“Sh-shu—“ Fuck. I cover my face in a hand. “I only just got close to her at the Lights Festival.”
My mother takes the seat next to me. “Honey, that’s so sweet. Tell us more!”
“You have to now,” Mercurio teases.
“Idon’t want to,” I mutter.
“Aw, come on. Is she nice? Is she attractive?”
“The most. In both. She didn’t even ask for payment in return; she just liked me.”
“What about her do you like?” Vivian asks.
“She trusts me deeper than I’ve earned—and it’s not some trick!” I eye Mercurio. “She’s… shown me her trust. I know she’s a Ringborn and I’m just a consort, but she makes me feel worthy to stand next to her.”
Vincenza circles a finger over the counter. “Your mystery patron, you always sound infatuated with her beyond practicality.”
“I… wish it could be more than practical,” I admit.
She diverts her head to the backdoor. “Servants finished the pizza. You all should select a booth if you wish to share the first batch. I’ll watch the counter, Catarina.”
I can maybe guess that the servants were waiting for her to need that transition.
Still, I take it. It’s been nearly a season since I’ve seen my father.
“So, what’s my little girl’s take home?” he asks while pulling off a slice.
“I technically get a couple hundred crescents in stipend. I haven’t had a reason to spend much though—Vincenza typically pays for my food anyway.”
“Only two hundred? For an apprentice? That’s half of how much I’m making, and my free pizza is…” Mercurio looks disappointedly at his poor cheese pull. “It’s better than this.”
I mumble, “it’s per week.”
Everyone’s eyes light up and stare at me.
“Shit, Catie. That’s how much Dad makes a season at sea! You haven’t sent anything home?” Mercurio exclaims.
“Oh,I—It didn’t come to me that I should. How much do you want? I think I have nine hundred now? I’ll ask Vincenza to help me write a cashier’s check.”
“Really, what’d you do to hit it off with her? Were you studying necromancy and not telling us?”
“No.”
She made a promise to take me in, not yet knowing it would be me. It’s almost silly, in hindsight, how difficult of a plan it was to push me away while paying me so strangely well for so little. I guess she had to genuinely try to keep me, even if she tried everything to be rid of me.
Maybe that’s still her dilemma.
My family goes about eating, and I let my servant stop tending the technically closed bar counter to take their orders.
I’m a bit pleased when it comes back with extra cherry seltzer—a simple kitchen mistake from my perfect being. It’ll just make those sometimes, I’m sure.
I’m giving a smile to Vincenza at the bar for no reason.
“There’s no meat on the menu,” Mercurio complains.
“What? I thought you already ordered mozzarella sticks—those are real cheese, I think, too,”
“Now I’m worried you had to specify that they were cheese. You haven’t gone soft on goats, have you?”
