It takes a certain type of person to do that.
He’s not scanning the room; he doesn't need to assess it the way I am. This is a man who knows, down to the millimeter, where everything is because he's made it his business. And because this is where his wife spends a significant amount of her time.
Vetted staff pass through the dining room with the kind of awareness that tells me he doesn’t need to raise his voice for people to notice where he is.
Nobody would cross him.
Caterina spots me before I make it to the table. Since she's under the protection of her uncles, I decided it was a good time to widen my assessment. I made sure to stay within earshot regardless.
Her gaze lifts from whatever Olivia is saying and lands on me with immediate irritation, like she can feel me bringing work into a moment she wanted to keep separate from the rest of the day. She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile. Just watches me approach with that same sharp, dark look she’s had on me since I stepped out of the SUV this morning.
I keep moving, taking in the placement as I do.
Caterina is exposed from three angles I don’t like. The children widen the danger zone because any fast move has to account for them. Olivia’s pregnancy limits her mobility. Bianca has the kitchen at her back, which is good if she knows the space well and bad if somebody else uses the service entrance. Roberto and Giovanni have instinctively placed themselves where they can see more of the room than the women can, but their attention is split, too. Family setting. False ease.
That’s how people get hit.
Not because they’re stupid, but because they want five minutes of being human.
When I reach the table, Caterina unenthusiastically says, “You found me.”
Her tone suggests she would rather I hadn’t.
I stop at the end of the table rather than stepping in among the chairs and kids.
“I said I’d be assessing the property.”
“You made it sound less intrusive when you said it.”
“Did I.”
One of Olivia’s brows lifts, blue eyes flicking between Caterina and me with interest that doesn’t try to hide itself. This is the former roommate from Wharton and best friend.
Bianca looks me over too, but in a different way. Less curious. More evaluative. Like she’s deciding whether I’m going to ruin the atmosphere of her restaurant just by standing in it.
Fair enough.
Caterina exhales through her nose and makes the introductions.
“Adrian, this is Olivia. Olivia, Adrian.”
Olivia smiles politely. “The famous cousin from Texas.”
There’s humor in it. Light, but pointed.
“I wasn’t aware I’d achieved fame,” I say.
“Only in the last twenty-four hours,” she says.
That gets a snort out of Caterina, which I choose not to take personally.
She turns to the other woman. “And this is Bianca.”
Bianca inclines her head once. “You’re the one ruining everybody’s mood.”
Straight to the point. I like her already.
“Apparently,” I say.
