In my family, we all had secrets, and Michael was mine.

The house smelled like minestrone, just as I remembered. I didn’t spend a ton of time at her place when we were younger, especially when puberty hit and her dad got more protective. Most of our time together was spent at school, but I did visit her house on occasion, and the place often smelled like minestrone.

I had mixed emotions about being there. Part of me dreaded the stifling awkwardness of sitting near her and knowing she hated me. I hadn’t had a particular plan going into our little lunch setup, but I still managed to surprise myself at how I handled the situation. I had needed to ease tensions and get her to let me in, but I hadn’t intended to cut myself open for her. The words fell from my mouth before I could stop them. When I saw her look at me with such raw pain, I couldn’t help myself. I had needed her to know she wasn’t alone.

My sentiment wasn’t exactly well received.

At least our initial reunion was over—I had known it would be the hardest part. Dinner might turn out to be just as much a cluster fuck as lunch had been, but part of me didn’t care. Part of me would still rather get to see her, touch her, smell her, than leave her in peace.

Yeah, I was an asshole.

Of course, when Enzo suggested I stopped by for dinner, it wasn’t like I could refuse. If I’d had a choice, would I have taken it? Probably not. I wasn’t the playground protector Sofia had grown up with. The boy she’d known grew into a hardened, selfish man. There was a time I would have done anything to keep her from being upset, but now, I’d spent too many years looking out for my own best interests. After feeling my lips on her skin, smelling the berries and cream scent on her hair, and seeing the flecks in her hazel eyes, I wanted more—whether it hurt her or not.

When Mrs. Genovese directed me to the dining room, I noted that the wallpaper had been changed, but everything else had remained the same. A long cherry red table with eight chairs filled the room, and a formal china cabinet loaded with breakables lined the back wall. Four places had been set on one end—the head of the table, one on the near side, and two on the far side. The two seats together were clearly intended for us, and I wondered how Sofia would respond.

“So, Nico, Enzo tells me you’re quite the professional boxer.” Carlotta looked at me expectantly even though she hadn’t technically asked me a question.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s harder to find competition in the heavyweight division, so I don’t fight all that often anymore.”

“I’ll bet. You ended up growing so much since we saw you last! How tall are you now?”