Page 55 of The Art of Ruin

It’s the expression.

She’s laughing at something Isabella says, head tilted back slightly, one hand pressed against her chest as Letty runs up and loudly insists gumdrops are “aesthetically very important.”

And suddenly I’m remembering Thanksgiving.

The woman who teased Matteo within ten minutes of meeting him.

Who stole food off Isabella’s plate while arguing with Nico about Christmas films.

Who’d looked relaxed inside herself in a way the woman currently living in my house almost never does.

The laughter fades quickly when she notices me standing there.

Not completely.

But enough.

That shift again.

Like watching someone instinctively pull a curtain half-closed.

“Well,” Isabella says immediately, catching my expression with the speed of a sniper, “look who finally decided to arrive.”

“I’m on time.”

“Technically.”

“You invited us for one.”

“It’s twelve fifty-six.”

“I’m still unclear on the issue.”

Casey’s mouth twitches slightly around her coffee cup before she lowers it again.

There it is.

A glimpse.

Then it disappears.

Interesting.

“Daddy,” Letty gasps suddenly, horrified. “Uncle Matteo ate a gumdrop.”

Matteo looks unrepentant. “I regret nothing.”

“That was the doorbell!”

“Does a gingerbread house need a doorbell?”

My daughter sighs and shakes her head. “For guests. You’re bad, Uncle Matteo. You’re banished.”

“From the kingdom?”

“Yes.”

He drops dramatically onto the floor beside Casey, pressing a hand to his chest. “Cruel. I loved that kingdom.”