Page 37 of The Art of Ruin

The distance I’m carefully maintaining.

It’s working.

It has to.

I change into something softer, pull my hair out of its tie, and sit on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hand for longer than necessary before I finally press call.

It rings once.

Twice.

“Tell me you’ve witnessed the mysterious, brooding Mancini in his natural habitat,” Isabella answers, her voice bright, familiar, exactly what I didn’t realize I needed.

A smile slips through before I can stop it. “I’ve witnessed it,” I say with a smile in my voice. Something about my friend always pulls me out of my head.

“And?”

“And he’s exactly as intense as advertised.”

“That’s not helpful. I need details.”

“He has a system. A schedule. A laminated personality.”

She laughs. “Oh my God, you like him.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“You’re already defensive.”

“I’m not defensive. I’m a professional.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I shift back against the pillows, letting myself relax into the conversation in a way I haven’t allowed all day. “Letty’s great,” I add. “Smart. Opinionated. Slightly terrifying.”

“That tracks. I adore that child.”

“She made me do the dragon voice before breakfast.”

“And?”

“I nailed it.”

“Of course you did, you little overachiever you.”

I laugh, for real this time, the kind that reaches somewhere deeper.

“It’s good to hear you laugh, Casey.”

“I forgot what that feels like,” I admit quietly.

There’s a pause on the other end. “Feeling like yourself?” Isabella asks.

“Something like that.”

“And him?” she presses gently.

I hesitate. Just for a second. “He’s… not what I expected.”