the sort of evening I’ve always dreamed about—and I get the feeling that Carmine and Brice do this sort of thing all the time.
After a few hours, we end the night. Lanzo drapes his arm across my shoulders as we head back out to his truck, and I don’t even mind. “You get along well with Brice,” he comments as he gets behind the wheel.
“Don’t start setting double dates, all right?” I eye him from the passenger seat. “What were you and Carmine talking about in his office earlier?”
“Burian,” he says, face hard. “Carmine has contacts in the local fed office. He has a few names of guys that might be involved.”
“Great,” I say, glancing out the window. “Leads.”
“Ren.” His tone is warning.
“What? I’m not going to start a fight. Just asking questions.”
He sighs as he pulls down the long driveway. “I know you want to help, but your description of Burian was help enough. Your part of this is done. Just let me keep you safe.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m not going to push.”
He gives me a sharp look. I smile back innocently, which makes him smile. “All right. Good.” He looks back at the road, driving us back to his place. “Why can’t I start setting double dates?”
I snort, sitting down lower in the seat. “Because we’re not together. Gotta be dating to go on a date, right?”
“Who says we’re not dating?”
