“Rosetta is Damon’s maid and personal chef,” Joelle said after a moment of awkward silence. “She made all the food tonight. With how close you and Damon seem, I figured you’d have met her by now.”

“We don’t live together,” Damon pointed out reasonably.

“I guess I just figured Damon was so good in the kitchen that he didn’t need a chef,” Micah added, hoping to help Damon smooth over his misstep. “I mean, the crepes he made for breakfast last weekend were the best I’ve ever had.” Also the only ones he’d ever had, but it wasn’t like they knew that. “But with how busy he is, it makes sense, of course, that he would need to hire someone to cook for him.”

Micah hadn’t realized until he’d finished talking that the stares were not abating at all. In fact, if anything, they’d grown more intense.

“Damon made you crepes?” Sophie asked hesitantly after a moment.

“Uh, yes?” Micah glanced at Damon for help, but the man was staring resolutely down at his plate. “They were very good,” he added reassuringly.

“We know Damon’s crepes are good,” Caprice retorted, voice positively scathing. “We’ve only been begging him to make them for us – make anything for us – for the better part of a decade.”

“It’s great that Damon’s baking again,” Joelle quickly interjected, shooting her brother a glance before redirecting her gaze at Micah. “We’re glad you got to try some of his food. You’re right, his crepes are very good. I’m honestly jealous.” She paused. “It’s just… well, we haven’t seen Damon in front of a stove since our parents passed.”

Oh.

Shit.

“You must give excellent head.”

Micah was glad he didn’t have any cannoli in his mouth, or he was sure he would have choked in addition to instantly turning as red as an heirloom tomato.

“Caprice!” Jason exclaimed, sounding aghast.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious! It’s not like Damon made a point of trying to hide how they met, and I’m tired of dancing around the subject. As a whore, Micah must be good.” Her eyes were blue ice as they drilled into Micah’s, daring him to contradict her.

But Micah couldn’t. Because while he wasn’t actually a prostitute, Damon thought he was – and it was the story he’d fed his family. (Although Micah still didn’t understand why Damon couldn’t just tell them that they were faking their relationship, and that he had essentially only hired Micah as an escort.) And Micah wasn’t about to come out as a frickin’ cop, which really only left one option.