Page 174 of Tag

“I do not snore,” she objected, scandalized. “Do I?”

“You absolutely do.”

She gasped. “Liar!” She hugged me tighter. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, baby,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls and holding her just as fiercely.

Eventually, she slid down, yawning through her grin. “Okay. Give me ten minutes to get all the parts in working order, and I’ll be downstairs.”

“Clock’s ticking,” I teased, nudging her toward her bathroom.

The table was nearly full by the time I made it back downstairs, the smell of chai and cumin-heavy eggs warming the air. I slid into my usual seat. Across from me sat Nonno. Most people would find it odd that my paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother shared a roof, but we weren’t most people.

Our family had never separated.

My other grandparents were long gone. One to illness, the other to a silence that had never left room for answers. These two were best friends. Bickering, scheming, laughing like overgrown children with decades of loyalty between them.

“You’re late,” Nonno said, wagging his fork at me in mock disapproval.

“Give the girl a break,” Sugarmama drawled from beside him. “She just got back from a night at the Voss estate. Let her soak in her sins a little.”

My mom made a quiet noise of protest from the other end of the table.

“Ma,” she sighed, slicing a mango. “Why does everything have to be a scandal?”

“Scandals keep breakfast from being boring,” Sugarmama replied, lifting her glass. “Especially when it’s this good.”

I shook my head, reaching for a slice of warm, buttered focaccia, already bracing for the next volley.

“Rye and I are just—.”

“Friends,” my father cut in flatly, his tone as dry as the toast on his plate. “We’ve heard the story,Stellina.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but before I could fire back with something even halfway convincing, Nonno stepped in. “That boy hasn’t seen you as a friend since you ran him over with your unicorn bike in the second grade.”

Sugarmama laughed so hard her mimosa nearly spilled. “Oh, I remember that! Poor thing had a tire track down his shirt and still followed her around like a lovesick little puppy.”

Dad dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then leaned back with a chuckle. “Now, let’s not demean the kid. Lovesickness is a bit extreme. I like the word devoted.”

I stared at them as if they’d all grown extra heads. Was the universe assigning people to conspire about us lately?

Jesus.

Shakira came strolling in, curls now whipped into something tame and fresh-faced.

She dropped a kiss on our father’s cheek, then Nonno’s, mumbling a half-hearted, “Morning,” before plopping into the seat beside me. Then, with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball: “Can you guys let Sanj eat before turning breakfast into an arranged marriage reveal?”

“Thank you,” I muttered, reaching for the chai Mom had made for me.

“She has a boyfriend, remember?” Shakira went on, grabbing the platter of eggs like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb. “And Ryder’s with that Playboy bombshell—” She paused,wrinkled her nose, and looked over at me. “Though you’re prettier. I mean, obviously.”

“Thanks,” I replied dryly. “I feel so reassured.”

“I’m not just saying that as a dutiful sister,” she clarified quickly, tone serious.

Dad lifted a brow. “And how exactly do you know what Ryder’s doing?”

Shakira shrugged, completely unfazed. “The internet came to exist sometime in your life, Dad. And I’m soul sisters with Cadence.”

---