“You did.”
“Well, that’s crazy because—”
Knox yells again, and I step out of the kitchen, heading up the steps and back to the foyer.
“What’s all the screaming?”
“Oh, just Knox messing around.”
“Ah.” She says slowly.
“Look, would you want to—” I’m fully about to invite her to dinner without even thinking about why that would be a terrible idea, and then she cuts me off.
“Oh! Romeo, I’ve got to go. I’ll give you a call later–” she hangs up before I can answer, and I’m glad because inviting her to dinner would be an awful idea. I need to keep my worlds as separate as possible. We’re just having sex and working together. That’s it. No family dinners where everyone can speculate the contingencies of our relationship, and Vince can act like I’m gonna settle down any day now. Hell to the fucking no.
I shove my phone into my pocket and saunter up the stairs, passing Tito’s room on the way up. Today he is home, working quietly in his room on something. I’m not as close to my siblings as they are to each other, but Tito is the easiest to get on with (apart from our youngest sister, Olive). I think it’s because he is the least like everyone in this family.
“Hey.” I lean in the doorframe, and he turns his head to smile at me.
“Hi. Come in.” I cross his room to sit on his bed, watching him continue to torch some piece of metal. His thick protective glasses are covering most of his face, which might make it easier to talk to him.
“I’m listening.” He ushers me to speak as he continues to focus. The truth is, I don’t really know why I’ve stepped into his room. Then again, I can’t speak to any of my other family members about my modeling career.
“I’m opening for a Miu Miu show in Paris.”
“What? That’s so cool! When is it?”
“In three weeks.”
“Dude.”
“I know.” I nod with a grin.
“Why haven’t you told anyone else?”
“I don’t think it’s a big deal to anyone. They only care about—”
“Mafia shit.” He quotes me, though I know he agrees.
“Yeah. Which, I fucking love… but I want to do more. Ya know?”
“I get it. More than you know.”
“Yeah. Well,” I sigh. “Thanks for talking with me.” I stand, and he turns his head up at me.
“That’s all you wanted to talk about? You seem… I don’t know—”
“What?”
“I'm just hesitating to say—”
“What, dude?”
“Sad. You seem sad. Which is weird because—”
“Nonsense. I don’t feel sad.”
“Look, I know our older brothers did a number on you— becoming parents at young ages and being taught to ignore emotion by a father who didn’t know what abuse was until it was too late for us boys. But, you deserve to feel.”