15. Adriano
Travel usually settles me. There’s a rhythm to it I understand—things moving when they’re supposed to, people doing what they’re meant to do, everything lining up without unnecessary complication.
Today, I can’t seem to drop into it properly.
Not because anything’s wrong. The car service was on time, our plane was waiting on the tarmac, and everything was as it should be. Except one thing—Casey.
Because I keep noticing her. I can’t keep my focus off her every movement. Watching for a wince, or a grimace of pain.
She says she’s fine.
And she’s a lot better than when I found her in crippling agony. She walked out of the house on her own, didn’t hesitate getting into the car, didn’t ask for help with anything she could manage herself.
Most people would leave it at that. I should leave it at that. I should respect the distance she’s trying to keep. It’s the smart thing to do, and I always do the smart thing.
This time I don’t. I can’t.
Because I’ve already seen what “not fine” looks like on her, and it’s not something I’ll forget quickly. The pain on her face isn’t something I can forget.
So I watch.
Not enough to irritate her or make her feel weak.
Not enough that she’d call me on it, but I keep track of the small things whether I mean to or not.
The way she lowers herself into the car gingerly instead of just sitting.
The slight shift after a few minutes, like she’s trying to get ahead of something before it catches up with her.
The way she keeps her expression easy, like none of it matters.
Like, if she pretends enough, everyone will think she’s fine and leave her alone to get on with it.
That last part irritates me.
Not because it’s impressive.
Because it feels practiced.
Like she’s done this often enough that it doesn’t occur to her to do it any other way.
I don’t like that.
I don’t think too hard about why.
The jet is warm when we step inside, a welcome shift from the cold outside, and she pauses just long enough at the entrance that most people wouldn’t notice it.
I do. This is taking a lot out of her already. Her pain levels might be easing a little, but from everything I read last night on the internet and in forums, her condition isn’t just about the pain. It’s exhaustion, nausea, and a whole host more.
I step in beside her, my hand settling at the small of her back as we move, guiding her through the space, aware of the slight pause before she lets it happen.
“Window?” I ask, glancing back.
She nods. “If that’s okay.”
“It is.”
I adjust the seat before she reaches it, shifting things just slightly so she doesn’t have to, then step aside so she can sit without it feeling like I’m managing the situation. I want to make things easier for her without making her feel vulnerable. I’m trying to be subtle so she doesn’t notice.
She notices.
Of course she does. There isn’t much that gets past this woman, which is why she’s so good with Letty.
But she doesn’t comment, just settles in carefully, pulling her coat in closer around her. “Thanks.”
I offer her a short nod. “You’re welcome.”
For a while, neither of us says much.
The quiet isn’t awkward. It just… sits there between us, different from what it was a few days ago.
More aware.
I find myself glancing over more than I should, not because there’s anything obvious to check, but because I want to be sure she’s still holding steady.
At some point, that stops being the only reason.
She’s turned slightly toward the window, the light catching along the edge of her face in a way that makes the details harder to ignore than they should be.
Long lashes casting shadows I hadn’t noticed before, the curve of her mouth softer when she’s not speaking, less guarded.
There’s something deliberate in the line of her jaw too, a quiet kind of stubbornness that fits far too well with everything else I’ve already seen.
She’s beautiful in that same classic way that Audrey Hepburn was. Not artifice or clever make-up tricks.
I look away a moment later.
Not because there’s anything wrong with the observation, but because of what it makes me feel. For the first time in a long time, I feel attraction on a level that’s more than superficial.
At one point, she shifts again, pressing her hand lightly against the armrest as she adjusts.
“You alright?” I ask before I think better of it.
She looks at me, something flickering across her face, surprise maybe, or just the fact that I asked.
“I’m fine,” she says, softer this time. “Thank you, Adriano. I don’t know if I’ve said it, but thank you for staying and taking care of me. It means a lot.”
“You never have to thank me for that, Casey. I was doing what was needed.”
Her head tilts, her hair falling over her shoulder, and I’m reminded of how silky the strands felt as they fell through my fingers earlier.
“Regardless. I’m grateful.”
I nod gently and don’t push it.
I hate the idea that nobody has ever looked after her before, and vow to ask Isabella about it when I get the chance.
Aspen hits you all at once. The cold, the light, the way the air feels sharper the second you step out of the plane, clean enough that it almost stings.
She exhales beside me, her breath visible in the air, her shoulders lifting slightly as the temperature settles in.
“Still happy you came?” I ask.
She glances at me, a small smile breaking through. “Ask me again when I can feel my fingers.”
“That seems fair. Wait until you taste the hot chocolate here. It’s as close to heaven as it gets.”
Her brow arches and she smiles again, and I find myself wanting to earn more of those. “Are you telling me you’re a hot chocolate fan? I did not expect that.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You strike me as black coffee, hot and strong like your heart.”
I place my hand on my chest and feign woundedness. “I’m wounded, Casey.”
“Are you saying you don’t drink black coffee?”
“Of course I do. I have a reputation to uphold and a black heart to nourish.”
Her smile is wide and I can’t help but return it. “I knew it.”
We make our way across the snow toward the car, the crunch underfoot loud in the quiet, and I slow my pace without thinking about it, matching hers instead of expecting her to keep up.
She doesn’t comment.
But she doesn’t rush either. I take that as a win.
The house is exactly as I remember. We bought it a few years ago, between the three of us, not because we couldn’t afford to buy one each, but because we wanted a place that was for family so we could reconnect as brothers, and now that includes Isabella and her family.
Warm light spills through the huge windows, movement inside makes something in my shoulders ease, the sound of laughter carrying faintly even before we reach the door.
It opens before we knock.
“Finally,” Nico says, already stepping back to let us in. “I was starting to think you’d decided not to bother.”
“I considered it,” I reply, stepping inside, the warmth hitting me immediately.
“Rude,” Isabella says from somewhere behind him, though her attention shifts almost instantly to my left. “Casey—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before I hear—
“Daddy!”
Letty barrels toward me like she hasn’t seen me in weeks instead of days, and I catch her easily, lifting her up as she wraps herself around me.
“You’re late,” she says, like this is a personal failure.
“I’m sorry, Jellybean, but we’re here now,” I reply, settling her against me.
“I missed you.”
God, this child humbles me every time. No matter what I do in my life, getting to be her father is the one thing that gives me the most pride and joy. “Missed you too, Jellybean.” My voice has a rasp to it I can’t hide.
Her head drops to my shoulder for a minute, and I take in the scent of her shampoo and just hold her. I know there will come a time when she won’t want hugs like this from me. “Have you been good?”
Her head lifts and she considers that question seriously, then nods. “Yes.”
“Good.”
She pats my cheek before twisting slightly to look past me. “Casey!”
I turn before I think about it.
She’s just inside the doorway, taking it all in—the noise, the movement, the sheer number of people talking at once—and for a second, there’s that same pause I’ve started to recognize. Wariness, wondering if she should stay outside or if she’s welcome on the inside.
Then she smiles, and I feel something heavy in my chest shift.
Fuck. I’m in trouble.
The room fills around us quickly.
Voices overlap, conversations start and restart before they finish, Matteo is already talking over Nico about something neither of them is willing to concede on, Rossi looks like he’s given up trying to follow it entirely, and Elena is laughing softly like she’s heard this argument before.
“Tell me you didn’t let him try his hand at your rosemary focaccia,” Matteo says, pointing at Nico as he looks accusingly at Elena.
“She didn’t. Elena is my mother-in-law, for the record, not yours, and knows my limits.” Nico replies. “And I value our continued survival and love my wife too much to risk her health with my bread-making skills.”
“Debatable,” Rossi mutters.
“Oh, so we’re laying claim to Elena as your mother-in-law now, are we? What happened to family and sharing? I don’t have a mother or a mother-in-law. Stop being so selfish, Nic.”
I rub the bridge of my nose, a headache already forming as I listen to their antics.
I love my brothers, I truly do, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
But right now I need a drink, some food, and a nap.
Taking care of Casey meant I didn’t sleep much.
I kept watching her for signs of pain, or at least that’s what I tell myself.
“Hi,” Isabella says, pulling Casey into a hug that’s gentle but deliberate, her eyes scanning her quickly in a way that doesn’t miss much.
Letty scrambles out of my arms, and I watch her carefully as she runs toward Casey.
“You look tired.”
I groan internally at my daughter’s brutal honesty and give Casey an apologetic look.