5. Adriano #2
The lunchbox comes back to me first. Letty dropped hers in the preschool parking lot yesterday and reacted like the world had personally betrayed her because the cartoon cat on the front apparently “understood her emotionally.” Casey had handled it before I arrived, somehow redirecting the entire disaster into a conversation about stickers and glitter pens by the time I got there.
I hadn’t thought about the fact she must have replaced it with her own money.
The cough medicine bothers me more.
Letty woke up congested this morning, insisting she was “perfectly healthy” between coughs dramatic enough to suggest otherwise. Casey had mentioned stopping at the pharmacy after pickup.
Again, her money.
The amount itself is irrelevant. I could spend ten times that before breakfast and never notice the difference. What bothers me is the principle of it. Casey works for me. She takes care of my daughter. If Letty needs something, I provide it.
That’s how this works.
Except Casey seems determined to behave as though accepting anything beyond the strict boundaries of her job comes with consequences she doesn’t trust.
The thought settles uncomfortably somewhere in the back of my mind as voices drift in from outside.
I move toward the patio doors quietly enough that neither of them notices me at first.
The evening air still carries warmth from the day, the scent of chlorine from the pool mixing with freshly cut grass. Letty is sprawled across the outdoor rug with crayons scattered around her while Casey sits cross-legged beside her wearing one of Letty’s plastic tiaras crookedly on her head.
“Dragons do not wear pink glitter crowns,” Casey says with complete seriousness.
“Yes, they do.”
“That compromises the dignity of the species.”
Letty gasps loudly enough to suggest genuine offense. “No, it doesn’t.”
“It absolutely does.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Casey presses a hand against her chest. “I learned from the best.”
Letty dissolves into laughter, falling sideways onto the rug hard enough that crayons scatter in every direction.
The sound fills the space differently lately. Warmer somehow. Less careful.
Casey laughs too, and for a second, I catch a glimpse of the version Isabella described before she arrived here. The woman who teased easily, and who apparently informed Matteo he had “the energy of a rich raccoon” within ten minutes of meeting him.
Then she notices me standing there.
The smile disappears almost immediately, not forced away exactly, but tucked back behind something more measured.
I’ve started noticing how often she does that.
“Daddy,” Letty says the second she spots me over Casey’s shoulder. “Casey says dragons need dignity.”
“She’s right.”
Casey snorts softly under her breath before she can stop herself.
I step fully onto the patio.
“You’re home early,” she says, already smoothing her expression back into professionalism.
There’s that shift again, the subtle withdrawal that happens whenever attention settles too directly on her.
I’d started noticing it several days ago, mostly because it seemed instinctive rather than deliberate, as though some part of her no longer trusts comfort enough to remain inside it for very long.
“Earlier than expected,” I reply.
Letty climbs onto her knees and shoves a drawing toward me. “Look.”
The dragon is aggressively purple.
“It looks dangerous.”
“It breathes lightning.”
“Of course it does.”
“Casey said fire was overdone.”
Casey immediately looks offended. “I said fire lacked originality.”
Letty points triumphantly. “See?”
I look between them, my attention catching briefly on the tiara still sitting slightly crooked in Casey’s hair. She either hasn’t noticed it or Letty insisted it stay there.
Neither possibility feels entirely normal in my chest.
I hand the drawing back to Letty. “Go wash your hands for dinner.”
“I’m not dirty.”
“You have marker on your face.”
Her eyes widen in horror before she sprints into the house without another word.
Silence settles comfortably in her absence for a moment.
Casey reaches up then, her fingers brushing the tiara as though she’s only just remembered it exists. A faint flush touches her cheeks as she removes it carefully and sets it beside her on the rug.
“I lost a battle of wills,” she says.
She makes no move to get up, and I like that she trusts me enough not to feel the need.
“You were wearing a tiara.”
“I’m painfully aware. And a plastic one at that. I should complain to management about the lack of diamonds.”
Her dry humor edges beneath the embarrassment, and it suits her far better than the distance she usually keeps wrapped around herself. I like the idea of her dripping in diamonds.
I hold the receipt out toward her.
Her expression changes the second she sees it. Not dramatically, but enough that I notice the way her shoulders straighten slightly, the softness leaving her mouth almost immediately.
“You used your own money.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“That’s not the point, she’s my child, I’ll pay for her things.”
Her fingers curl loosely around the plastic tiara resting in her lap. “I submitted the receipt.”
“I saw that.”
“I can expense it formally if you’d prefer.”
Like she expects criticism rather than concern.
I don’t entirely understand why that irritates me. “You shouldn’t be spending your money on Letty.”
The words come out flatter than intended, but softness has never improved clarity.
Casey glances away briefly toward the pool before meeting my eyes again. “She needed things. I was already there.”
“And I employ you. There’s a difference.”
Something flickers across her expression then, quick enough that I almost miss it. Not offense exactly. Something sharper.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters.”
The evening breeze catches a loose strand of her hair and blows it across her mouth before she tucks it back absently. Everything about her lately feels restrained, as though she’s constantly measuring how much of herself she allows into a room before deciding it’s safer to offer less.
I pull my wallet from my pocket and remove the black Amex.
Her reaction is immediate. “No.”
The answer comes too quickly to be casual.
I set the card on the patio table between us. “Use this for anything Letty needs.”
Her eyes lift to it briefly before flitting back to mine cautiously. “That’s not necessary.”
“It is.”
“I’m perfectly capable of paying for—”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
Something in her expression hardens slightly at that, pride surfacing beneath the careful professionalism she usually hides behind. “I’m not asking you for money, Adriano.”
The fact she uses my name still lands differently than it should. “I’m aware,” I say evenly. “And I’m not offering charity.”
Inside the house, I can hear Letty singing badly to herself while she washes her hands.
Casey glances instinctively toward the sound before looking back at me.
“I trust you with my daughter. Why would I be hesitant about trusting you with my credit card?”
Casey shrugs. “I could blow thousands on something frivolous like gold toilet paper.”
I fight the smile. “It’s monitored.”
That almost earns me a smile.
Almost.
“Of course it is.”
“It’s also practical for you to have access to a card.”
“Fine. I can keep receipts.”
“I expect you to.”
A quiet breath leaves her somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement before her gaze drops back to the card resting between us.
She doesn’t touch it immediately. “Most people would just reimburse me,” she says quietly.
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” she murmurs softly. “You really aren’t.”
There’s no flirtation in the words. If anything, she sounds tired.
That unsettles me more than resistance would have. “Use the card,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do with the feeling.
Her fingers finally close around it slowly, carefully, like it weighs more than it should.
Maybe it does.
“Okay,” she says after a moment.
Simple. Honest. Cautious in a way that makes acceptance feel less like agreement and more like trust offered carefully against instinct.
I find myself watching her for a second too long, my attention catching on the faint marker streak across the side of her wrist and the way the evening light softens the gold in her hair.
She notices.
Of course she notices.
So I step back first.
“Dinner in ten.”
Then I turn toward the house before I can examine too closely why seeing her sitting there in a plastic tiara with my daughter’s crayons scattered around her suddenly feels far more dangerous than hostile shareholders ever did.