“Never mind,” Santi said. “I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“I need you to know,” Miro said, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes completely clear even if his voice seemed a little nervous. “Kuya, I didn’t know Lolo was planning on ruining your relationship. I thought he was curious about your life! I trusted him, and I didn’t know they were going to hurt you. I got the penthouse in exchange, but...”
Santi inhaled sharply. He had a feeling Miro wasn’t as innocent as he seemed, but he wasn’t declaring that he was returning the penthouse, either. And yes, he was aware that it was dramatic, but hewasa Scorpio something. He should be allowed to be dramatic sometimes.
“You can’t be mad at me,” Miro continued, unaware of Santi’s feelings. “If you’re mad at me, then I’m just like them. And Kuya, I don’t want to be like them. Please, Kuya. I don’t want to be like them.”
It gutted him, to see the worry on Miro’s face, the pain there. But Santi had gotten hurt too, and it wasn’t going to be easy for him to trust his brother again (maybe ever, but who knows).
“I needed you, too,” he said softly, trying to take the sting out of the words—but the way his brother winced, he knew he’d failed. He had needed Miro; he needed him when he was fired, when he was opening the hotel, then the restaurant. Needed Miro to say something after that lunch with Lolo, or when he’d showed up at Villa with those letters. “I’ll always be your brother, Mi. But I can’t be in the same room as our family right now. I hope you understand, I’m still recovering from the hurt they caused, that you caused. Maybe one day, when I can make sense of it all. But right now, I’m not there yet.”
“I didn’t think youcouldget hurt,” Miro said, his face completely crumpled and miserable now. Santi realized that this was his brother’s true face—someone that wanted desperately to be loved, just as much as Santi, so much that he turned a blind eye when someone was trying to use him. Santi didn’t know if it made Miro naive or willfully ignorant, but it was up to Miro to face that.
“It’s a wonder, the things the Lipa air can do to a heart,” Santi said, standing up from his desk to walk Miro gently out of the office. “But thank you for talking to me, Miro. I’ll...call. You can call too, but I might not pick up.”
“I don’t know how to ask for help,” Miro said, his gaze a little far away. “I never realized that I was traumatized by our own upbringing until Vito told me what I did to you. Kuya, he wasproudof himself, what kind of sicko—”
Miro stopped. He must have noticed that Santi’s jaw was suddenly stiff, that he hadn’t moved a muscle since he brought it up.
“You don’t want to talk about it,” his little brother concluded.
“I don’t,” Santi agreed. “But I’m not the only person out there that can help you.”
“Santi!” Kira’s excited voice said at the end of the hallway leading to his office. She appeared like a vision, walking down his hallway in a soft pink dress, the kind that swished every time her hips swayed, the kind that molded perfectly over her gorgeous décolletage. Santi shifted his weight one foot to the other. “I’m a genius!”
“I’m not going to deny that,” he said, leaning against his doorframe like Miro wasn’t there. “But why?”
“I finished my meeting with Chloe Agila, and she gave me a tip on the white chocolate, which led me to think about chocolate silk and how to use it to temper things. Long story short, I did it. Ibought another tempering machine so I don’t die inside every time I make chocolate, even small-batch ones. Can we eat, then celebrate, i.e., have sex?”
“Kira,” Santi said, trying his hardest not to laugh. “You remember Miro, my baby brother? He came to visit.”
Kira stopped mid-walk, her face white as a sheet as Miro chuckled beside Santi and gave Kira a polite, Instagram-friendly wave. Santi saw the moment his brother put on that influencer mask, but the mask didn’t fit quite so tightly over his face anymore.
“Hi,” Miro said, grinning. “I have heard nothing but terrible things about you from the wrong sources, so I’m going to assume you’re wonderful.”
“Well, I am pretty great,” Kira said, showing off an uncharacteristic shyness by tucking her hair behind her ear.
Miro smiled, and the hole his family left in Santi’s chest significantly filled.
“This feels wrong,” Kira said, sitting across him an hour later, after Santi had seen Miro off. She was frowning slightly even as she speared her fork into her fig and honey salad with greens from Blossoms Farms and a bit of the burrata made with Luz Creamery. “It feels like your grandfather won, somehow, because Lally ended up selling the hotel.”
“The hotel was always Lally’s, Kira,” Santi reminded her gently, tossing his burrata in with the rest of the salad to add a bit of flavor to the usually flavorless cheese. “It was never mine, and I’m okay with that. I was worried about Miro, I wanted to talk him through his problems with me, but he seems to have found his own way. He said he’s looking for help, and I’m trying not to be optimistic, but...”
“You want to be optimistic.” Kira nodded, smiling. “It’s okay.”
“And La Spezia is going to be smaller, but it will still be the best.”
“Well, if it’s still the best.” Kira pretended to roll her eyes, smiling as he felt something warm against his ankle.
“Are you really playing footsie with me at my own restaurant,” Santi asked, trying to oh so casually sip his wine, when Kira lifted her foot higher and he nearly jolted in surprise.
“Apparently I am.” She giggled. “And this is your last meal here. I want it to be memorable.”
Santi smiled at her over the candlelight. Strangely enough, this last time he was going to eat here with her was the first time they did together. There was just never enough time before, not enough opportunity. But the soft lighting from the candles made Kira look like she was glowing, her eyes sparkling as she sat across him, trying to act like running her foot up against his leg was totally casual and easy.
“Your chocolate tartufo.” Bruno put down the single plate that contained Lydia’s now signature dish. Inspired by a dish of the same name sold in Rome, the innocent-looking ball of chocolate and whipped cream topping didn’t seem like much. But when Kira ran her spoon through the whipped cream, chocolate chunks and ganache gave way to the ice cream, then the strawberry jam and the brownie inside. It was Kira on a plate, she liked to say, and she ate the dessert with gusto.
We’ll have this again,Santi thought, slowly and deliberately licking his spoon.As long as I’m with her.
