“Gina, have you met Layne?” I ask, pulling Layne away from Carlos and closer to his wife.
She throws her hands wide, plopping them down on her hips, like she can’t believe I asked. “Vieni, bambino, of course I met her. She sad when she come in. I gave her cuddles until Carlos break my kitchen.” Gina talks loudly in broken English, even though she hasn’t returned to Italy for years and years. “Go, sit. I know what you need.”
“Wife,” Carlos fake whispers, “don’t boss the Boss!”
The two of them joke. And despite the threat of treason as they allude to Valentine already taking the crown, no one in the café bats an eye. Everyone stands to shake my hand as I guide Layne back over to her corner, and she looks more tired when we sit. I place her with her back to the room, so I can keep an eye out, but honestly, we have no enemies in here. Bella and Edward take up their positions next to her, and then it’s just us.
A peace settles over me when she lets me interlace our fingers.
“You know, in the back of my mind, I knew you’d be watching somehow.”
“And we always will, Layne. Even if you decide you need to leave.”
She doesn’t answer with a response but gives me something better. She shares her thoughts. “Yesterday shook me so much, you know.”
“Why, though?”
“Because you acted the same, like this thing between us was real, even after you found out things I’ve tried to forget about.”
“It's a bit hard to forget where you came from.”
“I wish I could rewrite the start of my life.”
“You have the power to shape your future. Focus on that instead,” I say, squeezing her hand in warning when Gina ambles over, her hands full with an oversized tray.
I don’t jump up to help, because Gina would be offended that I didn’t have faith in her being a good host.
“Small Chianti to share and food, and no fish, because I know already. Small plate, too, so not spoil your dinner later, yes?”
Layne laughs. and agrees. “Yes, this is great. Thank you.”
“Pfft, you don’t thank me. Maybe later, you call one of your bambinos Gina?” She laughs, waving over her shoulder.
I pour her a glass of wine before making a small plate for her. Before I do the same for myself, I drag her seat closer, needing her almost on my lap. As a Beta, I’m not usually so affected by other people's emotions, but I can feel Layne’s like they’re my own.
We eat quietly for a moment until she starts to talk.
“I don’t understand why Valentine didn’t throw a bag over my head and put me in a dungeon under your building.”
“Why would he do that?”
“To make sure I’m not a plant, trying to land you for my father’s next victory in the courtroom?”
I shrug, pushing her plate closer, urging her to eat.
“If people judged Valentine, Dante, and I based on who Vitale is, I would have had to bury them or vice versa before now. But I think that’s also where we see the reminders of how compatible designations ‘feel’ or ‘scent’ each other. Did Vitale make you feel safe?”
She shakes her head. “God, no. With him, I felt like I was trapped in the room with a wounded and insane bear or something.”
“And us?”
Layne takes another sip of her wine, watching me closely with lots of questions still swirling in her warm, caramel-colored eyes.
I tap my finger on her hand, careful not to touch her too much, since she seems like she’s still struggling with acceptance. “Some people feel so right, and it might not make sense as to why, but isn’t that instinct?”
Her eyes keep searching mine.
“Trust is a funny thing,” I murmur, sitting back and giving her some space.
