Page 25 of The Art of Ruin

“I was laughing.”

“I noticed.”

Her grin only widens. “Casey was a bad princess.”

“I was an excellent princess,” I object.

“You growled.”

“That was emotional range. I was acting.”

For a fleeting second, something shifts at the corner of Adriano’s mouth as he reaches for his water.

Not a smile.

Not quite, but almost.

I look away before I stare at his mouth.

The conversation settles into an easier rhythm after that, though I remain aware of the man at the head of the table in a way that irritates me. Letty asks questions with the relentlessness of someone who’s never been told curiosity is impolite. Do I like horses? Do I know how to braid hair? Can I draw dragons? Do I believe unicorns bite? Have I ever seen a real castle? Do I snore?

“My teacher snores,” she adds confidentially, leaning toward me.

“Does she?” I ask, lowering my voice to match hers.

“Mmmm. I heard her.”

“Were you meant to be napping?”

Letty scrunches her nose and grins. “I was almost napping. My eyes were napping, but my brain was dancing.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It does.”

I press my lips together and lose the battle against a smile.

Across from us, Adriano watches the exchange without contributing much. He eats neatly, answers when Letty pulls him in, corrects her manners with a single look when she reaches across the table, and somehow manages to keep the entire evening balanced without seeming to try.

It should make him easier to understand.

It doesn’t. The man is an enigma.

The version of him who stood in the doorway and told me I was early felt clear enough. Controlled. Unwelcoming. A man with rules and walls and no patience for anything that touched them.

This version is harder.

This version wipes sauce from Letty’s chin with his thumb and listens when she explains the social hierarchy of crayons without dismissing it. This version notices when her glass is empty and refills it without interrupting her. This version is still exacting, still distant, but not cold in the places that matter to his daughter.

That makes him inconveniently difficult to dislike.

I prefer disliking men right now.

It feels safer.

When dinner ends, I stand automatically, reaching for my bowl.

“You don’t need to do that,” Adriano says.