Page 135 of Ricardo

“I work for Mario,” I say. “I care about the job. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m careless or distracted or sleeping my way into some position.”

His expression cools, not toward me, but toward the idea itself.

“No one who matters will think that.”

“You can’t promise what people think.”

“No,” he says. “But I know my family.”

“And I know mine,” I say quietly.

His eyes cool at those words.

“Yes. I've had the pleasure of catching up with your parents recently,” he says stiffly.

My stomach tightens. “Where? When? What happened?” I fire at him rapidly.

“Easy,” he says, his voice lowering at once. “Nothing happened.”

My pulse is still racing.

“They were at a gala when Mario, Victoria, and I were there,” he continues. “We were close enough to exchange a few words. That is all.”

“A few words about what?”

“You,” he says simply.

My stomach drops.

His hand closes over mine before I can pull too far into my own head.

“Nothing that needs to ruin this morning,” he says.

“Ricardo.”

His eyes hold mine. “They are your parents, Julia. I understand that. So I chose restraint.”

I drop my head into my hands. “Oh God. What did they say? In front of Mario?”

He reaches for my hand and pulls it away from my face. “Your parents have opinions about your life. That much was clear.”

A small, humorless laugh slips out of me. “They always do.”

“That much I gathered.”

I groan. “That bad?”

“They did not embarrass you,” he says. “If that is what you are asking.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Then let me rephrase,” he says. “Neither Mario, nor Victoria, nor I are daft enough to hold you responsible for the things your parents say.”

He takes my hand.

“They are their own people,” he continues. “You are yours. Anyone with sense can see the difference.”

I look down at our joined hands.