Luckily, Nonna interrupts the moment and tells us all to sit down so dinner can be served. I breathe a sigh of relief as she directs each of us to our seats, intentionally guiding me to theopposite side of the table to sit across from Riccardo. At least he won’t be able to grope me during dinner.
Even Riccardo knows better than to try to argue with a nonna when he’s a guest at her table. However, that doesn’t stop him from directing his ire at me.
“Do you have to bring that mutt with you to dinner?” He sneers at Beppe.
“He’s her support animal.” Mariella glares at him. “If she wants to bring him to dinner with us, she fucking will.”
“Mariella,” Angelo sighs.
“What?”
“You know how Nonna feels about the word fuck at Sunday dinner.”
“You say it all the time.” She points out. “Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Madonna Mia.” Nonna throws her hands into the air, reprimanding Mariella about the Lord’s day in a string of rapid-fire Italian.
They all start arguing, and I hear Riccardo mutter something that sounds an awful lot like,not in my house, and I know he’s referring to Beppe. The thought fills my veins with ice, and I know now without a shadow of a doubt I can’t go through with this marriage. But I also don’t know how to get out of it.
“I need another drink,” Riccardo grouses.
Nonna, being the gracious host she is, comes around the table to accommodate him. She picks up his glass and scoops ice from a bucket on the sideboard just as Romeo appears. He and Rafe exchange a look as Romeo sweeps by and dumps something into the glass Nonna is preparing for Riccardo. It’s some kind of clear liquid, and it doesn’t seem to faze Nonna in the slightest as she hands the glass to Riccardo, who’s none the wiser. He reaches for a bottle of whiskey on the table and pours himselfhalf a glass, downing it in a few swallows as if this dinner is testing his last nerve.
His mood doesn’t improve when Nonna directs Romeo to sit in the one empty seat beside me.
He glances between the two of us, drumming his fingers on the table. I’m already at my sensory threshold, and right now that sound may as well be shotgun blasts.
I try to calm myself, but Riccardo notices me flinch when he clinks his glass against his plate, and he smirks. I swear he’s making it his personal mission to send me over the edge. He launches into another tirade about crypto, his voice unnecessarily loud.
“So that’s when I told him volatility scares the weak. You have to dominate and diversify.” He slams his hand on the table, rattling the dishes as he laughs at his own punchline. “You should have seen his face. What an idiot.”
I close my eyes as Beppe nudges me, sensing my distress. He’s not the only one. I feel Romeo’s thigh bump against mine—once, twice, then a few more times in succession. It’s a rhythm, I think. A different song.
I welcome the distraction, following along as he starts to tap his fingers against the table, and I open my eyes to watch. After a few more seconds, the pattern emerges, pulling a familiar rhythm from memory.
"Chalk Outlines" by Ren and Chinchilla.
Without making a conscious decision, my fingers move of their own accord, tapping against the table when we get to Chinchilla’s part of the song. It’s a duet.
Soon, we’re tapping together, and everything around us disappears as my heart begins to slow and my breathing calms.
It isn’t until we finish, and I’m staring at him, that I realize it was the song I’d added to my journal. The one I’d coded for Orion—being Romeo.
Of course, it shouldn’t surprise me that he figured it out. That’s how his brain works. But I’m less certain of whether he’s figured out that he is Orion.
“What are you two doing over there?” Riccardo snaps.
Slowly, I drag my gaze away from Romeo and turn to look at Riccardo. He’s sweating profusely, and he looks more pale than he was a few minutes ago.
“What kind of secret—” Before he can finish that sentence, he clutches his stomach, a horrified expression washing over his face as a loud gurgle fills the silence.
“Fuck!” He shoves his chair backward, scurrying from the table as quickly as he can.
“Everything okay, Riccardo?” Rafe calls after him, feigning concern.
“Fine,” he croaks.
Just as soon as he says it, he whimpers, and a wet, explosive sound ripples through the air. Liquid soaks into the back of his pants, and he curses.
