"Nico looks like he's planning a murder," Oliver says.
"Nico always looks like he's planning a murder."
"Fair point."
The front door slams.
Everyone freezes.
Heavy footsteps echo through the entrance hall.
Then Bruno's voice, sharp and furious: "Valentino, I swear to God, if this was some kind of?—"
He wheels into the living room.
Stops.
Stares.
"SURPRISE!"
Lily's voice rings out, high and clear and delighted.
No one else speaks.
Bruno's gaze sweeps across the room—the streamers, the banner, the cake with its forty candles, the gathered family members, Oliver standing beside me with a drink in his hand.
His expression doesn't change.
"What," he says flatly, "is this?"
I want to laugh so bad.
Bruno
Balloons.
They put up fucking balloons.
Red and blue and yellow, floating against the ceiling like I'm turning five instead of forty. Streamers hang from the chandelier. A banner stretches across the fireplace that reads "Happy Birthday Bruno" in gold letters.
I stare at the scene, my hands gripping the armrests of my wheelchair.
"What is happening," I repeat, though it comes out less like a question and more like a threat.
Lily breaks from the frozen crowd and runs toward me, her small feet slapping against the marble floor. She's holding two cone-shaped party hats, one in each hand, the elastic strings dangling.
"Birthday boy!" she announces, stopping in front of my wheelchair. "You have to wear the hat. It's the rules."
She holds up a bright blue hat with silver stars on it. The words "Birthday Boy" are printed across the front in glittery letters.
If anyone else in this room tried to put that thing on my head, I would break their hand. Snap every finger. Make them regret the day they were born.
But Lily looks up at me with those big eyes, completely unafraid, completely certain I'll do what she asks.
I lean forward.
She stretches on her tiptoes and places the hat on my head, snapping the elastic under my chin with more force than necessary.
