Chapter 49 Roc

Getting ready for dinner with my parents shouldn’t make me nervous. I’ve faced worse things in my life, real danger, real pressure, but somehow this felt bigger. More important. Like the whole night balanced on a thin line I didn’t want to mess up.

Marco stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for the tenth time. “Do I look okay? Be honest. Your mom is going to judge me. I can feel it.”

I snorted. “My mom is going to love you.”

He shot me a look. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I said, stepping behind him and fixing the knot he kept messing with. “Relax. You’re perfect.”

He went still at that, eyes softening in the mirror. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

He exhaled, shoulders dropping a little. “I just… I want tonight to go well. I want them to like me.”

“They will,” I said again, firmer this time. “And if they don’t, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

He smiled, but it was small, nervous. I brushed my thumb along his jaw, grounding him, grounding myself too. Last night at the gala had been… almost perfect. Almost. Letta had tried to start drama, but honestly? That wasn’t new. What was new was the guy she left with. The one from her table. Something about him was wrong. Off. Sara felt it. Salvatore felt it. And I definitely felt it. But that was a problem for another day.

Tonight was about Marco. About us. About introducing him to the people who mattered most in my life. I stepped back, giving him one last look. “You look great.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now. “You’re biased.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

He laughed, finally relaxing enough to grab his jacket. “Okay. Okay. I’m ready. I think.”

“You are,” I said, taking his hand. “Just enjoy the night. Be yourself. They’ll see what I see.”

He squeezed my fingers. “And what’s that?”

I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Someone worth bringing home.”

His breath hitched, just a little, and the nervousness in his eyes melted into something warm. “Alright,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

The drive to my parents’ house felt shorter than usual. Maybe because Marco kept fidgeting with his jacket, asking if he should’ve worn the other one. Maybe because I kept telling him he looked perfect. Maybe because I was trying not to think about the man Letta left the gala with, the one who set off every alarm bell in my head. But tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was about Marco meeting my parents.

When we pulled up to the house, the porch light was already on, warm and welcoming. My mom insisted we do dinner here instead of a restaurant, “less pressure, more food,” she’d said. She wasn’t wrong. I squeezed Marco’s hand before we walked in. “They’re going to love you.”

He gave me a shaky smile. “I hope so.”

Inside, voices drifted from the living room. My mom. My dad. And...Letta. Of course. We stepped into the doorway just in time to hear her mid‑story, hands flying dramatically.

“—and then Salvatore ignored me all night. Can you believe that? He left early too. But whatever. I met someone who actually appreciated me.”

My mom nodded politely, clearly trying to be supportive without encouraging her. My dad looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Then Letta turned and saw us. Her smile froze. Her eyes flicked from me… to Marco… to our joined hands. Confusion. Then disbelief. Then something sharper. “Why is he here?” she asked, voice tight.

Marco stiffened beside me. I stepped forward, keeping my tone calm. “Because he’s my boyfriend, Letta. And he’s meeting our parents tonight.”

My mom’s face lit up instantly. “Marco! Come in, sweetheart. We’re so happy you’re here.”

My dad stood, offering a firm handshake. “Good to finally meet you.”

Marco relaxed a little, smiling shyly as he greeted them. Letta, meanwhile, stared like the world had tilted sideways. “You’re… together?” she said slowly, like she needed it confirmed.

“Yes,” I said. “We are.”

She blinked, processing, her expression twisting into something I didn’t want to deal with tonight. But I wasn’t giving her the chance to ruin this. I placed a hand on Marco’s back, guiding him further into the room. “Mom, Dad... Marco brought that dessert you love.”

My mom clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful! Come help me in the kitchen, both of you.” Marco shot me a grateful look as we followed her.

Behind us, Letta stood frozen, still trying to make sense of a reality she didn’t want to accept. But that was her problem.

Tonight was about Marco. About my family. About finally letting the people I love see the person I love.