Page 66 of Of Lies and Shadows

“I live for chaos.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, barely loud enough to hear, “I’ve noticed.”

We build the pizzas together, laughing when Lucia sticks pepperoni to her forehead and declares herself the Pizza Queen. I sneak a black olive into Alessio’s slice just to hear him squeal in protest. And through it all, Francescamoves between us like she belongs here.

Like this is her home.

She smiles at me. It’s bright and easy and almost real.

Too real.

And suddenly, I don’t know what’s actually real anymore.

We eat in the breakfast nook, Alessio chewing with his mouth open, Lucia peppering Francesca with questions about mermaids, dragons, and whether pirates go to school. I sit beside her, our shoulders brushing. She doesn’t flinch when my hand grazes her thigh under the table. She doesn’t move when I rest my arm behind her seat. Every touch feels like a test I’m afraid to fail.

When the last slice is gone and the plates are pushed aside, Francesca leans down and kisses the top of Lucia’s head, then Alessio’s.

“Alright, thirty minutes of playtime,” she says, brushing crumbs from her lap. “Then it’s teeth, pajamas, and lights out.”

They squeal and bolt from the room.

And just like that, everything changes.

The moment the door swings shut behind them, she straightens. The smile vanishes. Her shoulders pull in. She begins clearing the plates like she’s folding herself back into something small.

I reach for a few dishes to help, but she stops me with a glance. It’s calm and cold.

“Leave it. It’s my job.”

I freeze, my hand halfway to the counter.

Her voice isn’t cruel. Just distant. Dismissive. Likenone of what just happened mattered.

“Francesca—”

She stacks a few more plates, still not looking at me. “Thank you for joining us. The kids loved it.”

And then she’s gone. Not physically. She’s still here, in the kitchen, standing less than a foot away from me. But emotionally? She’s retreated so far I don’t think even my voice could reach her if I tried.

I straighten slowly. “I’m organizing a party next Friday.”

She nods absently, her tone brisk. “I’ll make sure the twins stay out of your way.”

“No,” I correct. “They’re to attend, and so are you. Your family will be there.”

Her hands still. The bowl she’s drying goes quiet in her grip, though her fingers tighten on its edges. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

I narrow my eyes. “What isn’t?”

“To have the Vescari around the children.” Her voice is low, strained. “And I’m not going to attend.”

The rejection hits harder than it should. My jaw tightens. “Yes, you are.”

She doesn’t flinch, just lifts her chin. “I’m not. That’s a wife's duty. Speak with the judge if you need to. I’m not a wife.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my temper from boiling over. Yelling won’t solve this. Not with her. “Then you’ll attend as the nanny.”

Her agreement is immediate.Tooimmediate.

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