Look on the Bright Side

Chapter Eleven

“Clearly, I won’t be attending,” Lorenzo said to Lark the night before the engagement party.

“Well, I’m not going to your sister’s engagement party without you, Lorenzo.” Actually, that might be more fun. “Why aren’t you coming? By the way, I love the dress. You have excellent taste in women’s clothes.”

“I’ll be at the party,” Lorenzo said tightly. They were talking on the phone, a first, since he preferred to keep communication brief and impersonal. “I’m just not going to…that.”

“The Renaissance fair?” she asked. Connery barked happily at the phrase, and she scooped him up for a cuddle. “It’ll be fun.”

“It will not be fun. It will be stupid.”

Lark dropped a kiss on Connery’s head, then set him down to better peruse her wardrobe options. What did a person wear to a Ren fair? Ah. Here was a white, off-the-shoulder blouse with puffy sleeves. Add a long skirt, and good enough. “Your whole family will be there. Even Noni.”

“I’m a surgeon. I have more important things to do than watch a joust.” It was almost funny, except that he was dead serious.

“You’re allowed to have fun, Dr.Santini.”

“My idea of fun doesn’t include watching adults play dress-up.”

“What is your idea of fun, then?”

There was a long pause, and Lark had to smile. “Reading,” he finally said. “Eating a nice meal.”

“I’ve eaten with you three times now. I think we know that’s a lie. So you don’t have fun. I get it.”

“Can we end this conversation? I’ll be seeing the family at the party—the party I’m paying for—and that’s more than enough.”

Lark pulled out the necklace Addie had given her on their thirtieth birthday, a simple pearl on a rose gold chain. She’d given Addie simple pearl earrings set in rose gold for that same birthday. “Here’s a hint, Lorenzo. Stop reminding people that you pay for things.”

“Why?”

“It’s rude and it makes you look classless.”

“And yet I am paying. It’s merely a fact.” He paused. “How is wanting to give my sister a nice wedding ‘classless’?”

“That part’s not. It’s lovely. The classless part is making sure everyone knows you’re paying for it. Your parents aren’t, and maybe can’t, and every time you mention your own generosity, you probably make them feel a little ashamed.”

“Of me?”

“No, dummy. They’re incredibly proud of you. But your dad was, what, a welder? Your mom worked at a school. Not the kind of incomes that let you save thirty or fifty grand for a big wedding.”

“This wedding costs a lot more than fifty grand. A lot more.”

“And there you go again. You’re being wonderful, paying for this—”

“I can easily afford it.”

“Yes, Lorenzo, we’ve covered that. But every time you remind people, you take away from that wonderfulness. Let someone else talk about how generous and successful you are. When it comes from you, it’s bragging.”

There was a silence as he processed her words. Then: “I’ll meet you at the Copley Square Plaza at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“Can I come to your place to change first? Then we can go together, like an actual couple.”

“Fine. You have the address.”

“Thanks. I think you’re missing out with the fair, but—” He’d already hung up. She looked at Connery, who was watching her with rapt interest. “Can you believe this guy?” Connery whined. “You’re a hundred percent right, puppy.”

Lark had been Dr.Satan’s pretend girlfriend for a month now. The two dinner dates at the Naked Oyster, the family picnic, and very little other communication. A small curveball had been thrown yesterday, when Sofia had texted Lark, inviting her to a Renaissance fair in Norwell, about half an hour south of Boston. Henry’s mother was a falconer—so cool!—and was giving a demonstration. Lark had the entire day off, the first in six days, so she said yes, assuming Lorenzo would be there, too.

She texted Sofia now, sensing Lorenzo would fail to do so. Lorenzo can’t make the fair but I can still come, if that’s okay.

Of course! I figured Dr.Workaholic wouldn’t make it, Sofia texted back immediately. Just find the falconing area around 2:00. The demonstration starts at 2:30. Xoxox!

Lorenzo had a point about the Renaissance fair. It was kind of…well, he’d used the word stupid, and that was too harsh. Dorky? Silly? Over the top?

Wicked fun, in other words.

People really got into these things, she thought as she admired a woman in a purple gown with wide bell sleeves, a leather corset and two pointy cone things on her head. There was a guy dressed all in leather, his long beard braided, leading a donkey. A teenager dressed up like a fairy, her face painted in exquisite detail to look half human, half insect.

Lark made her way through the crowd, following the hand-painted signs to the birds of prey demonstration. A man on stilts teetered toward her, blowing her kisses, and she laughed and dodged around him. Another guy, dressed as a knight, but spray-painted entirely silver to make him look like a statue, stood very still as people posed next to him. In general, there was lots of cleavage, lots of chain mail. A corral off to the left was filled with horses for actual jousting sessions, and there were signs advertising demonstrations on leather crafting, belly dancing, sword fighting. Vendors in colorful tents sold jewelry, witch hats, tiaras, circlets of flowers and, er, elf ears. Attempted accents of all kinds—Irish, Scottish, English—filled the air, with shouts of “m’lady,” “prithee,” “good morrow” and “fare thee well” punctuating the air.

It also smelled fantastic around here. Roasting meat on spits, turkey legs and donuts seemed to be the most popular foods, and her stomach growled. People drank out of enormous steins, and everyone seemed so happy. Imogen and Esme would love this, she thought. Little kids had butterflies painted on their faces, some folks wore horns, and heck, when was the last time she’d done something so weird and fun?

There was the birds of prey ring, and Lark immediately saw the cluster of Santinis—Silvio and Anita, Sofia and Henry, the delightful Izzy, Dante, and Noni in her wheelchair. A jangle of nerves shivered up her legs…without Lorenzo here, she felt even more guilty about pretending to be his girlfriend.

“Lark!” Sofia called, and welcomed her with a hug. “Your timing is perfect. They’re just getting started.”

“Hi, everyone,” she said. Izzy hugged her, too.

“Hey, Lark,” Dante said.

“Hey.” Her cheeks warmed, so she turned away quickly. On the stage, there was Henry, dressed in…well, in tights and a puffy shirt, God bless. He saw her and gave a nod, and Lark waved.

“Good to see you,” Lark said to Silvio and Anita.

“We’re going to sit up front and be supportive,” Anita said, blowing Lark a kiss. Such nice people. Silvio gave her a wink and a smile as he was led away by his wife.

Out of respect, she went over to Noni, who may or may not have been asleep, her pale blue eyes slits, and crouched down to be at eye level. Today, Noni wore a wig of thick, curly white hair, which was slightly askew and low on her forehead. Should she fix it? Nah. Best not to assume that much familiarity. The old lady didn’t flick an eye or move, but in case she was awake, Lark whispered, “Hello, Mrs.Santini.”

“You,” she rasped, making Lark jump a little. “Whatta you doin’ here?”

Awake, then. “Um…just here to see the falcons, I guess.”

The old woman glared. “Where my food at?” she asked, not looking away. “Lorenzo, my food.”

“It’s Dante, Noni, and here you go.” He lowered a massive turkey leg to Noni’s mouth, and she took an impressive bite without using her hands. Dentures were in, then.

“How’s it going, Doc?” Dante said. His dark eyes met hers, and there it was again, that weird, unpleasantly electric jolt and residual, slightly sick feeling. What was that about?

“Hi, Dante.” She had already said hi, hadn’t she? “How are you?”

“Doing great.” He smiled, and Lark felt her knees tingle. He was perfectly nice and appropriate, so why the ominous feeling? He held the turkey leg to his grandmother’s mouth, and again, Noni took a shockingly large bite. She seemed pretty hale for someone on hospice. Then again, you really couldn’t predict how long a person had. That was one of the first lessons Darlene had taught her.

“Looks like she’s eating a baby’s leg, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “She’s got the personality for it.”

Lark sputtered out a laugh.

“Lorenzo, gimme drink.” Dante raised an eyebrow at Lark, then held a paper cup for Noni and adjusted the straw.

“My grandfather always messes up our names, too,” Lark said.

“Noni here pretty much only remembers Lorenzo,” he returned easily. “If he’s not around, we just step in and hope she doesn’t smack us.” Another smile, another flood of warmth and that ominous warning buzz in her joints.

She didn’t have time to dwell on Dante, fortunately, because Izzy grabbed her arm and led her closer to the stage. “This is actually supercool, so you don’t want to miss it,” she said. “By the way, no need to win Noni over. I’ve been trying my whole life. She’s only interested in Lorenzo.”

“How’s her health these days?” Lark asked.

“Oh, she’s circling the drain,” Izzy answered. “Sleeps for, like, twenty hours a day, can’t do any activities of daily living anymore, isn’t eating that much. Aside from turkey legs, apparently. I’ll be seeing that on the flip side.” She pulled a face. “Being the nurse, I get to do all the fun stuff.”

“I can help,” Lark said. “I used to be a CNA. Worked in a nursing home for a couple of years before med school.”

“Seriously, you’re so nice, I have no idea what you’re doing with Lorenzo.”

“Shh,” Sofia said, turning with a smile to her sister. “They’re getting started.”

Indeed, Henry’s mother was just coming out, dressed in a flowing red gown with gold trim. Lark glanced at the sign on the stage—Mistress Jocelyn, Master Falconer. Now, that was a cool title.

“Do you want to meet a falcon?” Jocelyn asked.

“Yes!” chorused the crowd of about fifty. Henry opened a large cage and brought out a beautiful white and gray bird, who gripped Jocelyn’s arm with its bright yellow talons. “This is Otto, a gyrfalcon,” Jocelyn said. “He was injured by another bird as a baby, and since he recovered and grew up in captivity, he’s not suited to life in the wild just yet. At our home, he flies freely, but every night, he comes home for dinner.”

Jocelyn ran a raptor recovery center, she told the crowd, and was against keeping raptors as pets, but said that humans and raptors had a long history together. She educated the crowd on how the birds were revered in medieval times for their ability to hunt and acted in partnership with their keepers, catching rabbits and smaller birds for their humans to eat. Their eyesight was so good they could see a rabbit a mile away, and they could fly at speeds up to seventy miles per hour when chasing prey.

“As I said, Otto is a gyrfalcon, the largest species. He looks pretty big, don’t you think?” she asked the crowd. “How much do you think he weighs?”

“Eight pounds?” someone suggested.

“Ten?”

“Fourteen?”

“He weighs two pounds, nine ounces,” Jocelyn said, and Lark said, “Wow!” along with the rest of the crowd. “But he can bring down prey that weighs up to eight pounds, because he strikes so fast. So everyone here with a purse dog, you have been warned!”

Everyone laughed, and a couple of dogs were scooped up into their owners’ arms, making Lark glad Connery was home.

“I’m so excited for this, I might pass out,” Dante said, appearing next to his sisters. “If I do, you’re in charge of Noni, Isabella.”

“Absolutely not. It’s your turn today. Where is she, by the way? Still alive?”

“Over there, and maybe,” Dante said. “I thought the heat might be too much for her, so I parked her under that tree. Don’t worry, I’m checking every thirty seconds to make sure she’s not kidnapped. She ate that turkey leg like a starving wolf, and the tryptophan did its job. She’s snoring away. Or at the gates of paradise. Hard to say.”

“We should be so lucky,” Sofia murmured, and Izzy snorted.

“Lark, we’re not really this awful,” Sofia said. “We do love Noni, more or less.”

“It’s just that she’s a hundred and forty-two years old, and she made our parents’ life a living hell until Lorenzo moved her into the care facility,” Dante said. “She just recently stopped calling Mom a whore.”

“Oh, my gosh!” Lark said. “And Anita’s so nice to her.”

“Exactly,” Izzy said. “Now, let’s watch this falcon show.”

“Okay,” said Jocelyn, Otto still on her arm. “In my pouch, I have pieces of chicken for Otto. I’ll toss a piece as high as I can, and we’ll see if he can catch it.”

“He always catches it,” Sofia said. “He’s amazing.”

“Maybe you can use him at your wedding,” Dante said. “Ring bearer. Otto swoops in, drops the rings, flies off. Hopefully he doesn’t poop on your dress, but I’m willing to take that chance.”

Sofia punched him fondly on the arm. See? Lark told herself. A nice guy. Nothing to be concerned about.

On the stage, Jocelyn was done with her lecture. “Now, of course, you all want to see him fly, am I right? And hunt?”

“Yes!” chorused the crowd.

“Who else has goose bumps?” Dante asked, and Izzy shoved him fondly, then looped her arm through his.

“You ready, folks?” Jocelyn said, raising her arm. The crowd cheered, Lark included.

“Free, Otto!” She flung her arm up, and Otto soared straight up, his huge wings unfolding with stunning speed and grace. He was so beautiful, and Lark felt her heart lift. The bird circled over the stage and crowd, garnering gasps of awe, and Jocelyn threw a small piece of food high in the air. Otto turned, shortened his wings, and dove straight for it. Caught it like a boss and returned to Jocelyn’s arm, a study in fierce grace and agility.

“Pretty amazing, right?” Jocelyn asked the applauding crowd. “Want to see that again?”

She repeated the action, tossing the snack farther out this time. Again, Otto took to the air, heading like a bullet toward its target.

But suddenly, he pivoted midair, shortened his wings and whump. Lark heard the soft collision before she located it by the abrupt shower of feathers. Shrieks rose from the crowd, and Otto circled again. A pigeon hung limp in his talons.

“Holy shit! That was an assassination,” Izzy said.

“Whoa!” cried Jocelyn. “Nature at its finest, folks. He is a bird of prey, after all, and pigeons are definitely prey. Why have a little piece of chicken when you can have a buffet?” The crowd laughed uncertainly. “Come on back, Otto!”

Otto continued to circle. Laden with the weight of the pigeon, he was slower and less graceful, giving everyone quite a view of the dead bird. Kind of gruesome, Lark thought, but also wicked cool.

“The circle of life,” Dante sang softly, and Lark bit down on a laugh.

“At least it was a pigeon and not, I don’t know, a hummingbird or cardinal. Something we like, in other words,” Izzy said. “You could say Otto is doing a public service.”

“I’m actually afraid of pigeons,” Sofia said.

“I think Otto sensed that,” Dante said.

“The rats of the sky,” said Izzy.

“They’re not so bad,” Lark said, feeling someone had to defend the poor birds. “I kind of like them.”

“Come on back, Otto,” Jocelyn called again.

But Otto did not fly back. No. Otto’s wings drew back as he prepared to land and eat his meal, and that place was…that place was…

“Oh, shit,” Dante said, bolting through the crowd.

That place was Noni’s head.

“Where’s my phone?” Izzy said.

Because yes, the falcon had landed right on Noni’s little head and was tearing into the pigeon. Noni remained fast asleep. Thank God for the wig! People shrieked and backed away, as if Otto were Godzilla and not a two-and-a-half-pound bird, but yeah, those talons were sharp. Lark and Izzy followed Dante through the crowd. A mom covered her kid’s eyes as Otto tore a chunk out of the pigeon and swallowed it. Noni’s wig began to turn pink.

Lark felt a wonderful, horrible bubble of inappropriate laughter welling up in her. Robbie would love this story. Otto looked around, regal and pleased, then shifted, causing Noni’s wig to slide a little farther. He ripped off another piece of pigeon and gobbled it up.

“Gross!” cried a teenager, stepping in closer with her phone. Plenty of people had their phones out. After all, how often did you get to see a falcon eating a pigeon, and on an old lady’s head, no less?

Lark crept up behind Dante, not wanting to scare the bird and have it, oh, take out Noni’s eye or something.

“Off you go, buddy,” Dante said, approaching.

Otto considered the request and ignored it. Another chunk of pigeon, another “Ew!” from the crowd.

“That’s my grandma, pal. Off you go,” Dante said.

“Let’s just remember you abandoned her under this tree,” Izzy said, grabbing Lark’s hand, tears of laughter bright in her eyes. Lark bit her lip shut to stifle her own laughter. “I’m so telling Lorenzo.”

“You’re not helping, Izzy,” Dante said.

“It’s killing the old lady!” said a little kid.

“From your lips to God’s ears, kid,” Dante muttered, and Izzy bent double. “Come on, bird.”

Otto fluttered his wings, swallowing another chunk of his lunch.

Then Dante offered his arm—that was a good arm, all tanned and muscled, blond hair gleaming against his skin. Otto regarded it, looked at Dante and then, apparently full, dropped the pigeon into Noni’s lap—more shrieks, more pictures—and stepped delicately from her head to Dante’s outstretched arm.

“Check on Noni?” Dante asked, looking at Lark. She nodded, trying not to notice how smokin’ hot he looked, completely at ease with the falcon.

“I’ll take care of this, Lark,” Izzy said, reaching toward her grandmother’s head. “She’s my relative, after all.”

“No, no, I’ve got gloves and stuff in my bag.”

“Excellent point, and since I’m so grossed out, I’ll be happy to let you do it. Does anyone have a plastic bag? Oh, thanks, sir.”

Noni’s bloodstained wig slanted down almost to her eyes, but the old lady was still snoring. The crowd shifted, some going off to watch Otto up front, some staying for the cleanup. Lark could hear Jocelyn talking, welcoming Otto back.

Lark always carried alcohol wipes and latex gloves, just in case. Since starting in the ER, she had upped her game to include butterfly closures, a rawhide shoelace for an emergency tourniquet, an inhaler, an EpiPen, baby aspirin and a window-breaker with seat belt cutting tool. Always prepared, just like the Scouts. She pulled on the gloves and took Noni’s wig off. A nearby toddler burst into screams, which made the giggles wriggle and leap again. Izzy wasn’t even trying not to laugh now.

Lark put the wig in the plastic bag, then the dead bird, trying not to look at it, the suppressed laughter making tears stream from her eyes. Predator and prey, she could almost hear Sir David Attenborough saying. One must lose the eternal game.

Noni’s head was free from scrapes or cuts. Seemed like the only casualty was the pigeon. And the wig.

Lark ran an alcohol wipe over Noni’s scalp and ears, and Izzy pulled out a comb and fluffed her grandmother’s thinning hair, then shook Noni’s skirt to rid it of leftover feathers. Behind them, Jocelyn continued to discuss the wildness of raptors, their unpredictability, the reason they had bells on their talons. The show must go on, after all.

Then the old woman jerked awake, causing Lark to leap back a little. “You!” she rasped, glaring. “What you do to me, hey? You, stranger? Step back, eh?”

“Noni,” Izzy said, tears of laughter bright in her brown eyes, “this is Lark, remember? Lorenzo’s girlfriend? We’re just, um, checking on you. Do you want a drink?”

“Where Lorenzo?”

“He’s not here. But the rest of us are.”

“Eh.”

Izzy looked at Lark. “Isn’t she delightful?”

“Lorenzo, he’s a good boy,” Noni rasped.

“Debatable,” Izzy said. She looked at Lark. “You’re awesome, by the way. Thank you.”

There was clapping from the audience—the show had wrapped up—and a second later, Sofia, Dante and their parents joined Izzy and Lark.

“Oh, my God, I thought I was going to wet myself laughing,” Anita whispered to the girls. “Noni, are you okay?” she said in a louder voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I wanna go now. Take me home, boy.”

“That would be me,” Silvio said. “Okay, Ma. You’re doing all right, though?”

“She’s, um, unaware of the excitement,” Izzy said. “Let’s keep it that way. Me, though, I can’t wait to find this on social media.” She dissolved into giggles again and clutched Sofia’s hand.

“I’ve got some pictures,” said a young woman. “Want me to airdrop them to you?”

“Yes! Thank you,” said Izzy.

Henry and his mother joined them. “Is she okay?” Jocelyn asked. “I am so sorry! That’s never happened before.”

“Who you? Your dress, not so nice,” Noni said. “You look like a whore.”

“Stop, Noni,” Sofia said. “This is Henry’s mother. My future mother-in-law.”

“Eh. Cover yourself next time.”

“I’m so sorry, Jocelyn,” Anita said. “It’s the dementia talking. She’s very unfiltered.”

“And mean,” Izzy added. “Can’t forget mean.”

“No offense taken,” Jocelyn said. “And again, I apologize for Otto.”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Henry said. “I think you should change the show to include pigeons. YouTube will love this.” Indeed, people were eager to share their videos and pictures with Izzy. The falcon show was deemed far more exciting than any other falcon show in the history of Renaissance fairs.

“We should get going,” Anita said, smiling at her brood. “See you at the party, kids.”

“We need to get back to the hotel and change, too, honey,” Sofia said, sliding her arm through Henry’s. “I’m getting my hair done and all that. Trial run for the wedding.”

“You’ll be so beautiful,” Henry said. “You are right now.”

“Ick,” Isabella said. “Please, stop.”

“I should go, too,” Jocelyn said. “I have to take Otto home and clean up myself before dinner.”

“Henry and I are having dinner with our parents before the big party, Lark,” Sofia explained. “But we’ll see you at the hotel, okay?” She gave her a hug, thanked her for tending to Noni and floated off, holding hands with Henry. He kissed her on the temple, and Sofia beamed up at him, eyes shining.

They reminded her of…well. Of her and Justin.

“You guys want to wander around?” Izzy asked.

“Sure,” Dante said. “After you, fair maidens.”

“Nope. Just shut that down, big bro. You don’t get to use Ren fair lingo and have us still respect you.” Izzy took Lark’s arm and headed for a booth. “Come on, let’s check this stuff out.” Izzy bought a pair of horns attached to a hair band and put it on immediately.

“Devil horns. They suit you,” Dante said.

Lark bought circlets of sparkly flowers for her nieces. They got lemonade and hot dogs and ambled through the fair, watching the jousts, avoiding the clowns, like any sane person.

“Oh, look, Noni’s gonna be Instagram famous,” said Izzy, checking her phone. “Shit! Look at this!” Someone had posted a shaky video of Otto calmly eating pigeon on Noni’s tipped-back head, her mouth slack, those half-open eyes…

“Oh no,” Lark said, and there it was again, that irrepressible laughter. Izzy was squeaking, and Dante’s laugh was sooty and delicious.

“Good thing Lorenzo doesn’t have social media. And don’t show this to him, or he’ll kill us all,” Dante said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. He glanced at Lark. “Well, not you, of course.”

That warm flush engulfed her again. “I don’t know,” she said, looking at another photo on Instagram under the hashtags #massrenfaire #falconshow. It was a close-up of Noni’s wrinkled hands next to the discarded pigeon. “This one has Christmas card written all over it.”

His grin widened. “I like you, Dr.Smith,” he said. “You’re okay. Anyone who can handle a dead pigeon is pretty damn awesome.”

Oh, shit. She liked him. She liked him. The knowledge hit her hard enough that she stumbled, and Dante grabbed her arm. Then came that warning flash again. There was something…off. Something bleak. A faint alarm that wouldn’t stop ringing. She pulled her arm free. “Thanks.”

“You good?”

“Just fine.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re dating our brother,” Izzy said. “Unless it’s for his money, in which case we get it and promise not to tell. But for our sake, I’m glad, right, Dante? Oh, I want a turkey leg. Noni’s looked so good. You guys want one?”

“I’m off poultry for a while,” Dante said. “For obvious reasons.” He grinned at Lark. “Izzy here is always hungry. I’m surprised she didn’t finish off the pigeon. You want something, Lark?”

He was funny. Kind. Brave. A devoted brother. Wicked handsome. Had she mentioned that? Crap.

Developing a crush was not part of the plan.

“What?” she said, abruptly aware that she hadn’t answered. “No, thanks, sorry. I’m actually gonna head for Lorenzo’s and get ready, maybe take a nap,” she said. “I’ll see you guys tonight, though. Have fun!”

Once in the car, Lark took a few deep breaths. Her mind was both in hyperdrive and blurry at the same time.

Never once since the age of five had Lark ever felt so much as a tremor for anyone other than Justin. Why would she? She’d had love. She’d had the One. She’d felt all the purring, the delicious hot and liquid feelings of lust, all in the safe embrace of love and friendship, laughter and fun. One and done, she and Justin liked to say. One and done.

In the past seven years, aside from pure appreciation of, say, Michael B. Jordan or Miles Teller, she had never felt any kind of romantic or lustful feelings for anyone.

Until now.

Awkward for several reasons. One, she was allegedly dating his brother. Two, he probably had women lined up from Boston to California to choose from. Good-looking firefighter with nice family? Maybe he was already in a serious relationship. She hoped he was. She hoped he’d bring a date tonight, a lovely, smart, beautiful woman. That would kill any little seed of interest poking through the barren soil of the past seven years. Please let him be seeing someone wonderful and funny and nice. Or let him be a man-whore, Tindering his way through the greater Boston area. She’d lose respect that way. Wouldn’t want to kiss a man-whore. Not that she wanted to kiss Dante Santini. Not exactly. Not yet.

No, not ever. The third reason was that flash of…darkness or warning or whatever that was. Something in her was scared of something in Dante.

And four, Justin. No one would ever measure up, obviously. You couldn’t replace a perfect love story. Besides, Lark wasn’t even sure how to date. She’d never kissed anyone but Justin. Never held hands with someone other than him. Ever. Even if she wanted to be in a relationship—and she didn’t, she was a medical resident, for heaven’s sake—she had no idea how things worked these days. It made her feel old and out of touch just thinking about it.

But the image of Dante sparkling down at her, laughing…

“Shit,” she whispered. Not convenient.

Well, she’d just have to chill, wouldn’t she? She had a job to do. A role to play. There was tonight’s party, possibly another family gathering, then the wedding weekend itself and its associated events—rehearsal dinner, day-after brunch, whatever else. After that, she’d be done with the Santini family.

The thought gave her a pang. She really liked the Santini family.

With a sigh, she started her car, pulled up a podcast on oncology treatment and headed to Boston.

She found a miraculously available parking spot two blocks away from Lorenzo’s apartment, got out of her battered little Honda, lugged her dress bag and suitcase to 35 Beacon Street. She pushed the buzzer next to a nameplate that read Santini, and a minute later, Dr.Satan appeared.

He really was gorgeous, despite his neutral expression at seeing her. He looked like a Scandinavian model—the blue eyes, the fierce cheekbones—too cool and sophisticated for a mere American to comprehend.

“Hi,” she chirped, abruptly uncomfortable. “How are you?”

“Come in.”

“Nice to see you.”

“You too.” That was a lie, she was sure. But he took her suitcase and led the way through the foyer and opened the door for her. The apartment was 1A. Of course it was.

“Wow,” Lark said as she stood in the foyer. “This is…wow, Lorenzo.”

“Thanks.”

She walked into the living room and laid her dress bag across the back of a chair. The place was tasteful, posh and elegant. White furniture, Persian rugs, dark wood trim, a brick fireplace. The art on the walls was modern and mostly black on white. She should take pictures and send them to her mom for an assessment. Bet they cost a fortune. His bookcases were filled with medical tomes and hefty biographies (many about dictators, she noted with a grin, but one of Gandhi, too). Lots of stuff that had no purpose but looked pretty…a tray holding decorative rope balls. A glass orb. A twisted bronze sculpture. Some shell-like thing that wasn’t actually a shell. (Faux shells? In coastal Massachusetts?)

Tall windows overlooked a courtyard lined with neat inkberry bushes, and sunlight spilled in from the west. The apartment was stunning, she thought. And barren.

There was one family photo—Lorenzo in a gold cap and gown, his arm around Noni, who had been quite cute back in the day.

“Med school graduation?” she guessed.

“Yes. Johns Hopkins.”

She had a similar photo of her own med school graduation from Boston University, except everyone was in it. Mom, Dad, Grandpop, Mom’s parents, her four siblings, Esme and Imogen, who’d been an infant. And the Deans. Of course the Deans. It was one of at least a dozen family photos she had on display, and her place was a fraction of the size of this place. “You have a beautiful home, Lorenzo. Did you use the same interior decorator as the one who did your Cape house?”

“Yes. You can have the guest room. Third door on the right. I’m working right now, so if you’re hungry or thirsty, help yourself. Just don’t get drunk.”

“I wouldn’t get drunk, Lorenzo.”

He stared at a point over her head. “Questions?”

“Uh…no.”

“Good. Be ready by six thirty. Don’t be late.” He started to turn away.

“Wait, Lorenzo.”

He sighed.

“Ask me how my day was.”

“See, I asked you to be a…” His voice trailed off as he searched for the right word.

“An escort?”

“A companion, so we don’t have to do this…talking thing.”

“How was your day, Dr.Satan?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Did you get outside and enjoy this beautiful weather?”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yes. I went for a run at six a.m. I also ate lunch in the courtyard.” He nodded toward the window.

“What did you have?”

“Chickpea and avocado salad.”

“Sounds yummy. Now ask how my day was. Come on. You can do it.”

A huge sigh. “How was your day, Dr.Smith?”

“Wicked fun,” she said. “I loved hanging out with your family. Henry’s mother seems lovely, and her falcon is—” She bit down on a laugh. “Breathtaking. We had a great time.”

“How wonderful for everyone involved.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. It may have been her imagination, but he almost smiled.

She went into the kitchen—white cabinetry, black stone countertops—and opened the refrigerator. It was like an ad for Marie Kondo—neat little rows of San Pellegrino, same-sized glass containers full of cut-up fruits and vegetables, glass bottles of orange juice and milk. Cartons would be so pedestrian. There was a bowl full of lemons and limes, another of reddish gold apples. Fresh dill in a vase. Pricey condiments lined the door, all in same-sized jars. No butter, no cheese. She took out some milk, and he got a glass from the cupboard and handed it to her. “Got any Oreos to go with this?”

“No.” He didn’t smile.

“That was a joke,” she said as she poured. “Hey, I have to warn you that your grandmother still doesn’t seem to like me. I haven’t been able to make any inroads there.”

The milk was amazingly good, creamy and rich. Whole milk? Was this a sign that he was indeed human and subject to indulgence now and then?

“That’s fine,” he said. “Noni’s very particular. She doesn’t have to like you.”

“I thought you wanted to reassure her that you’d end up with a lovely partner, and weren’t a bitter, dried-up husk, alone except for his work.”

“That is the point, but she doesn’t have to like you.”

“Does she actually worry about you finding someone?”

He sighed. “She said it would be a shame if I didn’t have children. That I should find a woman who…”

“Go on.” This would be good.

“Who appreciates my gifts and would be a traditional wife.”

“Oh! A traditional wife? In other words, worship you and do all the work of marriage, home and child raising herself while asking nothing from you.”

“She’d have financial security, beautiful surroundings and every comfort, so yes.”

“Sounds like a housekeeper-slash-nanny. Is that what you want?”

He sighed. “I suppose, yes.”

“Have you ever been in love, Lorenzo?”

“I’m in the middle of reviewing notes for a very complicated surgery, Dr.Smith. Can we not…talk?”

“Sure. I just thought it’d be more convincing if I knew—”

“Lark, you’re just an…obstruction, okay? A human barrier preventing my family from trying to set me up, or wring their hands over my lack of attachment. My parents still feel guilty over sending me away to school. If they think I have someone, they feel better. My grandmother knows I’m not close to many people and worries that I’ll be bereft without her. Even if we’re not really together, even when we break up, you give them a reason to…”

“Hope?”

He cut her a look. “To back off.”

Had he smiled, it would’ve been…but he didn’t, so…“At least you’re honest,” she said. “Okay, the interrogation is over. Which is my room again?”

“Third door on the right. Six thirty. Don’t be late.” He turned his back to go into his office.

“I’m never late,” she said.

“You were eleven minutes late for the family picnic.”

“That was intentional. It’s called fashionably late.”

“It’s called eleven minutes late,” he said, then closed the door.

She couldn’t help a smile as she went down the hall. The guest room was similarly well appointed and sterile. White bed, white decorative pillows, sumptuous gray throw blanket, beautiful maple dresser. She unpacked, hanging her pink dress carefully, then peeked in the guest bathroom. Okay, she’d definitely be taking a bath in that giant tub. But first, a nap.

The conversation with Lorenzo had left her soul feeling a little unsettled. She hadn’t anticipated liking his family quite so much…or having Noni be such a tough nut to crack. When Lorenzo had first asked her to do this, she’d pictured a sweet little old lady who’d light up at the sight of Lark, be so relieved her darling boy had found someone at last. Lark hadn’t expected someone who hissed and glared.

She took out the picture of her and Justin she always brought with her if she was sleeping somewhere else—their engagement photo. His parents had paid for a photographer, and they’d gone to the Common. In the photo, Justin had picked her up, and their foreheads were resting against each other, both of them radiating joy.

We loved with a love that was more than love.

They really had. It was good to remember that.

It just seemed so long ago.

At 6:58 p.m., she and Lorenzo got out of a hired town car and walked into the Copley Plaza. Lark wore the dress and shoes he’d chosen, as well as a pair of diamond stud earrings Addie had given her as a maid of honor present. The adorable purse contained her phone, wallet and tissues, since she knew she’d get teary at the toasts. She’d texturized her hair, then spent half an hour securing it into an updo with no fewer than twenty-two bobby pins and half a can of spray so it would stay put. Mascara, blush, neutral lip gloss.

Lorenzo had looked at her as she emerged from her room at 6:29 p.m., simply nodded and opened the door so they could leave. He wore a tux (custom made, no doubt) and looked as icy and handsome as a Norwegian prince.

The other Santinis were gathered in the foyer, all looking beautiful and a lot more approachable. Sofia wore a pale blue Grecian-style gown, looking like a movie star with her curly black hair piled on her head. Izzy had on a short, bright green shift dress, and Anita was dressed in a floral blue and white print.

“Oh, my God, you look amazing!” Izzy said. “Turn around! Girl! Look at this low back! Fire, honey. Fire! Dante, help us out here, or Lark’s gonna burn the place down.”

Dante glanced her way, did a double take, then recovered. She felt her own cheeks grow hot.

“You look very handsome, Dante,” she said, nodding at his blue suit.

“You clean up nice, too, Doc,” he said. He gave her a quick smile and glanced away.

Noni was in a long dress (no wig, obviously), and Lorenzo immediately went to her side and bent over to say hello. There. He smiled. He was capable of it. Then he pushed her wheelchair into the St. James Room, the “intimate” space for only 150 people. The rest of them followed.

“I feel like I’m on the set of Bridgerton,” Izzy said. “Wow.”

Wow was right. The carved wooden ceiling was dazzling, and the giant chandelier glowed. On the tables sat lush flower arrangements of blush roses, creamy lisianthus and pink peonies with trailing English ivy. Huge windows overlooked the street, and all the guests were dressed to kill. Lark was suddenly glad she had on this particular outfit. She definitely didn’t look poor and out of place, as Lorenzo had so inelegantly put it.

There were probably seventy-five people there, sipping cocktails, talking in clumps and clusters. Lots of laughter, lots of excitement, definitely good mojo. Sofia and Henry moved through the crowd, greeting their guests. Henry was his mother’s only child—his dad had remarried and had one or two kids significantly younger, as Lark recalled. But Jocelyn had quite a few siblings, she learned, and there were lots of aunts and uncles on both sides.

“So nice to meet you,” Lark said over and over. “I’m Lark Smith, Lorenzo’s girlfriend.”

“Lorenzo has a girlfriend?” was the standard response.

“It’s still new,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush with the lie. Mom had had a point about dishonesty. But she was welcomed and kissed and complimented as her date stood by like a disdainful royal, watching and judging, his expression only thawing a bit when he looked at Sofia, clearly his favorite sibling, or spoke to Noni, who seemed sharper around him.

He really wanted to impress, Lark thought with a pang of sympathy. He wanted everyone to see this…his success, his generosity, his good taste. It was sad. She would’ve loved to see him laughing, flirting with some of the older women, as Dante and Silvio were, showing genuine warmth and affection. But he was not hers to fix, and he didn’t think he needed fixing.

When they sat down, Silvio took the microphone and welcomed everyone, and Jocelyn said a few words, too, then Sofia and Henry said how glad they were to be here.

“Thanks to my wonderful big brother for throwing us this absolutely beautiful party,” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “I’m so proud to be your sister, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo gave a courtly nod. Lark put her hand over his and gave it a squeeze. He was a generous brother, and Sofia’s happiness was contagious. After a second, Lorenzo squeezed back. He didn’t let go, either.

It was not a comfortable sensation. Lark suddenly felt like there was a spotlight on the two of them, on their joined hands. It felt weird and unnatural, like her hand wasn’t her own, really. She tolerated it as long as she could, then subtly slid her hand free and took a sip of champagne.

She didn’t like touching Dr.Satan. Robbie and Grandpop were going to be disappointed. Not the rom-com they were looking for.

Other than that one moment, Lorenzo more or less ignored her as the evening went on. Oh, he made sure she had a glass of champagne and pulled out a chair for her, but talking? No. But that’s what she was here for, right? To be charming and not emotionally needy or too attached to her date. Maybe she should’ve taken Lorenzo up on his offer to pay her after all.

All her life, Lark had been used to a certain amount of attention. She was an identical twin, which came with instant celebrity. She knew she and Addie were pretty (possibly beautiful). All the Smiths were. But Addie had always been the center of attention when they were together, the life of the party, the organizer of the events. Lark had been better at hanging back to admire her twin (which she totally did), holding Harlow’s hand or playing with Robbie and Winnie. Even with her closer friends, like Jordyn from elementary school, Luis from work, or with Joy, she liked being a sideliner, listening more than she spoke, encouraging their stories, their feelings. It was safe and comfortable, something she’d learned from the uterus on.

Maybe that was why Justin had made such an impact on her when they were five. He saw her. Not as the quiet twin. Just as herself. With him, and with his parents, there’d been room for her to shine, too, and the love she’d gotten from Justin had been as warm and steady as the sun.

The point was, she thought now, chatting about the wedding with Sofia’s best friend from college, being a sideliner had always allowed Lark to see things.

And what she saw now was that Lorenzo was avoiding his family. He loved Sofia and honored Noni as the matriarch, both protective of and deferential to her. But otherwise, he kept a huge distance. It wasn’t pride, she thought. It was…shame? He would glance at his parents, then quickly look away before they saw. He seemed irritated by Izzy, maybe because he felt she should’ve become a doctor, maybe because she lacked the slight air of worship Sofia had for him. A tight smile for his mother, then back to Noni, who was drinking gin and frowning at the appetizers.

But he could barely look at Dante. Every time Dante was in his line of vision, Lorenzo’s gaze bounced away. There was a universe of unspoken emotion lurking between the brothers. Dante, on the other hand, would look at Lorenzo steadily, without hostility but without a sliver of warmth, either.

“Hey,” said Izzy, appearing at her side. “You doing okay?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “I don’t get to play dress-up too often. How about you? Having a good time?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have a special someone, Izzy?” she asked.

Izzy snorted. “No. Just broke up with a radiology tech after he wasted six months of my life. Why pretend you’re interested in marriage when you’re still on Tinder, huh? Why?”

Lark shuddered. “You’re better off without him.”

“I know. Still.” She rolled her eyes. “Sofia’s the only one of us who found the golden ticket so far.” She smiled at her sister, who stood just a few feet away.

So Dante was single, too, then. She hadn’t seen a date, but she was also trying not to pay attention to him, and also not to ignore him, and also not to blush if she did catch his eye, and also to feign interest in and chemistry with Lorenzo. And she’d thought organic chem had been hard.

“Did you just call my son the golden ticket, Isabella?” said Jocelyn, approaching with a glass of champagne in her hand. “Thank you, honey. He’s a good boy, for sure.”

“When do we get to meet his dad?” Izzy asked.

“Oh, he’ll be at the wedding. He lives in Oregon with his second family and couldn’t make it tonight. We talk every now and then. Amicable divorce and all that. He went back to his parents in China for a while after we divorced…Henry was fifteen or so…and we didn’t talk much then. I think his second wife really brings out the best in him, though. She pushed him to reconnect with Henry. I really like her. Maybe she upped his game in the bedroom, too. He was terrible in the sack. Don’t tell my son I said so. Sorry, am I oversharing?”

“You are,” said Izzy, smiling at Lark. “And we love it.”

“Any secrets on Lorenzo, Lark?” Jocelyn said. “He’s a bit of a mystery in the family, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, Lark. Any secrets?” Izzy raised an eyebrow.

Did she know?

Lorenzo was looking at her. Like a dog hearing his name, he was paying abrupt attention.

“You know,” Lark said carefully, “I think he takes the role of firstborn son very seriously. Always feels like he has to be in charge, which makes him a great surgeon. But it’s hard for him to relax. Once he does, though, he’s great.” A statement that might well be correct, Lark thought. Not that she had any firsthand knowledge of it.

“He is?” Isabella asked, looking at her brother. “Lorenzo, are you great when you relax? Because that’s the rumor over here.”

“Whatever Lark says must be true,” he said somberly.

“Okay, then.” Izzy smiled at him. “I look forward to you relaxing.”

See?Lark wanted to tell Lorenzo. She likes you. You could be friends.

During dinner, Lark sat between Lorenzo and Anita, and to his credit, Lorenzo spoke to her. “Is your dinner okay?” and “No, thank you” when she offered him bread. Otherwise, he spoke in Italian to his grandmother, with Silvio occasionally commenting.

“Sofia, Dante and I don’t speak Italian,” Izzy said in response to her unasked question. “We feel very inferior, right, Dante?” The two sat across from her.

“Absolutely,” he said. “We’re the Luddites of the family. Lorenzo got all the smarts.”

“I resent that,” Izzy said. “I mean, you’re dumb, Dante, but I’m quite smart.”

“You’re not dumb, honey!” Anita said. She put her hand on her younger son’s arm. “Do you have a single sister, Lark? Maybe you could fix him up.” She beamed.

“I do have a single sister,” Lark said, smiling back.

“Sign me up,” Dante said. “I don’t even need to meet her. If she’s your sister, Lark, she must be great. Call the priest, Ma.”

“And you said you have a single brother, so that takes care of me,” Izzy said.

“I’m pretty sure he won’t be single for long,” Lark said. “He’s in love with our big sister’s best friend. You’ll need to move fast.”

“It would make holidays very simple, if three of my kids married three Smith kids,” Anita said.

“Okay. I’ll tell my parents,” Lark said, laughing. “We could do a three-for-one wedding and save money.”

“Are you and Lorenzo already talking marriage?” Anita asked, her eyes wide. Lorenzo gave Lark a knifelike look. “Because if the answer is yes, I approve! I’d be over the moon! I’d—”

“Easy, Ma,” Dante said as Izzy laughed. His dark eyes were warm on Lark. “You have to be more careful,” he explained. “She’s been saying novenas for my brother to find a wife since he was fourteen.”

“Sorry, Anita,” Lark said. “It’s way too early for anything like that just yet. I was kidding.”

“Of course you were, sweetie. But if you weren’t, that would be fine, too.”

“Let me change the subject,” Izzy said. “Lark, what do you like doing in your spare time?”

“Well, I’m a resident, so a lot of my time is spent researching things that come up at work,” she said. “But I paint a little, since my mom’s an artist. I ride my bike a lot, because we have the Cape Cod Rail Trail. Connery likes to come, too.” She took her phone out and pulled up a picture of Connery sitting in her bike basket. “I should put him in modeling school. He’s a natural.”

“Like Toto in The Wizard of Oz,” Anita said, smiling. “And, Lark, you’re so pretty, you could be on the cover of a magazine. Seriously, you’re tall enough to model.”

“And yet she chose to use her brain instead of becoming a human coat hanger,” Lorenzo said. “Shocking.”

An awkward silence fell over the table. Dante stared at his brother, unsmiling.

Lark gave Lorenzo a hard look. “I’m pretty sure it was a compliment, Pooh Bear,” Lark said, knowing the endearment would grate on him. “And thank you, Anita. My twin sister did some modeling, actually. It’s not as simple as it seems. You need to know the market you’re selling to, and understand photography and light. It can be really physical, too.”

“Excuse me,” Dante said, getting up from the table.

“Can we circle back to Pooh Bear?” Izzy asked.

“No,” Lorenzo said.

Conversation wandered back to Sofia and Henry, but yes, Lark was sure now. Something big had gone down between the brothers. It wasn’t just sibling rivalry.

“All finished here?” a waiter asked. “Oh, hey, Lark!”

“Hey!” It was…gosh, what was his name? “Lionel! How are you?”

“Great! I’d hug you, but…” He smiled and shrugged. She and Lionel had been at BU together, lived on the same hall freshman year and stayed friends throughout school.

In other words, he’d known Justin.

“What’s new with you?” she quickly asked.

“Oh, not much. I was a paralegal for a while—corporate tax law, so boring—then thought I’d become a chef. Got a job with this caterer to learn the ropes.”

“Excellent!” She smiled hard, but she knew it was coming.

“Listen, I want to say how—”

“Oh, shoot! My phone!” Lark said, whipping it out of her purse. “It was so good to see you, Lionel. Message me sometime, okay? I’m on the Cape, but we should reconnect. Sorry! Bye!”

She put her phone against her ear as if she had heard it ring and zipped out of the room, the silk dress swishing against her legs, the air cool on her back. Her heart was thudding.

Things like this happened all the time. All the time. Just…not for a while.

There had been the friends who’d been there every step of the way for her and Justin—Jordyn and Mike, Justin’s freshman year roommate. Luz, her study partner in calculus at BU. Family, of course. There had been the people who’d come to the funeral. The people who had sent donations to Dana-Farber in his name, or had sent touching cards or had called or emailed or texted. And then there were the people who had known but hadn’t done squat.

Lionel was in that last group. She didn’t want his condolences seven years too late. He could’ve sent a fucking card. A Facebook message. Something.

Being here, in this hotel, the nicest in Boston, was abruptly too much. After all, this was where she and Justin had first been together, the love story that had begun as children finally consummated when they were college students. She’d been determined not to make their places a shrine of sorrow, had been to this hotel at least five times since Justin’s death, but…but…

He was getting to be so long ago. So long ago.

Tears burned in her eyes. What she wouldn’t give right now for a glimpse of him, leaning in the corner, smiling at her, that thick dark hair, his navy blue eyes. But the memories of him in real life were being replaced by the movies of him, photos. His smell, his voice, the feeling of his hands, his laugh had been fading for years now, a sad, fragile mist succumbing to the harsh rays of every day that had passed since his death.

A wedding was taking place in another ballroom—the beautiful marbled lobby was packed with people in tuxedos and sparkling dresses, clearly waiting for the happy couple. Yep. There was the bride, beautiful dress, gorgeous hair. Lark pasted on a smile and slipped around people and smiled some more. The hotel lobby was huge, and once she cleared that crowd, she headed down the hall and found a little quiet area near the Dartmouth Street entrance.

An empty chair, some cool air and maybe she could fend off the storm of memories battering her. Turkey club sandwiches and root beer in bed. High tea with Heather. Her twenty-first birthday, when Justin had brought her here for her first legal drink. Brunch on graduation weekend, the Smiths and the Deans, talking about the future, that happy future filled with jobs and medical school, a wedding, children, a home filled with love.

Let’s get married right now.

The memory of her own voice echoed in her head.

Get it together, Larkby.Addie’s voice, always bringing her back. Her strongest tether to this life. Her twin’s advice, imagined or real, was spot-on. She’d just sit a minute and take a few breaths and maybe text the Deans. She blotted her eyes with a tissue, grateful for the waterproof mascara, then took out her phone and sent Heather and Theo a quick message.

Thinking of you guys. Love you!

A second later, Heather answered. We love you, too, sweetheart! What are you up to tonight? Want to come over?

At a friend’s engagement party in Boston. Very fancy and fun!She almost hit “send,” then changed engagement to birthday. Izzy had taken a picture of her an hour or so ago so she could send it to Addie, and Lark now sent that same picture to the Deans. Check out my dress!

So! Damn! Beautiful! Have fun, darling! Love from Theo, too.

They were such good people. So kind. They’d never begrudge her happiness. No. They wanted her to live a full life, find a new person to love, have children. They’d said so a dozen times or more.

Lark was the one who had a hard time picturing all that.

“Hey. You okay?”

Her head jerked up, and light seemed to flash through her veins. She felt her face flush. Be cool, she told herself. Remember why you’re here. “Hi, Dante. Yeah, sure. Just needed a little quiet.” His face was somber. “Are you okay?”

He sat in the chair next to her. “Yep. I imagine it’s kind of a lot in there, all those people for you to meet.”

“I’m having a great time.”

“Liar.” He winked, as he’d been taught to at the Hot Fireman School, no doubt. “I’m pretty sure I saw a tear or two just now.”

Damn it. “Happy couples make me weepy.”

“Same.” God, he was adorable. “You sure, though?” His mischievous grin dropped a notch or two. “I have sisters. I know how to listen.”

She felt her heart knot. I lost my virginity in this hotel, Dante. With the boyfriend who became my fiancé who then died. “I’m sure. How about you? I can’t help noticing you and Lorenzo are…well, you’re not super close, are you?”

He laughed a little, that nice ashy sound that made the pit of her stomach clench. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“I have a brother and also know how to listen,” she said, smiling as she echoed his words. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He slid her a look, and man, his eyes were so dark, they were almost black. Espresso brown. “I do not. Let’s just say there was a girl.”

“Oh! There was a girl. I see.” She ventured a pat on his knee. “I’m happy to tell you there are more girls in the world, and I’ve seen about twenty checking you out tonight.”

He laughed again and shook his head. “Are you as nice as you seem, Lark? Because if you are, you—” He stopped. “Sorry. Never mind.”

“No, no, you can’t do that. What were you going to say?” Because it suddenly seemed very important that he finish his sentence. Her heart banged against her sternum. God! This wasn’t like her.

He looked at his hands. Were his biceps straining against the sleeves of his suit? Yes. That wasn’t important (but my God, wow). Dante took a breath, then said, very carefully, “I’m guessing you’re very good for my brother. I hope he’s good for you, too.” His voice was low and she felt it. Every cell in her body seemed to surge toward him.

“Who was the girl?” she asked.

He looked at her a long time. Then, just like that, whatever electricity flared between them was gone, turned off by some switch Dante had just flipped. The mood was normal again, and he was just the nice brother in a family she was getting to know.

The disappointment surprised her.

“She was a model,” he said. “And that’s all I’m gonna say about that. Coming back to the party, miss? Want a hot firefighter to escort you?”

Message received. I’m just the flirty brother, nothing to see here. “I do, yes,” she said. “Can you find me one?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, she’s a firecracker, all right. Come on, pretty in pink.” He offered his hand, and she took it as she stood, and a current of heat ran straight down her arm.

“After you,” he said, letting go of her hand and gesturing for her to go ahead of him. “And, uh…helluva dress, Lark.”

She turned and looked at him over her shoulder. “Thank you for noticing, sir.”

Yep. Dante Santini was going to be a problem. For one, Lark was supposed to be dating his brother. For two…

For two, she was terrified of ever being in love again.