Page 68 of The Art of Ruin

“Shoes,” I say, nodding toward the pair she hasn’t put on yet.

She sighs, dramatic but compliant, and reaches for them.

I step back, my attention shifting as I reassess the room, the process, the time it’s taken to accomplish something that would usually require half the effort.

It shouldn’t require this much energy.

By the timewe arrive at Nico and Isabella’s penthouse, the earlier friction has settled but not entirely disappeared. The space is already alive with movement, voices carrying easily from the kitchen, the kind of controlled chaos that comes with Isabella in planning mode and Nico pretending he has no part in it.

Letty slips from my side the moment we step inside, drawn immediately toward the activity, her earlier resistance replaced by renewed energy.

I remove my coat slowly, my attention moving through the room automatically, noting who’s present, what’s in motion, what still needs to happen.

And then—

What isn’t.

It takes a second longer than it should to place it because it’s not an absence I was actively expecting.

Casey.

I don’t see her. I take a step further into the space, letting my gaze pass over the seating area, the hallway, the open doorsthat would indicate someone arriving just ahead of us. Matteo is talking with Rossi and Elena by the window.

But Casey is nowhere to be seen.

“You made it,” Isabella says, turning toward me with a smile, before going on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “I was starting to think you’d changed your mind.”

“I don’t change my mind,” I reply. “I was trying to wrangle my child.”

Izz laughs. “Who won?”

I give her a raised brow. “Me, obviously.”

“Debatable,” Nico says from somewhere behind her, his arms sliding around her middle as he rests his chin on her shoulder. It’s a natural gesture, and I love it for him, but I do miss that easy intimacy with someone who is your person more than I thought I did.

I ignore his comment, my attention shifting briefly to Letty, who’s already explaining something with unnecessary detail to Matteo.

Then back.

Still not here.

“When will Casey be here?” I ask.

Isabella pauses just slightly before answering. “She won’t be coming.”

The words land cleanly, but the result is messy. A huge rush of disappointment hits me.

“She texted this morning,” she continues, her tone light but not careless. “She’s not feeling well. Said she didn’t want to risk passing anything on before the trip.”

That should be enough of an explanation. It isn’t.

“She said she might,” Letty adds quietly, not looking up from where she’s now kneeling on the floor again, reorganizing something else.

“She changed her mind,” Isabella says gently.

“She didn’t want to,” Letty replies, with the same quiet certainty as before.

I don’t respond immediately. When did Letty see Casey?