I love him, and it’s not because he protects me, or because he's my husband and he makes me feel safe.
I love him because he's Lorenzo, because he leaves notes for me when he leaves before I’m awake, because he remembers how I take my coffee, and he reads over my shoulder when I'm pretending not to notice. I love him because of all of those things.
"Oh no."
Vittoria looks up immediately, her gaze roaming my face. "What?"
I stare at her, and I see her brows furrow, but then her eyes widen as though she can sense what I’m feeling. I watch as a slow smile spreads across her face. "Oh," she says with glee.
I point at her, my fingers covered in dough. "Don't."
The smile gets bigger. "Quinn," she says in a sing-song voice.
"Don't," I say through clenched teeth.
"You love him."
I drop my head into my hands. "Please stop talking."
Vittoria starts laughing, and somehow that makes it so much worse.
I go back to kneading, all the while she’s laughing her head off like a crazy person. Thankfully, we switch topics of conversation as she shows me what to do next with the dough.
Once it’s proofing, we sit down and have a coffee. "What was he like after his mother died?" I ask, softly.
Vittoria is quiet for a moment. "I didn't know her. But from what Cesare has said, and what the girls have told me, he became colder. He didn’t grieve like the others. Valentina cried for months. Sofia got angry." She takes a sip of coffee. "Lorenzo just became quieter and closed off."
"And Cesare?"
"Cesare also went colder," she says. "Lorenzo channels his feelings inward, whereas Cesare channels it outward." She glances at me. "I think that's why they understand each other, they process the same way."
"Can I ask you something?" I ask.
"Of course."
"Vittoria. Your father..." I stop and take a deep breath, wondering if I’m overstepping? "Lorenzo said..."
"He told you?" She says, simply.
"He mentioned it, but I don't know the details."
"My father beat me," she says. “Regularly and for years." She looks at the table. "I spent most of my childhood and early adulthood learning how to make myself small enough that I didn't draw his attention."
My breath catches in my lungs. "I know what that looks like," I say quietly.
She looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I know you do."
"You seem so..." I pause. "You seem untouchable. Like nothing could shake you."
"Now," she says, with a small smile. "Fear was there for a long time. I was so conditioned by it that I didn't know what I looked like from the outside until Cesare told me. He said I kept everything inside me because I was scared my words would trigger violence."
My heart speeds up. That’s what I felt for a long time, and even now I can sometimes feel myself weighing what I should say. Not because I fear people here in our home, but because it’s instinctive.
"What changed?" I ask.
She almost smiles. "Cesare."
"What did he do?"
