The walls hold family pictures that were never there before Elena came into Luca’s life. Alessandra’s footprint in clay, the three of them on the back steps, Luca with a baby against his chest, eyes closed like a man who didn’t know he needed that second chance until he had it.
“She’s not what I expected,” Elena says, pulling me back.
“Who.”
“Bianca,” she says. “I thought she’d be… I don’t know. Loud. Defensive. Maybe prickly.”
“She’s none of those,” I say.
“No,” Elena says, smiling. “She’s… contained, efficient. It’s a power move I respect.”
She studies me for a beat. “You like her.”
“I like talent,” I say.
“That’s not what I meant,” she says, but she lets me dodge it. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your prowling. The boys will trickle in any minute.”
“They can trickle without me for five,” I say, half to myself.
She opens her mouth to say something else, and then the door opens behind me without a knock. It’s unlocked because this is family and because the guards at the gate aren’t letting in anyone who shouldn’t be here.
Caterina sweeps in, too quiet and too loud at the same time. Hair down and too glossy, dress just the perfect level of casual that tells me it wasn’t an accident. She carries a small clutch, and her lips are pressed together tightly.
Her eyes bounce around the room, up the stairs, down the hall, on us, then the mirror over a side table, where she checks herself out. Probably not for the first time that night.
“Don’t make that face,” she says before I say anything. “I’m on time.”
“For the first time since 2011,” I say.
“Still counts,” she counters.
She leans in, kisses Elena’s cheek, pulls her back by the elbows to look at her. “You look like you slept never, and it’s very chic.”
“Thank you,” Elena says dryly. “You smell like the perfume counter at Barneys exploded in your direction.”
“I couldn’t decide on one scent, so I blended. That’s also very chic,” Caterina says, and finally turns her whole body to me, eyes flicking up and down nervously. “Uncle Gio.”
“Cat.”
Her chin tips. “Don’t call me that tonight.”
“All right,” I say. “Caterina.”
She breathes out through her nose. She’s dressed to kill and vibrating like a tuning fork.
If I were to hand her a glass of water, it would spill over. She’s the kind of nervous that you wouldn’t recognize unless you love her. I love her, so I know it’s fear dressed up.
“You good?” I ask, plainly.
“I’m great,” she says, too fast.
“Liar,” I say, gently.
She rolls her eyes. “I brought a bottle,” she says instead, lifting the clutch like she might produce a magnum out of it by magic.
“The bar is stocked,” Elena says. “Pace yourself.”
“Or what?” Caterina says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ll send me to my room?”
