“I only got a few things,” I say honestly. “And I’m planning on paying Mr. Conti back.”
That’s also true.
Sienna snorts softly, already winding up. “Got a problem with my father spending his money on other women, Frannie? Better get used to it.”
Francesca’s gaze sharpens, but not on Sienna. On me. Crap. The air shifts, subtle but unmistakable.
“I do think it’s odd,” she says coolly, “that you’d let a man buy you clothes like a kept woman.”
The insult lands between us like a blade.
Mr. Conti’s voice cuts through it. “Enough, Fran.”
He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look at her, but the weight of his tone is enough to make the candles flicker.
Still, I can feel Francesca’s eyes on me, expectant, daring me to shrink. And maybe I should. Maybe that’s what most people do around her.
But I’m not most people.
“Odd that I let him buy me clothes?” I repeat, keeping my voice calm. “I needed clothes because I was ripped from my life. Would you rather I walk around naked?”
The corner of Sienna’s mouth twitches. “Good one, Birdie.”
Francesca’s smile falters for half a second before she composes herself again. “Touchy, aren’t we?” she murmurs, but I see the stiffness in her posture and the way her hand tightens around her wineglass.
Mr. Conti leans back in his chair, watching the exchange with that unreadable expression he wears so well. His dark eyes flick briefly toward me, assessing, maybe even a little amused.
“Fran,” he says finally, “if you can’t keep civil conversation at my table, you’re free to leave it.”
The room goes still.
Francesca blinks, disbelief flashing across her perfect face. “You’re defendingher?”
“I’m stopping you,” he corrects, his tone cool and final.
Sienna sits back with a satisfied smirk. I just stare down at my plate, heart pounding, unsure whether to be relieved or more terrified than before. Francesca totally reminds me of the mean girls back in high school. And with that knowledge, I can safely assume that this isn’t over with her.
Francesca exhales through her nose, slow and measured, then rises from the table. “Excuse me.”
Her heels click against the marble as she disappears into the hallway, the sound fading like a warning.
Silence falls over the room, heavy and awkward. I can feel the heat crawling up my neck and my stomach tight with regret.
“Mr. Conti, I didn’t mean to—” I start.
He waves a hand, stopping me. “Don’t apologize. She crossed a line. And, please, call me Lorenzo.”
Sienna grins, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You really don’t like her, do you, Birdie?”
“I didn’t say that,” I murmur.
“Didn’t have to,” Sienna says, raising her glass. “Welcome to the family, Birdie. You fit right in.”
Mr. Conti… Lorenzo shoots her a warning look, but she just shrugs and takes another sip.
I press my napkin into my lap, pretending to focus on my food. But my thoughts are a mess, the heat from embarrassment mixing with something else I don’t want to name. Why did I talk back to Francesca and why did I like it when Lorenzo stood up for me?
When I finally glance up, Lorenzo’s watching me again. His gaze lingers a second too long before he glances at his buzzing cell phone
