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"He made me understand that a boundary isn't me being difficult. It isn't a test. It isn't a thing I have to apologize for. It's supposed to be respected. By everyone. Including the people who want you. Especially them."

Vittoria reaches for my wrist and squeezes it hard.

I breathe through it.

"Or," I add, because the rawness is getting unbearable and I am still me, "I'm so disgustingly in love with him that I currently don't give a shit what anyone else wants from me. Same result."

Vittoria laughs, and her eyes go wet at the same time.

Her grip tightens, and for a second I'm thrown back to the worst weeks of her life. Sitting beside her after her father died, after Riccardo died, saying nothing because there was nothing to say. Holding on to each other because it was the only thing either of us knew how to do. The pressure of her hand now feels the same. A quiet thank you. A quiet I know.

"He's never let anyone close," she says. "Do you understand that? My entire life. He'd visit from Sicily, and it was like having a very polite gargoyle at dinner. Beautiful. Devoted. Completely sealed shut. And you..."

She shakes her head, and a strand of dark hair falls loose.

"You got in. Nobody gets in."

"I had an unfair advantage. I was extremely annoyed about it."

"You were fifteen and used to stare at him over the lasagna like he was dessert."

"I have no memory of this, and you can't prove anything."

"I have photos."

"Burn them."

"Never."

She grins, then her expression softens all at once.

"Wait," she says. "Do you realize what this means?"

"That I have terrible taste in summer crushes that take a decade to pay off?"

"We're going to be cousins." She says it like she's solved a murder. "He's my aunt's son. If you two... Amanda. We'd be family. Actual family. On paper. Awkward Christmas and everything."

The realization lands before I have a chance to brace for it.

I've spent every holiday since I was a kid orbiting this family. Eating Aria's food. Borrowing their warmth. Standing close enough to belong for a few hours, then going home.

The idea of belonging for real makes my eyes sting.

"Cousins," I manage.

"Cousins." She raises her glass. "Finally. I've been trying to get you into this family since we were twenty."

"You have?"

"I was going to set you up with Lorenzo before the Sophia thing."

"LORENZO?"

"He's very gentle."

"Lorenzo is a saint, Vittoria. Lorenzo would have run screaming."

"Shut up and drink to your cousin."