Chapter 9 - The Table of Unspoken Things
At seven o'clock, Elena entered the nursery carrying a tray containing a bowl of warm vegetable soup, soft bread, and a glass of milk for Leo.
"Mr. Romano," Elena said, setting the tray on a small table, "requests your presence for dinner in the dining room at eight o'clock, Miss Jenkins."
Ruby wiped a smear of soup from Leo’s chin with a napkin. "I eat with Leo in the nursery."
Elena shook her head slowly, a rare, faint smile touching the corners of her mouth. "The boy will be asleep by eight. I will sit with him until you return. Mr. Romano does not like to dine alone tonight."
At eight o'clock, Ruby walked down the grand staircase into the main dining hall.
It was a cavernous room dominated by a twenty-foot table carved from polished mahogany, illuminated by a low-hanging crystal chandelier that cast warm, sparkling light over the silver service and white linen.
Vincent was already seated at the head of the table. He wore a fresh black shirt, his dark hair brushed back, his face clean-shaven.
When Ruby entered, he did not remain seated as a employer typically would for a domestic staff member. He stood up immediately, stepping back from his chair, and indicated the seat to his immediate right—not ten feet away at the far end of the table, but right beside him.
"Miss Jenkins," he said, his voice resonant and steady.
"Mr. Romano," she replied, taking the seat.
A footman in a black suit served a meal of roasted beef, root vegetables, and red wine, moving with silent efficiency before retreating through the service doors, leaving them alone in the vast, quiet room.
For the first ten minutes, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the soft clink of silverware against porcelain and the distant, soothing patter of rain against the high windows.
"He ate his soup?" Vincent asked, setting his glass down.
"All of it," Ruby said. "And he let Elena read him two pages of the train book before he closed his eyes."
Vincent nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on his glass. "He has not allowed Elena to touch him since October."
"He was afraid," Ruby said softly. "When people are afraid, they push away the things they need most."
Vincent raised his head, his dark, formidable gaze meeting hers across the small expanse of white linen.
"And you, Ruby?" he asked, using her first name for the first time since her arrival. "Are you still afraid?"
Ruby looked at the silver fork in her hand, then up at the powerful, dangerous man sitting beside her—a man who commanded empires, who struck fear into hardened criminals, yet sat in a quiet house, learning how to be a father to a broken child.
"I used to be," she said honestly. "I thought if I let myself care about another child, it would feel like I was forgetting Clara."
"And now?"
"Now," Ruby said, a small, genuine smile finally appearing on her face, illuminating her gray-green eyes, "I think Clara would have liked him. He throws things with very good accuracy."
Vincent’s face, usually so stony and impassive, cracked.
May you like
A low, deep rumble started in his chest—a sound that Elena, listening through the service door, had not heard in five years. Vincent Romano laughed. It was a short, dry, rusty sound, but it filled the vast, silent dining hall with a sudden, transformative warmth.
"Yes," Vincent said, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "His mother had a terrible throw. He must get it from my side of the family."
