Deviant Prince [Romano Brotherhood, #2]

26 | Vivienne

When I show up at my parents' house with a hastily packed bag and Nik hooked under my arm like a purse, their eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

If me dropping by for the holidays happens once in a blue moon, you can forget about spontaneous visits. But to their credit, my parents quickly pick their jaws up off the floor, and it only takes a few minutes to convince my mom that my apartment burning down or an equally disastrous event hasn't occurred. She disappears to ready the guest room, leaving my dad and I stare at each other over my mug of tea.

Fuck this stuff. I struggle not to grimace at the weak, earthy taste.

"Don't have work?"

I shrug. On the way here, I received several texts from Shiv, most of them apologies. One said she's glad I called out of work and hopes I feel better. That has Massimo written all over it, because I probably would've tried to power through my shift and he knows it.

Imagine my surprise when I find out I have the whole week off—paid. With Jason all too eager to give me more time if I need it.

"Vivi girl," my dad almost admonishes in that cool, knowing tone of his. And damn him, it sure is hard to bullshit the man. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing, dad." I smile, straightening my back to quell the persistent ache that's settled there. "I just wanted a break."

We both know too well the ridiculousness of that statement; this house hasn't ever been a place I come to relax. My dad levels me with an unimpressed look. "You'd tell me if anything bad was happening to you."

It's not a question, but one is written in his eyes. Would I? He's dressed in slacks and a button-down despite the late hour, his face exhausted but carefully polite, like he's forcing himself to wait with me. I don't take it personally; that's just how he is. He's always worked himself to the bone for this family, but this conversation is likely harder work than his day job. Sometimes I wonder if he'd prefer I send him an email.

"It's just my friends." A lump forms in my throat. "I'm not sure if things are going well there."

How ridiculous. We've known each other through so much of our lives. Puberty, school, breakups, family deaths, career changes. How can it feel like I'm suddenly floundering, surrounded by people who don't know me? Surely things haven't changed so drastically—surely I haven't changed.

I finish off my tea in silence before my dad clears his throat. I'm preparing to smile and nod through some somewhat vague, detached advice. I know how it'll go but I still seek it out—it's comforting in its own way, steady and predictable. Just like my dad. I can never bring myself to be anything but happy that he keeps trying, even when it doesn't land.

"Do you know what sunk cost is?" I shake my head and he eagerly explains. "It's money that's already been spent and cannot be recovered. An example would be insurance, rent, or a nonrefundable deposit. In business, you have a sunk cost fallacy when management refuses to deviate from original plans, even when those plans fail to materialize. The fallacy leads to irrational decision-making. All because of investor emotions."

Smile. Nod. I wasn't expecting a flashback to the Business 101 class I took in college.

"Put in more relevant terms, the sunk cost fallacy is a psychological barrier that ties people to unsuccessful endeavors simply because they've already committed resources to it. Time, energy... moving away to remote towns."

Oh.

"Friends come and go, Vivi."

That lump in my throat is back. Dammit. I wasn't expecting that. Leave it to my dad to cut through the bullshit while exhibiting blind faith in me, despite knowing nothing of the situation. Not once did he seem to assume there could be something I'd done to taint the friendships.