“Where are the babies?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Downstairs with four nannies and Giovanna’s mother,” Matti says, and Siena rolls her eyes.
“Well, Giovanna’s mother, Catarina, wassupposedto be with the babies but…” She tilts her head toward a couch a couple dozen feet away. On it sits Catarina, wine glass in hand, throwing her head back and laughing at whatever the guy sitting next to her is saying—a guy who looks about half her age. When her hand rests on his forearm and stays there, he moves his hand to herthigh. Olivia sits across from them and catches my eye, glances at Giovanna’s mom, and laughs behind her glass.
I laugh for the first time all night. “Good for her.”
“Giovanna would not agree with that statement,” Siena says drily, but she’s smiling.
The rooftop fills in around me as Siena steers me toward the bar where Valentina has her ass pressed against Matti’s security guy, Grit, almost bending over to touch her toes as she grinds her ass against his dick. Siena and I share a smirk.
I’ve been introduced to most of these people before, but no one recognizes me or says hello. I’m fine with that. It’s safe being invisible.
The Irish contingent here tonight I’m not as familiar with. There are so many of them, both men and women, and I wonder if Vin is among them, if his fiancée is here as well. I stick with Siena, a half smile on my face like I feel perfectly comfortable. Like I’m not half dreading, half hoping to look up and find his gaze locked on mine.
Tommy and Giovanna are near the far railing, and I make my way toward them. Giovanna is radiant, her dark hair swept up, and Tommy is protectively by her side. He has that permanently watchful energy he always does, like he’s always three seconds from pouncing on anyone who looks at her wrong.
Giovanna slips her jacket from her shoulders, and I almost freeze in place. A thick, intricate scar runs the length of her back. At first it looks a spiderweb, but as I move closer, I see the design. It’s a tree, intentional and spindly, the branches spanning the width of her back, the trunk split by three lightningbolts. It’s complex and enormous and it must have taken hours. And wow, it must have hurt.
I raise my eyebrows before I can stop myself. I guess I’m not the only one who likes pain.
Giovanna catches my expression and smiles, unbothered. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It really is,” I say honestly.
I sneak a glance at Tommy who is looking at her like there’s no one else here, like he exists for no other purpose than to be hers.
I’ve seen that look before from Vin. I’ve been on the receiving end of that look. I shove the thought away before it has a chance to take root.
“Daaaammmmmnnnnn.” Vin’s voice comes from behind me and I go still, my glass halfway to my lips. “Can I touch it?”
I don’t turn around. I fix my eyes on the city beyond the parapet and focus on breathing as Siena puts a wine glass in my hand. I knew he would be here but somehow the sound of his voice feels like a shock of cold water to my system.
“If you touch her, I will break your fucking fingers.” Tommy’s voice is calm, despite the threat, but Siena exhales hard.
“Just fuck all the way off, Vin,” she snaps, and Matti makes a low, tight sound beside her.
Vin scoffs quietly behind me and I turn toward Siena who is glaring at him, praying he doesn’t recognize me from behind in a dress like this.
When Siena looks at me, she’s smiling brightly. “Let’s go find a table.”
We make our way to a spot over in the corner, out of sight of the bar where Vin is heading, but as soon as we get there, she waves at someone behind me. “Oh my friends from my old job are here! You remember Blake and Amelia, right? Want to go over and say hi?”
No, I do not want to make my way past Vin and make small talk with people I barely know while clocking his every move in my periphery.
“These heels are killing me,” I laugh. “I think I’ll nurse my Barolo and enjoy the view for a bit.”
She drops a kiss on my head before squealing and running over to her friends, in heels no less. I don’t know how she does it. Heels are not my norm, and I wasn’t kidding when I said my feet were killing me.
“I thought that was you.”
Gavin is standing at the other side of the table in a dark suit, his expression warm. He’s taller than I remember, freshly shaved, and he looks genuinely pleased to see me, which in this moment is both comforting and complicated. I’m grateful for a friendly face.
“Gavin.” I smile and mean it. I gesture toward the large group of Irish men and women laughing and drinking a few dozen yards away. “Friends of yours?”
He laughs. “Family, actually. Cousins, mostly. Ronan’s father is my father’s brother.”
It hits me that when Vin hired vendors for my restaurant, he probably hired his friends. Which makes Gavin a friend of Vin’s.
