31. New Rhythms
NEW RHYTHMS
RILEY
Ava's hand darted across the island and rescued the silicone pick before Luca could tuck it beside his strawberries.
"Blue dolphin goes in mine."
Luca lifted both palms. "My mistake. I forgot the lunch-box hierarchy."
"You forget it every Tuesday," she said solemnly.
"It's Thursday, princesa."
Ava considered that, then slid the dolphin into the smallest compartment of her bento. "Then you forgot it late."
I laughed and pressed the lid onto Luca's lunch. Dawn softened the windows to gold. The kitchen smelled like toast, mango, and the coffee Luca had poured without asking.
Three packed lunches lined the island. Ava's had cucumber moons and cheese stars. Luca's had twice the protein and, at his insistence, no decorative picks. Mine held a folded note beneath the napkin because Ava had decided grand openings required encouragement.
I hadn't read it yet. My mascara needed to survive until the ribbon cutting.
"Schedule," Luca said.
I pointed toward the visual board on the refrigerator. "School drop-off at eight. Bianca's meeting me at the event wing at eight-thirty. Ribbon cutting at ten. Quiet room stays open all day."
"And pickup?" Ava asked.
"I've got it," Luca and I answered together.
We looked at each other.
His mouth tipped at one corner. "Apparently, we're excellent communicators."
"Or deeply controlling."
"Efficient."
"Bossy."
Ava pushed the lids onto our bentos with two clicks. "Teamwork," she corrected.
Luca's gaze met mine over the lunches.
Months ago, every plan in this house had felt temporary. My suitcase had stayed half-packed. Luca had held every routine in a white-knuckled grip. Ava had watched us both for signs that something might disappear.
Now Luca handed me my coffee, his fingers brushing mine without hesitation. Ava tucked the lunches into canvas bags, humming. Nothing about the morning felt dramatic. That was the miracle.
I kissed Ava's curls, then Luca's stubbled cheek.
"Ready?" he asked.
I looked at the three bags waiting by the door.
"Yeah," I said. "We are."
The ribbon parted beneath my scissors, and the courtyard erupted.
Applause rolled through the glass doors, mingling with camera shutters and champagne flutes. For half a second, I forgot to breathe.
Then Bianca bumped her shoulder against mine.
"Smile, and try to look like you partially own the place."
"I am smiling."
"You're mentally recounting the table linens."
I widened it until she laughed, and the knot beneath my ribs loosened.
The brass letters beside the entrance caught the sun: Santoro Events. Below them was the promise I had written myself.
Celebrations designed for every guest.
Staff members crowded the steps, wearing pins identifying sensory-trained team members. Beyond them, two investors nodded as Maria demonstrated the adjustable lighting controls. No skeptical glances. No polite indulgence. They were listening.
I stepped inside and began the tour.
"The main salon divides into three sound-controlled spaces," I explained. "The quiet suite has a separate entrance, weighted seating, and visual schedules for children and adults. Inclusion isn't an add-on here. It's part of the design."
One investor touched the acoustic paneling. "And bookings?"
"Full through February," Bianca answered.
Pride warmed her voice and nearly undid me.
Across the room, Luca held his phone horizontally, recording with the concentration of a man filming evidence for trial. When I caught him zooming in, I pointed.
"No extreme close-ups."
His scarred eyebrow lifted. "I'm documenting history."
"You're documenting my pores."
"They're historic pores."
Laughter rippled through the group.
I should have continued. Instead, I held his gaze. He stood among the staff, not in front of me, watching me lead. Exactly where I needed him.
Bianca handed me a champagne flute. "To the woman who stopped asking permission."
I glanced around the wing I had once only sketched in borrowed notebooks.
"To everyone who opened the door," I said.
Luca lowered the phone long enough to mouth, You did this.
This time, I finally believed him.
By late afternoon, the champagne had been packed away, and the event wing smelled like tempera paint, salt dough, and citrus cleaner.
Ava sat at the end of the studio table with her headphones around her neck, a paintbrush pinched between two fingers. Sunlight filtered through the frosted windows, turning the room soft instead of bright.
I crouched beside her. "How's the volume?"
She glanced toward the children at the other tables. "Okay. Nobody is yelling with their whole body."
"That feels like an excellent review."
Her mouth twitched.
On the canvas, three dolphins curved through a pale green sea. Not blue. Green, gray, and a washed-out silver she had mixed herself.
"They look like sea glass," I said.
"That's what they are." She dabbed a lighter stripe along one fin. "Dolphins don't have to be loud colors just because they jump."
I reached for another brush, then stopped before touching her tray. "Can I?"
She nodded and slid the white paint toward me.
Together, we added tiny bubbles around the smallest dolphin. Around us, children pressed shells into clay and tested textured paper beneath their palms. No one asked Ava why she wore headphones. No one told another child to sit still. The room made space without announcing that it was doing so.
Ava leaned closer to the canvas.
"Riley?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for making quiet colors."
My hand stilled.
She kept painting, unaware she'd found the tenderest part of me.
I swallowed and steadied the cup before I knocked it over. "You're welcome, sweetheart."
Her shoulder settled against mine for one brief second.
Then she pointed at the largest dolphin. "That one is you."
"Because it's graceful?"
"Because it keeps checking on everybody."
I laughed, though my eyes burned. "Fair."
She tapped the middle dolphin.
"Daddy."
"And the little one?"
Ava looked at me as if the answer had never been in doubt.
"All of us," she said.
That evening, Donny arrived carrying enough food for twelve people, with Ma on one arm and the expression of a man expecting applause.
"I brought dinner," he announced.
Ma eyed the foil pans stacked against his chest. "You carried dinner. The restaurant made it."
Maddie stepped in behind them with two bakery boxes balanced on one palm. "Thank you. I've been explaining that distinction."
Donny pressed a hand to his chest. "Attacked by every woman before I'm through the door."
"You'll live," Ma said. "Unfortunately, you always do."
Luca laughed as he kissed her cheek and guided her inside. She cupped his face, studying him for a second longer than necessary.
"You're too skinny."
"I'm not."
"You were never good at knowing things."
Then she smiled, sharp and familiar, and patted his cheek.
We carried everything to the patio while Luca lit the grill anyway, because purchased lasagna apparently required charred vegetables to become a meal. Ma settled beside Ava, immediately inspecting the place settings.
"Riley sits by me," Ava said. "Daddy sits by Riley."
"And where do I sit?" Ma asked.
Ava pointed to the chair beside her. "Here."
Ma nodded. "The best seat. Your father finally raised someone sensible."
Donny leaned against the counter while Maddie arranged plates.
"You always boss people around in kitchens that aren't yours?"
"Only when they're doing it wrong."
His grin sharpened. "Good to know."
Ma glanced between them. "Donny, stop smiling like that. You look guilty."
"I haven't done anything."
"That has never stopped you from being guilty."
Laughter circled the table.
Halfway through dinner, Ma looked toward the house and frowned. "Did Luca call? He'll be late if he doesn't leave the gym soon."
The table quieted for one small beat.
Luca covered her hand with his. "I'm right here, Ma."
Her gaze traveled to his face. Confusion flickered, then cleared.
"Well, obviously." She squeezed his fingers. "Who else would overcook zucchini this badly?"
Conversation resumed around her, gentle and unforced. Under the table, Luca found my hand and held on. No one pretended the moment hadn't happened. No one let it take Ma away from us, either.
By sunset, the dishes were stacked inside and the house had gone quiet again.
Donny had volunteered to walk Maddie back to her room at the resort, insisting she couldn't possibly manage two nearly empty bakery boxes on her own. Maddie had rolled her eyes, but she hadn't refused.
Luca returned a few minutes later after taking Ma back to the senior living community. He stepped onto the patio with his keys still in one hand, his expression carrying that familiar mix of tenderness and worry he never quite managed to hide after leaving her.
"She settled okay?" I asked.
He nodded. "Made me check her door twice, then told me to stop hovering."
"Sounds like Ma."
His mouth curved. "Yeah."
Ava sat cross-legged in the grass, arranging shells around three painted wooden dolphins while Luca and I settled into the hammock.
His arm curved around my waist. I rested against his chest, listening to the slow thud beneath my ear. To my relief, he wasn't scanning the fence line or checking his phone. He was watching Ava.
"She added a fourth one," he said.
I followed his gaze. A tiny gold dolphin sat beside the sea-glass trio.
"Who's that?"
"Probably Donny."
Luca snorted. "Too calm."
The hammock swayed beneath us. Somewhere beyond the palms, waves broke against the shore. Ava hummed to herself, perfectly content in the pool of orange light.
Luca's hand spread over my stomach.
"I used to think peace meant nothing was happening," he said.
I tipped my head back to look at him.
His eyes stayed on the yard. "Before fighting, I needed noise. After Zoe died, I needed control. If everything was quiet, I figured I'd missed the thing coming to take it away."
My chest tightened, but I didn't rush to fill the silence.
He traced his thumb along my side. "Now quiet sounds like her humming. You laughing in the kitchen. The refrigerator running at two in the morning because you're stealing cheesecake."
"I was protecting it from spoilage."
"Heroic."
I smiled, then pressed my lips to his jaw.
His scar caught the last of the sunlight, a pale line against warm skin. Once, fighting had been the only way he knew to survive. Now he packed lunches, learned sensory cues, and listened when the people he loved needed quiet.
Ava looked up. "Daddy, Riley, watch."
She lifted the smallest dolphin and made it leap through the air.
Luca tightened his arm around me.
"I'm watching, princesa."
So was I.
And nothing in me was waiting for it to disappear.
We waited until Ava's sound machine had been humming steadily for nearly twenty minutes and Luca had checked twice that she was fully asleep. The bedroom door clicked shut behind us, and Luca caught me around the waist before I made it three steps.
"Quietly," I whispered, laughing against his mouth.
"Was planning to."
"You were not."
His grin brushed my lips. "Still not."
He kissed me again, slower this time, all heat and patience. The teasing softened into something deeper as he backed me toward the bed, his hands sliding beneath my shirt.
I tugged his over his head and traced the familiar lines of his chest, the scars that no longer felt like warnings. He watched me with that same stunned hunger he still hadn't learned to hide.
"What?" I asked.
"You."
The word made my pulse jump.
He lowered me onto the mattress and followed, his mouth moving over my neck, my collarbone, the sensitive curve beneath my breast. I bit down on a sound when his fingers slipped between my thighs.
"Quietly," he reminded me.
I gripped his shoulder. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"Not even a little."
His grin disappeared as he watched my face, working me open with slow, deliberate strokes until I trembled beneath him. Then he settled between my thighs and pushed inside with a groan, his forehead dropping to mine.
We moved together like we had all the time in the world, his mouth tracing the line of my throat as I arched into him. The headboard knocked once against the wall—too loud, too obvious—and we both froze.
From down the hall came only the steady hush of Ava's sound machine.
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
His eyes narrowed. "You think that's funny?"
"A little."
He rolled his hips, and the laugh broke into a gasp.
"Still funny?"
"Ask me later."
We found our rhythm—deep, unhurried, the kind that made my toes curl and my breath catch.
His hands moved over me with intimate certainty, one thumb brushing my nipple as his other hand threaded through my hair.
He knew where I would arch, where I would shiver—and still watched my face for permission.
"There," I breathed when he hit the spot that made my vision blur. He did it again, and again, until I was clenching around him, my nails raking down his back.
"Fuck," he muttered, his voice rough. "You feel?—"
I cut him off with a kiss, swallowing his groan as he thrust deeper, harder, until the bed creaked beneath us.
The sound machine's hum faded into the background, replaced by the wet slide of skin, the hitch of his breath, the way my name dragged over his lips, low and wrecked like it belonged to him.
When I came, it was with his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my hips like he was afraid I'd slip away. He followed a second later, his body tensing above me before collapsing against me, his heart hammering against my ribs.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, my leg slung over his thigh, his palm warm and heavy against my back. The room smelled like sweat and salt and the ocean rolling in and out beyond the window. Luca pressed a kiss to my temple, then my cheek, then my mouth—soft, lingering.
"Think we woke her?" he murmured.
I listened to the steady hum down the hall. "No. But your historic headboard may have filed a complaint."
His chest moved beneath me with a quiet laugh.
Luca kissed my hair.
"I spent so long fighting for a home," he whispered. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
I lifted my head.
There was no armor in his face. No fear waiting behind the words.
I kissed him once, soft and sure, then settled over his heart.
Home wasn't something either of us had to defend anymore.
It was the life we chose every day.