Heart of Stone - Stone and Fire #1 [17+] (REWRITING)

Chapter 13

hey cuties

Adriana's POV

When I said I hated family dinners, I fucking meant it.

The old pool radio hummed Mama's favorite, a single written by the one and only Julie Lavarde- the Italian "Sarah Vaughan" of her childhood. With ice-cold glasses of negronis and a nice chill breeze blowing across the patio, the clouds' shading sketched a dark shadow over white plates filled with barely touched food. Purple Asters and white roses made their trek through bushes lining the yard, still not enough to keep the tense smile off Mama's face.

The table of fifteen carried hushed chatter, most of it being swept up by the wind. Leo and Enzo sat next to uncle Marcello and his sons, Matteo and Lorenzo. Papa's seat at the end radiated with tension, and I felt his gaze hit me and my untouched food every five seconds. Of course, Nikolas and Mikhail sat in front of my brothers, looking like they had much better things to do than sit outside on a nice fall day and eat homemade Italian food.

Aurora nudged me. "At least act like you're enjoying this." I glanced at her plate to see it also full- but with everything poked around like she was a picky toddler.

I scoffed a little too loud- and a heavy gaze hit me from down the table. I didn't need to look up to realize it was Nikolas. Him and his cold expression made the silence on the women's side of the table somehow more rigid- or maybe it was his looks. He looked even scarier somehow with the shade of clouds covering his face, making the grey in his eyes more pronounced and piercing. His hair, even blacker, just like mine.

Mikhail sat down with a face peaked in boredom, his eyes only lagging on my sister every minute. Why, I had no clue. Aurora merely looked down in her lap, twiddling the fabric of her pink sweater dress.

After a few more seconds of staring at the polenta on my plate, I decided to change my field of view. To what? Nikolas, of course.

His hands were the first thing I was drawn to. Veiny, rough, and the perfect fit to hold a gun, it was hard not to imagine them on my skin again, like at our engagement when he kissed me like he was out of his goddamn mind. The feel of his hands resting on my waist, barely teasing my ass- I suddenly shook the thought away, embarrassed to be acting so brazen around family, and instead realized he was still looking at me. And, because I wasn't a coward, I held his gaze, no matter how hot it made me feel. He narrowed them at me for a split second, as if trying to search my head. I valued privacy, however, so instead I struck up a conversation with my best friend across me.

"You wanna head to the mall this weekend? Hugo's delivery of magazines came in this morning and I caught a glimpse of Luxevo's new silk collection." Layla sat next to her barren husband, who had an arm slunk around the back of her chair. Until now- ever since she'd been forced into the marriage, I'd felt bad. But even to me, the tolerance she had was incomparable to my own, wherein she somehow managed to brush off every glance and chuckle Hugo shot her way.

"Sure. We can hitch a ride with Leo when he heads to practice."

"No need." A deep, powerful statement rose from the end of the table.

Speak of the devil.

I took a silent breath in and shot Nikolas a toothy grin. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

His eye twitched, and that's when I realized he was still able to see through my fakeness five seats down a dinner table.

"Now that you live with me, I don't find it necessary to give anyone else the responsibility of escorting you places."

Responsibilty? He said it -and I heard it loud and clear- like I was a job and task rather than his wife-to-be.

Fuck that.