Lorenzo lifts his glass first. “To new beginnings.” He swirls the wine.
Rafe clears his throat and raises his own glass. “To . . . health.”
Why didn’t he mention me? Or our marriage? And then I remember what he said at my parents’ house . . .
The marriage is a secret.
Maybe it has to do with Lorenzo’s uncle, the man who sits on the family throne . . . Maybe if he found out, he would kill me? Shit. Is that it?
Maybe he sees marriage to me as a liability, a weakness.
Which means for the time being, or maybe forever, I’ll be the sin Lorenzo committed in secret.
I don’t toast back. I stare at my plate and then stab a piece of lettuce.
Lorenzo watches me, like he always does.
The silence stretches for so long that it starts to feel intentional.
The bastard is waiting for me to break first.
I try to refuse on principle, but eventually I crack.
“Is dinner always like this?” I scrap the edge of my plate with my fork.
“Like what?” Rafe leans forward, clearly excited for whatever answer I’m about to give.
“A riveting bundle of joy.”
Lorenzo tilts his head. “Careful, Little Bird.” His voice is as smooth as silk. “You keep talking like that, and I’ll start thinking you missed me.”
“Yeah. No. Can’t say that I’d ever miss this version of you . . . You know the version who probably carves people up in his spare time.”
His mouth curves, and while he might look handsome, the smile is also lethal. “You always had a talent for melodrama.”
I lean forward just slightly because if I sit back, I’ll look smaller, and I refuse to be small in front of him. “And you always had a talent for pretending you aren’t the problem.”
Rafe shifts, flicking his gaze between us like he’s watching a tennis match.
Lorenzo sets his glass down with a soft clink. The sound is delicate, the threat beneath it is not.
“Look at you”—he folds his hands like a man about to sign paperwork—“trying so hard to pretend you’re not terrified.”
“I’m not terrified.”
Lie.
Huge lie.
Enormous lie.
He nods toward my hands without moving anything but his eyes. “Then why are you gripping your fork like you plan to stab me with it?”
“Cause I do.”
Rafe actually snorts.
Lorenzo’s brow lifts, amused. “Don’t stop on my behalf.”
