“Cute,” he said approvingly as we walked down the street with Gabriella. “I’m super close with my sister, Harlow, too.”
“Only child,” Gabriella said with a dramatic sigh. “You guys are lucky.”
Neither Elias nor I protested the fact as we walked three in a row along the sidewalk on our way to The Metropolitan Museum of Art. When I’d mentioned that I just moved to New York, both Elias and Gabriella had insisted we visit a local attraction to start me on my path to becoming a real New Yorker.
They didn’t know I’d been born two hours away in a small town to a father who owned more than half of Manhattan. They didn’t know even with that, or maybe because of it, I’d never set foot on the island.
They were just nice kids who were eager to show the new girl around.
So, I told them about my dreams of visiting The Met, and even though they seemed surprised, they agreed to go with me. I guessed most teenagers would want to see the Empire State Building or Fifth Avenue, maybe the Statue of Liberty or Central Park.
I couldn’t wait to see the famed gallery. The place my father had always promised to take me even though I realized now, it had been an empty pledge.
“I have to confess,” Elias admitted shooting me an appraising look out the corner of his eye. “I was staring at your car because I thought for a second you’d been dropped off by Leo Morelli.”
“Leo Morelli?” I asked, a genuine, almost nervous laugh bubbling up my throat.
If only he knew how absurd a claim that was. A Morelli taking in a Constantine bastard was too Shakespearean to be believed.
He shrugged a shoulder, a playful grin on his lips. It hit me, not for the first time, that Elias was stunning.
“Must’ve been a trick of the light or maybe he’s just been on my mind. He, uh, married into the family recently.”
“Into the Constantine family?” I gasped before I could curb my tone. I hoped it was general enough knowledge about the feud between the two families for me to have reacted that way. The truth was, I’d been taught about the Morellis from a young age by Lane Constantine himself.
His expression was conflicted as he nodded, tugging down his beanie so it covered his ears from the cold wind. “Yeah. It’s a…complicated story, but Leo ended up getting involved with my cousin, Haley.”
“The Beast of Bishop’s Landing married your cousin,” I murmured in shock.
I’d done enough research about the Constantines over the years to know a little about the Morelli family. I knew Lucian, the eldest son, ran Morelli Holdings and that Leo was a big presence in the city’s real estate scene with his own billion-dollar company. I knew Caroline had once dated Bryant, the patriarch, before settling down with Dad and that had been where the rivalry began. There were seven Morelli children to the six (legitimate) Constantine children, but I didn’t know anything about the younger siblings on either side.
I couldn’t imagine either family approving of a cross-rivalry relationship.
“Apparently, he’s not as bad as they made him sound,” Elias said, but he didn’t sound convinced. In fact, the look of disgust on his face spoke volumes of his own regard for the family.
I must have made a similar face, because he laughed and slung an arm around my shoulders in comradery as we trekked down the final block to the museum. He smelled spicy and rich, like expensive cologne. “Don’t worry about it. I doubt you’ll ever have to meet him even if we become the best of friends.”
I grinned at him, aware that I might give myself away if I poked too much into his family dynamic. “Well, that’s something, then. The Morellis scare me even though I don’t know much about them.”
“They should,” Elias agreed. “They’re ruthless sons of bitches for the most part.”
“Saint likes them well enough,” Gabriella said with a little blush.
Elias knocked her with an elbow. “Yeah, and whatever Saint says goes, right, Gabs?”
“Shut it,” she insisted, but her flush darkened her olive-toned cheeks. “He’s a good man.”
“Who is Saint?” I asked, a little distracted as we stopped at the wide stairs leading up to The Met.
It was just as gorgeous in person as in photographs. A banner declared that they had a special Van Gogh exhibit going on, but I was more excited about the possibility of seeing Picasso and Matisse.
“You’ll meet him later, maybe,” Gabriella said shyly. “He’ll probably pick me up.”
“It’s weird as hell,” Elias muttered to me. “He’s like…old.”
“He’s only thirty-one,” she countered, hitting him with her tiny fist. “And you dated Evelyn Mathieson last year when she was a senior!”
A year older than Tiernan.
So, in my eyes, not old.
“He’s in business with my dad,” she continued to explain as we tromped up the stairs and got in line to buy tickets. “He, uh, he’s a family friend. A good one.”