Midway through the meal, I excused myself to the restroom—and nearly collided with Antonella in the hallway.
Her smile was effortless, radiant. “Sofia? I didn’t expect to see you here.” She laughed lightly. “This is actually the first place Rocco brought me after my coming-of-age ceremony. We’ve eaten here more times than I can count.”
I returned a polite smile, controlled and distant, and attempted to pass her.
She stepped slightly into my path. “Oh—by the way,” she added, tilting her head. “I noticed something last time. Rocco always rinses the shrimp before peeling it for you, right? And you don’t like spicy food either?”
I stopped.
I did like spicy food. Always had. Yet Rocco had rinsed the shrimp every time, insisting it was healthier, urging me to avoid heat and strong flavors. I’d believed it was care. Consideration.
Standing there, facing Antonella, the truth finally settled into place.
The person he had always been protecting, adjusting for, worrying about—it had never been me.
It had been her.
Her head angled to the side, eyes narrowing with sharp, deliberate interest—as though she were dissecting my face piece by piece, searching for something she already suspected.