“Why don’t I get it? That way, you two can continue talking, and I’ll just be a sec.”
I’m off my stool before the first protest falls from her glossy lips.
“Diego—”
“No, you two keep it up. How do you take it, Dr. Rossi?”
I move around her, standing at the head of the table, taking charge of the situation and intentionally addressing only him. He turns toward me, a glimmer of appreciation in his expression.
“Black, no sugar.”
His voice carries the same calm authority as his daughter's, except he lacks the edge she wields like a sword.
“Same for you, Professor?”
I ignore her fingers, twitching against the pages of the notebook she’s holding. Her nails briefly graze the edge before she presses her hand flat on the surface. She glances toward her father, then back at me, her brows knitting together like she’s deciding whether to let this happen or to shut it down completely.
Her stool scrapes against the floor as she stands abruptly, the sound cutting through the room, but I’m already out the door searching for the faculty lounge that I hope is on this floor.
My name on her tongue, calling after me, is a hard pass, knowing she’s trying to stop this. For someone so controlling and uptight, her father is the complete opposite.
Calm, patient, and open.
It’s a wonder they’re related.
My heart’s still racing like I’m on the track instead of in a hallway outside Professor Rossi’s lab. Meeting Dr. Raffaele Rossi. The Raffaele Rossi is not what I expected from my half-baked plan to apologize. And yeah, maybe I didn’t plan on sticking around long after my little speech. A quick “sorry,” a few carefully chosen words to sound sincere, and then I’d be out, right?
But her father? He actually talked to me like some friendly, old dude. Even shook my hand.
Like I wasn’t the late, loud-mouthed idiot, his daughter clearly wished that I would drop her class.
I glance back at the lab door, the faint hum of their voices leaking through the crack. It’s muted. Nothing I can make out, but her sharp, clipped tone carries even through the muffled barrier. She’s still annoyed, no doubt about it.
I pull out my phone and tap out a message to Dominic.
Dude
I just met Dr. Rossi.
Yeah.
THE DR RAFFAELE ROSSI!
WTF?
Long story
Call ya later
As I hit send, I roll my shoulders, push off the wall, and start down the hall. I’ll find this damn lounge if it kills me.
8
ISABELLA
My head is down, my gaze on deciphering his terrible handwriting when it happens.
Papà is perched on the stool one second, gesturing and explaining something in his notebook. His hands move with the same fervor he’s always had when explaining something he loves. The next, there’s a sharp scrape of metal against the floor, followed by a sickening thud that freezes my breath in my chest.
