Why is he being nice all of sudden?

What does he want?

Is this some sort of mating ritual? Ease me before he breeds me. Then he can be finished with his job, and we can both move on.

Erico’s asked me all the questions people in long-term relationships should know about their partners. He not-so-subtly skipped over my post-high school years, when Stefano came into our lives, and of Mom and the accident.

He was patient while I responded by text. If he got annoyed, then he wore his own mask and hid the emotion well. Even Della gets irritated sometimes because my murmured short sentences are less than what she grew up receiving. When Nico visited me at the medical centre to ask about Della, he was so agitated while I wrote my responses on a whiteboard, it was nearly amusing. Lorenzo Corsetti never spared me much time, and Caterina, if she was annoyed, did manage to keep her mask on as well.

Half of lunch was spent watching every curve of his face, of his eyes, which often reveal what a voice won’t, the skin around them for any crinkle and indication of annoyance, of his mouth, watching for any tick.

Nothing. Patient as ever.

I didn’t like how it made me feel.

Comfortable.

Every time I feel comfortable, something bad happens.

Moving into Stefano De Falco’s home was something I fought Mom over, but slowly—very slowly—I became eased. And then the accident occurred.

The medical centre was where my depression felt the worst, when my only visitors were Della and Yasmine. But my conversations with my stepsister were always at a minimum because she shouldn’t have been there. They were almost downright uncomfortable meetings for us both. By the time I accepted the centre, I was yanked from it and forced to, yet again, conform to new standards within the Corsetti household.

So it’s bound to happen soon. Erico’s kindness will come with a price I’m not equipped to pay.

He leads me back to the music room, and with a parting smile, leaves me alone again to head back down the same hallway, toward his office. Confusion swirls over if lunch did what he wanted.

Or did it do what I needed?

Erico

After a pleasant lunch and returning Ariella to her music room, I regretfully head for my office. I’d rather watch her play, but business is stacking up in the days I was away in Vegas. Father dumped a lot on me—probably to see me either rise to the occasion or fail.

My intrigue with my wife is truly an unwanted distraction. The moniker I once called her floats through my mind:Sirena.She really is a fucking siren, right down to her fondness for swimming, her adoration of water, her dream of owning tropical fish, and her musical talents—some of those facts uncovered in my many questions during our meal.

Tropical fucking fish. As a child, I begged Mother for them after she denied all my other requests for aquatic creatures, which as an adult, I see why she had. In a household with staff, ownership meant not having to actually care for them, so she agreed. Years later, I continue to keep tropical fish, always replacing when I lose one.

Now, I wouldn’t get rid of them for the world, making my wife’s dreams come true even unknowingly.

My phone vibrates for the millionth time today. Every time Ariella was texting me a response, three more from other people also arrived. Soldiers, my mother, Caladin. All with varying degrees of business, so when I’m back at my desk, I have enough of a distraction to keep me away from Ariella and her music for hours.

First: Caladin’s messages, since they’re simplest.

Caladin

Dude, you gotta come back to the races. Some big names in town. Rio’s looking for you, man, because some huge challenges. They’re determined to beat you. Get out of your wife’s pussy and come. 10pm for the next three nights are lined up. I’ve already told them you’d be here so don’t be a letdown.

Caladin is correct in that I should return to my hobbies, a reminder of my life before Ariella. If my lessons with Sebastian end earlier, then yeah, I can make these, even with the three-hour drive toward the city for these. Three hours there, three hours back, plus the time spent racing. Fuck, that’s the entire evening and well into the middle of the night by the time I return.

Or you can just stay at your condo.

Unlikely.

Me

Count me in.

Caladin