Chapter 50 Roc

Dinner was going better than I could’ve hoped.

Marco and my mom were already talking like they’d known each other for years. She lit up when he mentioned he liked to bake, and within minutes they were planning a Saturday baking day, her famous cinnamon rolls and his lemon bars. My dad jumped in next, asking Marco what teams he followed. When Marco said, “Chiefs, obviously,” my dad slapped the table like he’d just found a long‑lost son.

“Season opener,” Dad said. “You two should come with me.”

Marco’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Of course,” Dad said. “Anyone who loves Mahomes is welcome in this house.”

Marco laughed, and I swear my heart felt too full for my chest. Everything was perfect. Almost.

Letta had been quiet, which was suspicious in itself, but I wasn’t going to poke that bear. Not tonight.

But of course… she couldn’t hold it in forever. She set down her fork a little too loudly. “I just don’t understand how you’re all okay with… this.”

The room went still. My mom’s smile faded. My dad’s jaw tightened. Marco froze beside me. I took a slow breath. “Letta...”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean it. How are you not embarrassed? Rocco is embarrassing the family. And Salvatore. Everyone is talking.”

Marco’s voice was quiet but steady. “How? We went to the gala with Salvatore and Sara last night. They were nothing but supportive.”

Letta’s eyes snapped to him. “I wasn’t talking to you. This is family business.”

That was it. I pushed my chair back, leaning forward just enough to make my point. “Watch your words. And your manners.” She blinked, startled. “Marco is my boyfriend,” I said, voice firm. “That makes him family. He has every right to speak.”

Marco swallowed, but he didn’t look away. “It’s not embarrassing to love someone,” he said softly. “Or to respect them.”

My mom reached across the table, placing her hand over Marco’s. “He’s right.”

My dad nodded. “We raised our kids to lead with respect. Roc is happy. That’s what matters.”

Letta stared at them like she didn’t recognize her own family.

“This is wrong,” she whispered.

“No,” my mom said gently but firmly. “What’s wrong is treating your brother like he’s doing something shameful when he’s finally being himself.”

Letta’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked between all of us, realizing she was outnumbered, and not because we were ganging up on her, but because she was alone in her thinking. She stood abruptly. “I’m going home.” No one stopped her. The door clicked shut behind her, and the room exhaled all at once.

Marco looked at me, worry flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to cause...”

“You didn’t,” I said immediately. “She did.”

My mom squeezed his hand again. “Sweetheart, you’re welcome here. Always.”

Marco’s eyes softened, and he nodded, swallowing hard. And just like that, the warmth returned to the room. Dinner went on. Lighter. Easier. Better. Because now Marco knew, really knew, that he belonged.

The moment we stepped out of my parents’ house, the cool night air hit us, soft and steady. Marco let out a long breath he’d clearly been holding in, and I couldn’t help smiling. “You survived,” I teased gently.

He nudged me with his shoulder. “Barely.” But he was smiling too, that small, shy smile he only ever showed when he was overwhelmed in a good way.

We got into the car, and as soon as I started driving, he reached over and laced his fingers through mine. His thumb brushed the back of my hand, slow and thoughtful. “Your parents are amazing,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I was so scared of.”

“I told you,” I said. “They were going to love you.”

He looked out the window for a moment, watching the streetlights blur past. “I just… I’ve never had that. A family dinner where people actually want me there. Where they’re happy I’m with their son.”

I squeezed his hand. “You have it now.”

He swallowed, eyes softening. “Your parents were so welcoming and cared.” Marco laughed again, but it faded quickly, replaced by something more serious. “Roc… I didn’t mean to cause trouble with her.”

“You didn’t,” I said immediately. “She caused her own trouble.” He nodded, but I could tell he was still thinking about it. I pulled the car into a quiet stretch of road and slowed just enough to look at him fully. “Marco. Tonight was perfect because you were there. My parents saw the real you. And they loved you. That’s what matters.”

His eyes met mine, warm and a little shiny. “Thank you. For standing up for me.”

“Always,” I said. “You’re my boyfriend. You’re family. You make me happy.”

He leaned over the console, resting his forehead against mine. “You make me happy too, Roc.” I smiled, brushing my thumb along his jaw. We stayed like that for a moment, quiet, close, steady, the kind of silence that felt like a promise. Then he whispered, “Take me home?” I nodded, squeezing his hand again before pulling back onto the road. And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.