Page 56 of Devil's Iris
We are late for dinner. Leni frets about it, but I couldn’t give a shit. And as we slip into Rafael’s grand living room, my glare dares anyone to comment on our lateness.
Try me. I fucking dare you.
“I’m so sorry we’re late. It’s all my fault. I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear, so we had to go to the store to get some clothes for me.” The words tumble out of Leni’s mouth the second we cross the threshold.
She glances around the room at my brothers and their wives who are already seated, immersed in light conversations with glasses of bourbon and mocktails. The mocktails for the women—the breastfeeding Gianna, pregnant Elira, and Emily in moral support, I guess.
Emily is the first to stand. “And it was completely worth it. Look at you—you’re gorgeous.” She beams at Leni as she comes over. “Hi, I’m Emily. That guy’s wife.” She hitches a thumb at Rafael, who’s watching us with his usual cool, calculating gaze, though his expression melts the instant it lands on his woman, the way it always does. Makes me wonder if I look at Leni the same way.
Probably.Fuck.
“Nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Leni,” my wife-to-be murmurs, taking her hand. The other ladies get up too and converge on us.
“I’m Gianna, the mother of those two girls in the playpen.” She points at her daughters, watched by two older women—the babysitters. “And that’s my husband.” Michael raises his bourbon in acknowledgment.
“I’m Elira. Iloveyour hair. I’m sure you can guess who my husband is by elimination.” She chuckles, and something miraculous happens. Leni’s mouth curves into the first genuine smile since we arrived.
There she is. My beautiful girl, coming alive.
After the introductions, I watch helplessly as the women basically kidnap my wife-to-be. They just… take her. Like she’s theirs now, part of their sisterhood, while I’m stuck watching from a distance as they weave their feminine magic around her. My hands itch to reach for her, to keep her close, but I force myself to stay back. She needs this. She needs to know these women won’t eat her alive.
Before long, she seems to loosen up around them, even letting out a laugh as they walk ahead of us towards the dining room. The sound makes my shoulders drop an inch.She’s going to be fine.
“While she’s not as beautiful as my wife, I can’t deny that sheispretty,” Maximo grunts. “But she’s not your usual type, Romero.”
I glare at him. “And what’s my usual type?”
“Cold as fish. Empty in the head.”
“You motherfucking?—”
“Boys.” Rafael’s voice is low but sharp, just enough to stop us without alarming the women ahead of us. “Emilia worked hard on this dinner. I won’t have you upset her with yourbickering.” His tone promises consequences. “We can talk after dinner.”
I bite back my response, but the fury still burns in my throat. Maximo always knows exactly which buttons to push.
The chairs in the dining room have been rearranged again—it seems to expand every year as our family grows. Rafael’s massive, engraved chair still commands the head of the table, positioned directly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame downtown Manhattan in all its glittering glory. Emily’s chair—a smaller version of his—sits beside him now instead of across from him.
Two high chairs have been added for Michael’s girls. They’re almost one and have slowly started eating solids, so they now have a place at the table. The twins sit strapped in, Michael and Gianna flanking them, ready to jump into action at the first sign of baby chaos, while their babysitters wait outside with their own meal.
Elira sits next to Emily and Maximo next to her. I end up next to him, which means I get to listen to his running commentary all night. Lucky me. Leni takes the last available seat right across from Gianna, who gives her an encouraging smile.
“You don’t have to be nervous. These dinners aren’t as bad as we make them out to be in our heads,” she says, giving her a knowing look. “Trust me, I get it. I didn’t want to come here after Rafael tried to send me back to my abusive uncle. I hated him, you know? But he’s not as mean as he portrays himself to be.”
“Gianna.” Rafael sounds exasperated, but there’s a thread of affection in there somewhere.
“I gave birth to the family’s first children—I get liberties.” She winks at him, and the bastard actually looks amused. Helpless, but amused.
Next to me, Leni snickers—actually snickers—thenimmediately slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror at her own audacity.
Christ, she’s adorable.
The moment lingers only a beat before the dining room door opens and Rafael’s staff walks in with the food.
Mysorrelinaswork their magic throughout dinner, drawing Leni out of her shell piece by piece—which I’m glad for. By the time the ladies finish their dessert, she’s no longer sitting next to me but across the table with Emma, one of the twins, in her lap while she coos at her.
My chest tightens watching her. The soft smile that transforms her entire face, the gentle murmur of her voice as she entertains the tiny bundle.
She’ll be an incredible mother someday.
