“Don’t worry about it. I was just trying to squeeze more information out of him. Your mother hired him to kill her assassin. He isn’t going away until he nukes them, so we can either work together or we can keep bumping into each other with unpredictable consequences.”
Runa raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep bumping into him, just a little bit?”
I gave her the Look of Death. “No. I found out that Alessandro has been staying across the street, so I disassembled his car window and then walked into my bedroom and found him posing on my bed like some sort of erotic poster.”
“He was posing on your bed? Was he naked?”
“No.” I wish. “But he was holding the picture I had left on the nightstand.”
Runa frowned. “Wait, the picture? The pink, glitter heart picture?”
I nodded. “Yep. That’s the one. I took it to my room. And now he knows about my kid crush and he’s mocking me.”
“Well fuck,” Runa said.
“Fuck” was a good way to put it.
“Look on the bright side,” Runa said. “If he steps out of line, I can poison him, so blood will come out of both ends simultaneously and continuously.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“You must think I’m crazy.” The smile slid off Runa’s face. “Joking while my mother is dead, and my sister is missing. Maybe I am, a little, and if I was by myself, things might be different. But I have my brother. I’m trying my best to not freak the fuck out. I’m trying to be positive and hopeful, and pretending that everything will be okay. But I know nothing is okay and sometimes I just want to scream myself hoarse.”
I hugged her. “Runa, you don’t owe me or anyone an explanation or an apology. Terrible things have happened to both of you, and you do whatever you need to do to get through it. If you want to strip naked and dance in the street throwing glitter in the air, nobody would blink an eye. It’s your grief. You own it.”
She wiped her eyes.
The door of Rogan’s HQ opened, and Bug emerged into the light of the streetlamp. He wore a clean khaki T-shirt and a pair of dark pants. His face was clean, and his hair was damp and brushed.
“That’s my cue to go inside,” I told Runa. “This is Bug, Rogan’s surveillance guy I told you about. He doesn’t do well with strangers.”
“No sudden moves?”
“No, he’s okay with sudden moves. Just don’t expect him to do small talk.”
Runa was right. The lemon roasted chicken did smell amazing.
The entire family had gathered for dinner, all except Arabella. She’d finally charged her phone and replied to my seven texts with “I’m okay, keep your panties on.” I composed an eloquent reply rich with four-letter words, sent it to her, and hadn’t heard anything back.
The table was full. Mom and Grandma talked quietly; Runa was making eyes at the chicken; Bern and Bug carried on a conversation in low voices. Matilda took the bread rolls off the baking pan and arranged them in a basket. Ragnar volunteered to distribute forks, knives, and napkins. Just a normal Baylor dinner.
Leon, wearing oven mitts, pulled the enormous roasting pan filled with potatoes out of the oven and held it while I scooped them into a pretty white dish.
“Grandma, Aunt Penelope, me and Bern, Bug, Runa and Ragnar, Matilda, and you,” Leon said. “Nine people, but ten plates. Who is the extra plate for?”
“We might have a guest for dinner.” I put the salad dressing on the table.
“Like who?” He put the pan onto the stove and pulled the oven mitts off.
I opened my mouth to answer. The doorbell rang, echoing through all of our cell phones. Leon tapped his phone. His eyes sparked with indignation. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I went to answer the door.
The icy assassin who killed the strike team and then stalked me in my own room was gone. Instead, Instagram Alessandro stood in the doorway, carrying a bottle of wine. He wore impeccably tailored brown pants and an indigo blue dress shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons open, just enough to give a great view of his muscular neck. His boots, leather, ankle-high, and expensive, matched the outfit. His brushed then artfully tousled hair framed his face. He’d shaved, and the masculine perfection of his features was on full display; the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the strong, clean line of his jaw, his sensual mouth . . .
My brain did that thing again, the one where I lost all ability to reason and form complete sentences.
Say something. Something smart.
Our stares connected. His eyes were still the same; calculating, lupine, and heated by amber magic from within.
“You’re late,” I told him. Yes! Brilliant. I said a thing and it made sense. It had a subject and a verb and they went together. Catalina Baylor one, Instagram Alessandro a big fat zero.
“Beauty takes time.”
“Oh, get over yourself.” I stepped aside.
He stepped through. “Permesso.”
I almost answered, Avanti, but caught myself. He didn’t need to know how much Italian I understood. Instead, I locked the door behind him, and we walked deeper into the house, through the office, through the hallway, and into the kitchen.
Nobody had started eating yet, but people were passing dishes and fixing their plates. They saw Alessandro.
Everything stopped.
He smiled at them, a dazzling, charming smile, warm and happy and a touch shy. When they said a smile could launch a thousand ships, this was the smile they had imagined.
Grandma Frida put down the salad bowl, raised her phone, and snapped a pic.
“No phones at the table,” Mom said on autopilot, her gaze fixed on Alessandro.
“I’m not missing this shot, Penelope.”
“Buonasera,” Alessandro crooned. “Thank you so much for inviting me to dinner. I haven’t had a homemade meal in weeks.”
When I’d spoken to him an hour ago, he’d had a mere trace of an accent. Now he sounded like he’d jumped out of a Fellini film onto the red carpet.
Bern crossed his arms. Leon scowled. Bug looked like a surprised hedgehog with all his needles up in the air.
Alessandro pretended not to notice and handed the wine bottle to Leon.
Leon took it, baring his teeth. “Keep your filthy hands off my cousin.”
Alessandro smiled again, his face serene, as if Leon had just complimented him on his choice of wine. “Please forgive me, the selection in the local stores is rather limited, but I was able to find a decent variety of Grenache.”
“You can take that wine and shove—” Leon started.
“Leon,” Mom said.
He clicked his jaw shut and went to get the wineglasses.
“Thank you for the wine,” Mom said. “Please join us.”
Alessandro stepped to my chair and held it out for me. Runa leaned on her elbow, clearly enjoying the show.
Grabbing the chair and hitting him with it was out of the question. I sat and let him scoot it closer to the table for me.
A phone flashed as Grandma took another picture. I clenched my teeth and stared straight ahead.
We passed the food around.
“You’re very pretty,” Matilda observed. “Are you a prince?”