Paolo appeared at his side and took the knife from his hand. “Sit. I got it.”
They swapped places. If Sid hadn’t already known Dante had told Paolo about his MS, it might’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t. Paolo picked up where he’d left off and it worked, despite the fact he hadn’t got round to telling him what he was making.
“Is it over?” Sid blurted, surprising himself. “I mean, really? Asa won’t come back, will he?”
Paolo glanced up from the pan. “Doubt it. If he’s got any sense, he’ll be on a plane to Bermuda by now.”
“And he’s got that, right? Sense, I mean. Dante said he was clever.”
“Wouldn’t know, mate. But he’s always done right by Luis, and I always got the impression he didn’t give a fuck about Dante either way.”
“Nice.”
“Nah, it’s a good thing. Having beef with Dante is hassle for no reason.”
Sid folded his arms on the counter and dropped his chin on them.
Paolo shot him a smile that was gentler than the personality Sid’s imagination had given him. “It’s going to be okay.”
“What is?”
“Whatever’s happening right now.”
“I don’t think I know what that is.”
Paolo glanced out of the window in the direction Dante and Luis had headed the moment Dante had appeared behind Sid. “Neither do I, but if it was anything bad, Luis would’ve dragged me straight back to the M1.”
Sid didn’t know what that meant, but he was done overthinking for the day. His mind was mush and he hurt. Fire crept into his nerves, a light smoulder that would turn into an inferno if he didn’t listen to his body and calm the fuck down. He settled in to watch Paolo make a giant omelette and blocked out the fact that Dante’s encounter with his brother was going on far longer than he’d anticipated.
“Hey.” Long arms slid around him from behind. “Is Paolo so boring that he’s put you to sleep?”
The tension in Sid’s bones melted away. He smiled, forgetting for a moment that they had an audience, and turned around.
Dante was behind him, still rumpled from sleep, but with brighter eyes than Sid had ever seen from him. “All right?”
“Are you?”
Dante nodded, his gaze flicking to his brother, tracking him as he manoeuvred his tall frame into Sid’s tiny kitchen and kissed Paolo’s cheek. Their exchange was silent, but Sid imagined it was much the same. “Paolo cooked.”
“He’s good at that. I gave Luis one of the oregano plants from the greenhouse. Is that okay?”
“You could give him twelve and I’d still have too many.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Paolo snorted and turned the burner off on the stove. “Luis will have to keep it alive. I murdered his scotch bonnet plant just by looking at it.”
Sid opened his mouth to offer up a thousand new ones, but Dante shook his head.
“Leave it,” he mouthed, and as Paolo backed away from the stove, he saw why.
They were leaving.
Already.
After a half-hour conversation.
Sadness was a painful emotion, but as it swept over Sid, he realised that he was the only one in the room who felt that way. Luis Pope was hard to read, and Paolo’s dry amusement seemed to shadow whatever else he might’ve been feeling, but Dante... the smile was there, even if it was only for Sid.