Page 132 of Iron Roses

She slides off her shoes without looking and nudges mine with the tip of her toe.

“Come on,” she says. “You can’t wear those in here. They deserve a break.”

I step out of them and leave them beside hers in the entry. She stretches her arms above her head and tilts to one side until something in her back clicks. Her blazer slips off her shoulders and she tosses it onto the bench beside the staircase.

She sinks onto the couch like it’s the first thing that’s gone right all day. She tucks one leg under herself and pulls her hair over one shoulder, already examining the spot on the coffee table where wine should go.

Moments later, Lorenzo enters with two bottles tucked under one arm, and Cassian follows with four glasses balanced between his hands. The label on the bottle is hand-painted—deep reds and golds faded slightly with age.

“Valpolicella?” Allegra lifts an eyebrow. “Did you go into the cellar?”

“Cassian did,” Lorenzo says, offering her the bottle like it’s proof of effort. “I’m just the assistant.”

Cassian passes out the glasses and pours carefully, the bottle tilting without a single drop spilled. The wine is dark and in the glass, almost purple in the low light. He sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. Lorenzo passes Allegra her glass, then sits on the armrest beside her with the second bottle still in hand.

“So,” he says, stretching the word like taffy, “what are we doing for Her Highness’s birthday?”

Allegra rolls her eyes. “I’ve been trying to get an answer out of her for days. She just stares at me like I suggested a summit meeting.”

Cassian sets his glass down on the table and reaches for my hand. His fingers find mine and he gives the slightest squeeze.

He is asking me what I want.

I turn my head, meet his gaze, and point.

At him.

His mouth curves—not a full smile, just the kind that lingers in the eyes. The kind he gives only when something lands exactly the way he hoped it would. The warmth behind it sinks under my skin.

Lorenzo watches, then groans loudly and falls back onto the cushion.

“Oh come on, they can be lovey-dovey in broad daylight, but we have to pretend we’re still strangers in the hallway?”

Allegra stiffens. “Don’t start.”

Lorenzo turns to us, gesturing loosely with his wine glass. “Can you believe her? She kisses me first, then acts like I’m some guy who drove her home from a party and never texted again. That’s cruelty, is what that is.”

Allegra makes a choking sound. “I—I didn’t kiss you.”

Lorenzo’s eyebrows shoot up. “A mistake, then?”

“A mistake,” she repeats firmly.

He leans forward, grin widening. “A thirty-minute mistake?”

She bows her head, glass clutched in both hands. Her ears flush.

Lorenzo shifts closer. His voice drops. “Is it really so hard to say you like me?”

“I don’t,” she snaps. “I don’t.”

“But you want me every night.”

“Oh my God,” she says, setting her glass down with more force than necessary. She grabs the bottle and storms out, muttering something that sounds like his full name and possibly a threat.

“Allegra—come on—baby, I’m sorry!” Lorenzo scrambles up after her, nearly knocking over a cushion in the process. “You’re so sensitive!”

We sit in the quiet they leave behind. Cassian leans back, arm settling across the back of the couch.

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