Giacomo shares the same light auburn hair as me but where my curls are long and spill down my back, his rest tightly coiled on top of his head.
Where my figure is round and plump, he takes after Mom with a gaunt face, wide eyes that sparkle when he grins, and a smattering of dark stubble that pales in comparison to Dad’s thick, full beard.
“Are you staying?” I clutch at his hand, desperate for him to say yes. Growing up, Giacomo’s always been my idol.
He’d comfort me when Mom’s scolding would bring me to tears, read me stories when threats against Dad turned our life on its head, and he’d always come home with wild, exciting stories.
Stories I thought I’d get to experience when I turned twenty-one.
Giacomo gets to be free. He goes out drinking, goes to parties, races cars, and lives alifethat I ache for on the sidelines. Each time Mom denies me something, Giacomo’s right there living it for me and bringing the stories back.
“He can’t stay,” Mom says sharply. “There’s not enough?—”
“Excuse me, are you using this?” Giacomo’s already at the table of the family celebrating a birthday, clutching the back of an empty chair with both hands.
“No, not at all.” The man at the table shakes his head.
With a clatter of legs and a scrape of wood, Giacomo drags the chair across the floor and shoves it in between me and my bodyguard, dropping into the seat with a grin.
That grin widens when he catches Mom’s eye. “I’m in time for dessert, right?”
On cue, several waiters melt around the table and deliver a variety of desserts to my parents, the six generals around the table, my bodyguard, then me.
I immediately use my fork to carve my cherry cheesecake slice into two and offer half to Giacomo.
“Aerin!” Mom scolds in a low hiss, but whatever else she has to say fades to an indignant gasp when Giacomo picks up the half with his bare hand and takes a bite.
I burst out laughing, attempting to hide it behind my hand, but in the end there’s no point.
Giacomo continues to take comically large bites until there’s nothing left but crumbs and compote on his fingers.
“Mom’s going to kill you when we get home,” I laugh, offering him my napkin to clean up.
“What’s new?” he snickers as he wipes his palm. “Sorry I missed your birthday, squirt.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I know you would have been there if you could have.” I’m burning to ask why he wasn’t there, but asking that leads to the painful topic of how Dad has completely skipped over Giacomo and made me his heir.
A topic I want to avoid for as long as possible.
“So.” He licks his lips and places his elbow on the table, fixing me with an easy stare. “You’re the nextDona.”
My eyes widen. “Giacomo, I’m so sor?—”
“Don’t. I knew this was coming long before you did.”
“You did?”
“Perks of being older.” He smirks. “I’m sorry that’s fallen on you, kid. It’s hardly fair.”
“I don’t want it,” I whisper. “Dad wouldn’t even tell me why.”
“You know how he works. Cards close to his chest all the damn time.” Giacomo sighs deeply. “But it doesn’t matter because I’m going to be right here.” He gently prods his finger into my thigh. “You know I’ve got your back, squirt.”
“It changes everything.” The lump regrows in my throat. I spent weeks telling Giacomo my plans for turning twenty-one.
I wanted him to take me to the best clubs, find the best cocktails, and go dancing until my feet bled. I wanted to go and makefriends, find people to share things with, start driving, and even go to the movies.
All of that burst the moment Dad made his decision.
