Page 62 of Let Me Love You

“Of course,” I lied before Maria could, because I was much better at it than she was.

Mom had her back to Maria as she mouthed, “Romano,” to me, as if I needed the reminder that my parents made some sort of “protection” and “no breaking hearts” deal with Maria’s parents that included none of us Costas going near Maria or Natalia.

“Oh, one more thing you should know before I walk Maria to her room,” Mom said, her eyes narrowing on me as if she were about to level me with something heavy. “I finally redid Bianca’s bedroom. I turned it into a library. Wall-to-wall books. The french doors open to the water. She’d love it.” She half smiled. “They’re all of her books, too.”

Maria’s hand went to her heart, and her eyes fell to the marble floors beneath us. Yeah, I was on the same agonizing page.

And for some reason, I only just now realized Izzy was wearing a shirt Bianca would’ve loved that said: BOOKMARKS ARE FOR QUITTERS in glittery metallic lettering. Izzy lowered her gaze to her shirt and, based on the hint of red on her bronzed cheeks, I had to wonder if it’d been Bianca’s top. It looked like it’d been washed a hundred times already. But given my sister’s ripped high-waisted jeans, hair in a messy bun, and unlaced Doc Martens, maybe “messy” was trendy? Hell if I knew what was in style.

“Well, how about we go to your room now,” Mom suggested to Maria, as if realizing Izzy and I needed a second to catch up alone. “Shall we?”

Unsure how to process pretty much anything, I gave Maria a stupid wave before shoving my hands into my slacks’ pockets.

“How long have you two been sleeping together?” Izzy asked once it was just us, and she folded her arms and scrutinized me with a hard look. “She’s too young for you.”

I frowned. “We’re not.” Not technically. “And she’s not that much younger than you.”

“But eight years younger than you,” she reminded me before fake-zipping her lips and tossing the key into the metaphorical water. “I should shut my mouth, since Pablo is a decade older.”

“A decade?” I scoffed.

“Mm-hmm.” She nudged my suitcase with the tip of her boot. “You failed my test, you hypocrite. He’s only three years older. But what he lacks in age difference he more than makes up for in the bedroom.”

Payback was a bitch. “Yeah, I don’t need that mental image. Because Pablo will have his ears removed if I think—”

“That was Van Gogh. He’s the one who cut off his ear,” she interrupted as I grabbed my suitcase.

“Yeah, okay, well, I’ll chop something else off, then.” I winked, and she nudged me in the side as we started down the long hall toward the guest room, which happened to be on the other side of the house from my old bedroom. Well played, Mom. But my room had a balcony overlooking the water, which meant I could easily access the room at night.

“Sure, sure. I’d say your bark is bigger than your bite, but I know you. And both are equally scary.” She elbowed me again. “Jeez, you’re still made of rock.”

“I was going to say you must be hitting the gym yourself at how hard you poked me,” I joked, faking arm pain with a dramatic moan.

We stopped outside the guest room, and I saw Alessandro had already claimed the bottom bunk with his bag.

“Why can’t Constantine share with him?” I grunted like I was that teenage boy again. But at least that me was still innocent. Had yet to take a life.

“Constantine share?” She snorted. “Sure.” With her arms folded now, she set her back to the hall wall outside the bedroom.

“And where is your artist who isn’t Van Gogh? Why didn’t he come with you?”

“He had to wrap up a project at his studio first. He has an exhibit next week, so it’s a big deal he’s even coming here for a few days.” She checked her watch. “Should be here any minute, though.”

“Wow. I really look forward to meeting him,” I dryly said, rolling my eyes. “But if you’re introducing him to the family, it must be serious.”

She held up her ring finger, and thank God, there was no ring. “He’s planning to ask you all for my hand in marriage. I figured if we’re all here, it made sense to do.”

“What?”

She followed me into the room. “He proposed already, and I helped him stand back up and kindly told him to try again after he talks to you guys and Dad. Because you know—”

“He’d lose a limb if not?” I smiled, but fuck, it wasn’t funny. I didn’t want her marrying some guy I’d never met and already had a bad feeling about.

“So.” She pointed at my suitcase as if the answers were there. If only. “Why are you really here? You don’t think any of us are buying the Homeland Security BS, do you?” she asked as I peered at the couch opposite the bunk beds. It was loaded with stuffed animals for the grandbabies Mom hoped to have one day.

Shit. “We’ll tell you tonight. I promise.” I dropped my bag and flipped open the blinds, catching only a partial view of the water from this side of the house.

“It’s not good, is it?”

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