“Giacomo?” A topless, tanned man on the other side of the bar approaches us, tucking a rag into his white pants and grinning. “I haven’t seen you in here in a hot minute.”
“It’s been a while!” Giacomo clasps Hank’s outstretched hand and leans across the bar into a half hug. “Hank, this is my sister, Aerin.”
Hank glances at me and smiles politely, scarcely able to hide the flicker in his eyes that I always see when my brother and I are together.
Giacomo is thin with shorter hair and a boyishly handsome face.
While my weight keeps me looking young, it’s usually the roundness of my face that causes people to give me that specific look, like it makes sense that I’m Giacomo’s sister because why else would he be with me?
From expensive dinners, galas, and charity parties to here. The look is exactly the same.
Some things never change.
“Nice to meet you,” Hank calls. “What’s the occasion?”
“We’re celebrating her birthday,” Giacomo yells loudly. “So bring me the sweetest drink you have!”
Suddenly, we’re surrounded by people.
“It’s your birthday?”
“Happy Birthday!”
“Oh mygod,I love your dress!”
“Let me buy you a drink!”
“You’re Giacomo’s sister? That’s so cute!”
There are so many people I can’t work out who says what, but before I’ve even said hi to the sudden crowd of people around me, a glass is placed down in front of me by Hank.
The contents look like crushed red ice, complete with a slice of strawberry on the edge of the glass and a mini sparkler.
“On the house since it’s your birthday.” Hank smiles.
I look to Giacomo for support as the sudden attention and noise grows overwhelming, but he clutches my hand and presses the glass deeper into it.
“Drink! It tastes good, I promise.”
It really does. The first sip doesn’t even taste like alcohol. I might as well be drinking a strawberry slushy. Three sips in, and I lean toward Hank. “Is there alcohol in this?”
Laughter erupts around me and a pulse of nervousness gathers in my gut, but the more I drink, the less that feeling matters.
By the time I’ve finished my drink, Giacomo’s pressed another into my hand and has a glass of Scotch in his own.
“Happy late birthday!” he yells to the cheers of the small crowd around us.
“You should order champagne,” says a voice next to me.
“You should! That’s the perfect way to celebrate!” cries another.
“Should I?” I turn toward Giacomo, but a stranger stands where he once was, a man who is nodding quickly.
“You should.” He grins.
“Gia?” I turn again, searching for him in the crowd, but he’s vanished. The only person I do see is Falco who sticks out like a sore thumb against the bar, nursing a glass of water while watching me like a hawk.
My cheeks warm.
