Page 26 of The Art of Ruin

The words are polite, and his tone isn’t quite a request.

I pause with the bowl in my hand. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re not working until tomorrow, and your job is looking after my daughter, not being my slave.”

I feel the rush of heat to my cheeks as the word slave instantly sends my imagination down a very erotic route. “I still ate,” I manage to whisper out.

Adriano looks at me as if I’ve presented an argument he didn’t expect to have to answer.

“It’s fine,” I say, softer this time, because I can feel myself edging toward defensiveness and I don’t want to. “I’m used to helping.”

Something passes over his face too quickly for me to name. “Leave them by the sink,” he says.

A compromise.

I take it, because not all battles can be won on day one.

Letty climbs down from her chair, pasta sauce on one sleeve and triumph on her face. “Can Casey see bedtime?”

Adriano’s expression changes immediately. Not much, just enough to show he’s not happy with this. “No.”

The answer is quiet and final.

Letty’s face falls.

He crouches in front of her before she can argue, lowering himself to her level with a patience that makes my chest ache again. “Not tonight,” he says. “Casey starts tomorrow. Tonight, she needs to settle in.”

Letty’s lip pushes out. “But she can see.”

“She will. Tomorrow.”

“That’s far.”

“It’s one sleep.”

“One sleep is far when you’re waiting.”

“I know. Come on,” he says, quieter now. “Bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

He doesn’t argue. Just waits her out.

She looks up at him, trying to win on sheer will alone, then huffs and leans into his side. “Fine,” she mutters, which very clearly means she’s lost.

He brushes his thumb absently over her shoulder, already turning her toward the stairs before she can change her mind.

“Good night, Casey,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Good night, Letty.”

“Practice the voice.”

“I will.”