Page 121 of My Best Friend Is Broken
“Darlings!” he exclaims, pulling us both into enthusiastic hugs that smell like cinnamon and expensive cologne. “You’re here! Come in, come in, you must be freezing. It’s absolutely arctic out there. Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!”
It is cold. Proper December cold, the kind that makes your breath fog and your fingers numb despite gloves. Liam had kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets during the walk from the car, and I can see him flexing them now as the warmth of the house starts to chase away the chill.
“Everyone’s in the sitting room,” Molly continues, already leading us down the familiar hallway. “Dario’s pretending he’s not obsessively checking that everything is perfect, Carlo brought a guest, which is very exciting, and Dante is being his usual charming self by judging everyone’s drink choices.”
The sitting room is everything you’d expect from a Christmas gathering in a house like this. A fire crackling in an enormous fireplace, a tree that must be at least ten feet tall decorated with what looks like genuine crystal ornaments, and garlands draped artfully over every available surface. But it’s also cozy somehow, warm and welcoming rather than intimidatingly formal.
“Help yourselves to anything,” Molly says, gesturing to a table in the corner that’s practically groaning under the weight of drinks and snacks. “Seriously, anytime, no one’s keeping track. We’ve got everything from champagne to hot chocolate, plus Dario insisted on having about seventeen different types of cheese because apparently that’s essential for Christmas.”
Carlo is sprawled on one of the sofas near the fire, looking relaxed in jeans and a jumper that’s decidedly moreunderstated than Molly’s. But it’s his companion who catches my attention.
Sitting beside Carlo is a young man, twenty-one at most, with delicate features and an air of carefully controlled intensity. He’s wearing a short skirt with thigh-high socks, an outfit that should probably look ridiculous, but somehow he makes work through sheer confidence. His dark hair falls across his face in a way that seems deliberately artful, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that’s almost predatory despite his slight frame.
“Nicky, Liam,” Carlo says, gesturing to his companion. “This is Giovanni. His family went back to their village in Italy for Christmas, so I’m the sucker who’s keeping an eye on him.”
The young man stomps forcefully on Carlo’s foot with his thick-heeled ankle boot.
“Ow!” Carlo exclaims as he moves his foot out of the way of further damage. “Alright! Sorry. I meant to say, this is Ginni.”
Ginni looks up at us with eyes that are simultaneously beautiful and slightly unnerving. “Buon Natale,” he says, his voice soft but with an edge underneath that suggests depths I’m not sure I want to explore.
“Buon Natale,” I reply, and Liam echoes the greeting with slightly less confident pronunciation.
There’s a beat of silence where Ginni just stares at us, his gaze assessing in a way that makes me slightly uncomfortable. Then he turns back to the fire, apparently losing interest.
“Don’t mind him,” Carlo says with easy affection. “He’s going through a phase.”
I remember Carlo mentioning his best friend’s little brother a few times over the years, always with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, the way you’d talk about a wayward younger sibling. Looking at Ginni now, I can see why Carlo feels protective. There’s something fragile underneath all that careful intensity, something that speaks of being hurt and deciding to hurt back first.
It’s sad, really. His family being ashamed enough of who he is that they’d rather leave him behind at Christmas than bring him home. I’ve seen it before in our world. Traditional families who can’t reconcile their old-country values with children who refuse to fit the expected molds.
At least he has Carlo. That’s something.
“Drinks?” Liam asks me quietly, and I nod, following him toward the corner table while Molly settles onto the floor near the fire, already chattering away to Ginni about something.
Dante is indeed standing by the drinks, looking impeccable in dark trousers and a burgundy shirt, a glass of what’s probably very expensive whisky in his hand.
“Nicolo, Liam.” He nods to us both. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” we chorus back.
As Liam reaches for the wine, pulling his hands from his pockets, I see the exact moment Molly notices the ring.
The squeal that emerges from him is probably audible in the next borough.
“OH MY GOD!” Molly launches himself at Liam, grabbing his hand and pulling it close to examine the ring. “You’re engaged! You’re actually engaged! Why didn’t you tell me? When did this happen? Tell me everything!”
Liam laughs, his cheeks flushing with pleasure and slight embarrassment at being the center of attention. “A few days ago. Nicky proposed over dinner.”
“Over dinner,” Molly repeats, his eyes going wide. “How romantic! Was it planned? Did you suspect? Show me the ring properly! Oh, it’s beautiful, is it vintage?”
“It was my nonna’s,” I supply, unable to keep the smile off my face at Molly’s enthusiasm.
“Even better! A family heirloom! Oh, this is perfect, this is so perfect.” Molly is practically vibrating with excitement now. “We need to start planning immediately. Have you set a date? Chosen a venue? Thought about themes?”
“We’ve literally been engaged for less than a week,” Liam protests, but he’s grinning.
“A few days is nearly a week! That’s ages! We should at least have a mood board by now.” Molly is already moving, heading toward the door with determined purpose. “Wait here, don’t move, I have resources.”
