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ALESSIA

I hug Mara first, feeling her arms wrap around me in a quick, tight squeeze. "Stay safe," I whisper into her ear, and she nods against my shoulder.

"You too," she murmurs back, and I sense the hint of concern in her voice that she can never quite hide. Mara always worries, especially when it comes to family after the death of Uncle Alberto. We pull away, and I turn to Valentina, who’s waiting with a small smile, her hand resting instinctively on the engagement ring that still seems so new on her finger.

“Tell Emiliano to be nice to you,” I say, teasing her just a little. “He may be my cousin, but I’m on your side.”

Valentina laughs. “Oh, I’ll make sure of it,” she replies, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you next week?”

“Of course,” I say, smiling. Our Saturday brunches are a ritual, a small piece of normalcy in a life that rarely allows for it.

“Are you sure you don’t want Eli to drop you off?” Val asks.

I shake my head. “I’m sure. I’d like to walk for a bit.”

Emiliano’s car is parked a few feet away, engine idling, and he’s watching us with that protective, slightly impatient look he always has. He gives me a quick nod from the driver’s seat. His expression softens when Valentina and Mara finally climb into the back. They exchange a few words with him, Mara’s laughter echoing out of the rolled down windows before he pulls away from the curb, disappearing into the late afternoon traffic.

I take a deep breath, savoring the moment of peace. The streets are quieter now, a rare lull in the city's constant motion. I reach into my pocket for my phone, intending to check the time, but just as I do, it starts vibrating in my hand. Romiro’s name flashes on the screen.

My heart does a little flip. I press the green button and bring the phone to my ear. "Hey," I say, trying to sound casual, even though my pulse ticks up a notch.

“Hey, Alessia,” Romiro's voice comes through, warm and familiar, like always. There’s a smile on his face; I hear it in the tone of his cheery voice. “Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” I reply, turning my steps toward the subway entrance. “Just said goodbye to the girls. Why? Miss me already?”

He laughs softly, a sound that makes my stomach flutter. “Always. But that’s not why I’m calling. I wanted to ask—do you have someone to pick you up after your rounds tomorrow night?”

I hesitate for a moment. “I was just going to take a cab, maybe,” I say, though I know I won’t. I hate taking cabs that late, and Romiro knows it, too.

“Well,” he continues, and I can picture him leaning against something, maybe his kitchen counter, that half-smile playing on his lips. “I could swing by the hospital and pick you up if you want. I don’t have much to do around that time.”

I bite my lip, trying to keep the grin out of my voice. “You don’t have to do that,” I reply, even though the idea of seeing him at 2:30 in the morning is more appealing than I want to admit. Although, I may look like shit after a somewhat long shift. “I know you’ve got your own stuff going on.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, and there’s something softer in his voice now. “I’d actually like it. Just… Just say yes, okay?”

My heart skips again, and I let out a long breath, trying to ease the rising tension in my chest. “Okay,” I say, feeling warmth spread through my chest. “I’ll see you at 2:30, then. I work at the?—”

“I know where you work; I’ll be there on time,” he replies. “Get some rest before your shift, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up, a small, ridiculous grin tugging at my lips. I’ve known Romiro for years—since we were kids, growing up in the same tangled mess of family alliances and expectations. He’s been my friend, my confidant, and my rock through all of it. But lately …

Well, lately, it feels like there’s something more lurking just beneath the surface, something neither of us is brave enough to name, let alone act upon.

I don’t want to think too much about it, though. Not now, when everything else is so complicated. Instead, I focus on the rhythm of my steps and the sound of the city around me as I make my way back to my apartment.

By the time I reach my building, the sun is already sinking, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. I push open the heavy glass door and climb the stairs to my apartment, the familiar creak of each step grounding me back in reality. My bag is heavy on my shoulder, a weight I’ve grown used to carrying.

Inside, the apartment is quiet, dimly lit by the streetlights outside. I flick on a lamp and toss my bag onto the small kitchen table, kicking off my shoes with a sigh of relief. Just as I do, I hear a soft meow and look up to see Mr. Marvin, my gray tabby, padding over to greet me. He weaves between my legs, purring loudly, his green eyes blinking up at me expectantly.

“Hey, Mr. Marvin,” I murmur, bending down to scratch behind his ears. He purrs even louder, rubbing his face against my hand. “Did you miss me?”

He meows again, as if scolding me for leaving him alone all day. I laugh softly, scooping him up into my arms and holding him close. His fur is soft and warm, and he nuzzles against my cheek, a little ball of comfort in the chaos of my life.

“I missed you too, buddy,” I whisper, carrying him over to the couch and settling down with him in my lap. I glance at my phone, my thoughts drifting back to Romiro, and I feel that familiar mix of excitement and nervousness curl in my stomach.

What are we doing, exactly? We’ve been friends for so long, but lately, things have felt … different. The way he looks at me, the way he talks to me, the way I feel whenever he’s around. I keep telling myself it’s just my imagination, that I’m reading too much into it.. But there’s a part of me—a hopeful, reckless part—that wonders if maybe he feels it, too.

Mr. Marvin shifts in my lap, pawing at my shirt, and I smile down at him. “What do you think, Mr. Marvin?” I ask softly. “Is it all in my head, r is there something real here?”

He just blinks up at me, his tail flicking lazily as if to say, You’re on your own with this one.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I mutter. “It’s probably nothing. Just … wishful thinking.”

But then I remember the way Romiro sounded on the phone, the way he said he’d like to pick me up, the way his voice softened when he said my name. And I wonder, for just a moment, if maybe, just maybe, there’s something more waiting for us in the quiet, in-between spaces of this city. Something we’ve both been too afraid to reach for.

I glance at the clock. Still a few hours before my shift starts. I should probably get some rest, but my mind is buzzing with thoughts of him. I lean back on the couch, holding Mr. Marvin a little closer, and let myself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like if we finally stopped dancing around whatever this is—if we just let it happen.

The thought makes my heart beat a little faster, a nervous flutter that spreads through my entire body. I feel like a teenager again, caught up in some secret crush, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Mr. Marvin shifts in my lap, stretching out and curling into a little ball. Trying to calm my racing thoughts, I run my fingers through his fur. "Alright," I whisper to him, "let’s see what happens."

By the time I’m done with my one-sided conversation with Mr. Marvin, it’s around one p.m. I barely got any sleep last night. Our movie night seemed to linger on and on. I made it back to my apartment around six in the morning, then, brunch with the girls was around 11:30. It’s been a long few days. After making my way to my room, I slip out of my clothes. I opt to sleep without any pajamas—I’m just more comfortable that way. I quickly get into bed, and my eyelids already feel heavy. A nap sounds nice. I’m hoping that tomorrow night will bring some clarity—or at least a step in the right direction.

* * *

I’m startled awake, my heart racing from a half-forgotten dream, and then I realize— Sunday lunch . I glance at the clock on my bedside table. I can’t believe I slept for so many hours. “Crap," I mutter under my breath, quickly calculating the time till lunch. Not much.

I throw back the covers and scramble out of bed, Mr. Marvin barely budging from his spot at the foot. He blinks up at me lazily, completely unimpressed with my sudden rush.

“I know, I know, but I’m late,” I mumble as I make my way to the bathroom and brush my teeth at lightning speed. The scent of coffee from the kitchen fills the small apartment, I’m so damn glad I got a timed coffee pot for Christmas, but there’s no time. I need to be out the door in less than ten minutes if I want to be considered fashionably late. Otherwise, I’ll just be late, and we can’t have that.

I pull on a simple white T-shirt and my Levi’s jeans before running a brush through my hair, smoothing it down as best as I can before slipping into a pair of sneakers. As I catch my reflection in the mirror, I can’t help but think about the lunch ahead —the routine of it, the questions I know are coming. My family can be predictable that way, and while I love them dearly, they have a knack for making me feel like I’m always behind on some invisible timeline they’ve set for me.

A glance at my phone confirms my worst fear: I’m definitely, undeniably late. I grab my purse and phone, give Mr. Marvin a quick scratch behind the ears, and rush out the door. “Wish me luck,” I call to him, even though I know he’s already curled back up, drifting off to sleep again.

By the time I reach my parents’ house, I take a deep breath, smoothing down my T-shirt one last time before stepping out of the car. The front door swings open almost immediately, and Marietta, one of the housemaids, is smiling warmly at me.

“Buonasera, Alessia,” she greets in Italian, ushering me through the front doors.

“Grazie, Marietta,” I reply, offering a sheepish smile. “Sono in ritardo, come sempre.” I’m late, as always.

She chuckles softly. “Better late than never, no?” Marietta always tries to practice Italian with me whenever I come to the house.

I nod, my nerves tightening as I step inside. The familiar scent of my Mamma’s cooking fills the air, and I can hear the low hum of conversation coming from the dining room. I walk quickly, trying to compose myself. As I enter, my brother’s eyes meet mine. Tristan’s sitting at the far end of the table, and I immediately sign, I’m sorry. His lips curl into a small, forgiving smile, and he signs back, Always late.

I smile sheepishly and make my way around the table, kissing Mamma, Papa, and Nonna hello. “Ciao, Mamma, Papa,” I say softly, feeling a familiar warmth settle in my chest. “Nonna.”

My grandmother beams up at me, her eyes sparkling with that mix of love and mischief she’s so wellknown for. “Ah, Alessia, finally! I thought we’d have to start without you,” she says in her thick Italian accent, patting my cheek affectionately.

“Sorry, Nonna,” I reply, taking my seat. “Lost track of time.”

“Always working yourself to the point of exhaustion,” Mamma murmurs, but she’s smiling, her eyes soft as she looks at me. “You must be tired, cara .”

“A little,” I admit. “But I’m good. How is everyone?”

The conversation drifts into familiar territory. My Papa asks about my residency, nodding approvingly as I talk about my latest cases, and Mamma checks in on Tristan, asking about his girlfriend, Mio. He lights up when he signs back, telling us all about a trip they’re planning to take to Guatemala next month, and I feel a swell of happiness seeing him so content. They’ve been together for the past ten years. They met in college when they were both nineteen, which is, in my opinion, the best kind of meet-cute.

But then, just as I’m starting to relax, I spot the knowing glance Mamma shares with Nonna, and know what’s coming next. I brace myself, trying not to let it show.

“So, Alessia,” Nonna begins, her tone overly casual, “when are you going to find yourself a nice young man, hmm? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

I suppress a sigh, forcing a smile instead. “Nonna, I’m twenty-seven , not eighty.”

Mamma jumps in, her expression turning more earnest. “Your Nonna has a point, cara . It’s time to start thinking about settling down. A family is important, especially in our world.”

“I know, Mamma,” I reply, trying to keep my voice light. “But I’m busy right now, and I’m not exactly?—”

“Oh, but we’ve already thought of that!” Nonna cuts in with a delighted smile. “Your Mamma and I spoke to Maria, you know, the one from the garden club. She has a son, Francesco, a very nice boy, handsome, from a good Italian family. We’ve arranged a date for you.” She pauses before adding, “Next Friday.”

I blink, stunned. “A date? You’re setting me up on a date?”

Mamma nods, looking too pleased with herself. “Yes, cara . Just one date. What’s the harm in meeting someone new?” This is what they say every time they set me up with someone.

I open my mouth to protest, but I can feel their eyes on me, expectant, hopeful. They don’t know about Romiro. They don’t know that my heart is already tangled up in someone else—someone I’ve known my whole life, someone who makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before. And yet… We’ve never said it out loud. We’ve never crossed that line.

“I don’t know,” I start, hesitating. “I’m not sure if?—”

“One date, Alessia,” Nonna says, her voice more serious now. “For me?”

I sigh, feeling cornered. “Okay, fine,” I say reluctantly. “One date. ”

Mamma and Nonna exchange satisfied smiles, and I try to ignore the tight feeling in my chest. Just one date. What’s the harm in that? But even as I try to convince myself, I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying something— someone . And I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s finally time to let my family in on the secret I’ve been keeping. But instead of doing that, I swallow the words that seem to be fighting for their way out of the darkness and try to focus on whatever it is Nonna is trying to convince Tristan of.