The next morning, everything feels different and exactly the same.
Luca doesn’t mention the kiss. Doesn’t acknowledge what happened in that bathroom beyond a curt nod at breakfast. But I notice things. The way his eyes linger on me a second too long. How he doesn’t flinch when I reach for the coffee pot and our hands accidentally brush.
Small things. But in this house, small things matter.
“My mother has requested your presence at Sunday dinner,” he says, cutting into his eggs with surgical precision. “It’s tradition. The whole family attends.”
“Does that include me now? I thought I was just the Romano problem.”
“You’re my wife. That makes you family, whether my mother likes it or not.” He sets down his fork. “It’s important you come. Show unity. Show that the alliance is strong.”
“E
