Page 192 of Ricardo

I make myself hold his gaze.

“I’m glad you came.”

His eyes flicker.

Only once.

“Of course,” he says. “It is a family event.”

The blade is so fine no one else would notice the cut.

It slices me.

Ricardo’s hand moves toward me, then stops before it reaches my back.

He lets me stand there.

He lets me take the hit without trying to step in front of it.

I asked him for that.

I hate how much it costs him.

Dante’s gaze moves to his father, then back to me.

“You look well,” he says.

“So do you.”

Another pause.

It is unbearable.

Then Dante gives a small nod and turns away to greet someone from the port redevelopment board.

I inhale only after he is gone.

Ricardo’s voice is low beside me. “Julia.”

“I’m fine.”

He does not argue.

That may be the kindest thing he could do.

As if the evening wasn't painful enough, a few minutes later, my parents arrive.

I know before I see them because my body reacts first. My spine straightens. My stomach tightens. My face arranges itself into the expression I wore for most of my adult life. Pleasant. Calm.

Judge Patrick O’Brien enters with my mother beside him, both of them dressed impeccably, as they always are in public. My father is in a dark tuxedo, silver hair perfectly styled, public smile firmly in place. My mother wears champagne silk and pearls, her eyes already moving over the room, collecting weaknesses.

Then she sees me.

Then she sees Ricardo standing beside me.

Her expression does not change.

That is how I know she understands.