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“Something wrong?” I ask.

Her fork pauses mid-air. “Wrong?”

“Yeah. You’re quiet.”

“Quiet? You’re one to talk.” She forces a smile. “You’re miles away.”

Touché.

We stare at each other over candlelight. Her eyes gleam green gold, like forest leaves just before a storm. My reflection, a man I don’t recognize, swims in them. Too much scar tissue. Too many ghosts.

“Just tired,” I lie.

She nods. “Me too.”

The glass of wine feels too cold against my palm. When she reaches across the table to pour more, our fingers brush. A jolt of undeniable electricity shoots through my arm.

Without thinking, I grab her wrist. The pulse beneath her skin flutters.

Her eyes widen slightly. “Enzo…”

“Stay still.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re shaking.”

She inhales sharply and tries to pull away.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, bella?”

“Nothing,” she says too quickly. “Just…thinking.”

“About?”

“Everything.”

She twists the ring, the gold piece of jewelry catching the light. Nonna Rosa’s heirloom. Sophia used to wear the piece proudly. Now it looks like it weighs her down.

“You keep playing with that.” I touch the gem at the center.

“It’s heavy.”

“So take it off.”

She averts her gaze. “No. I promised her I’d never take it off.”

I frown at her evasiveness. Promises. Another word that sounds noble until its broken.

The carbonara sits between us, the first meal she ever made me, back when we were still pretending this was just an arrangement. She remembered. The thought twists in my chest. I can’t taste the food anymore, my senses too overwhelmed by what hangs unspoken between us. She sits up with a sad, wistful smile. “Ever wonder what kind of life you’d be living if you weren’t born into your family?”

My chest tightens. That question…cuts too close.

“I don’t know. But I think, in whatever world or family I’m born into, I’d still manage to find you somehow. Who else would make me watch terrible soap operas and argue with me about whether espresso should be a food group? I don’t think my life works without you in it.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s not funny.”

I manage a rough chuckle. “I don’t remember saying it was.”