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She pats his cheek.

“I always think plenty.”

I laugh. Mama Paola immediately points at me.

“I like this one. She’s pretty.”

“She is pretty,” Mitchell replies. “And I'm so relieved I have your approval.”

“You should be.”

Then she sweeps us toward a collection of tables already being pushed together.

We don't order. Apparently, ordering is not something Mitchell does here.

Food simply begins appearing.

Pizza.

Pasta.

Meatballs.

Salads.

Bread.

Some dish Mama Paola personally sets in front of Mitchell while informing him he's too thin.

I stare at him. He looks at me.

“Don't start.”

I grin.

“Mr. Billionaire is getting mothered.”

“Not one word, Firecracker.”

“Oh, there will be many words.”

His hand lands on my thigh beneath the table—then it moves up until he’s cupping my sex right over my thin leggings. My breath catches. His expression doesn't change.

Bastard.

Dinner stretches. People eat. Drink. Argue. Laugh. Stories start flying.

Most of them embarrassing.

Several involve the Rovers. A disturbing number involve Tank.

Then the music changes. Dane pulls Carolina onto the dance floor. Koa follows with Finley. Soon half the table is gone.

Mitchell looks at me.

“No.”

“I haven't said anything.”