Nic stopped walking. “How did you know that?”

“The marks on his face,” I said, stopping as well. “They’re bee stings, right?”

Nic hesitated for a beat, like he was weighing what to say, then simply answered, “Yes.”

“And he smells of honey.” I paused, wondering if the next sentence would be offensive, but then I decided to say it anyway. “It’s almost like he bathes in it …”

Nic laughed. “Maybe he does. He likes to eat the honeycomb raw, and he harvests and extracts the honey by himself. It’s … his thing.” A shadow swept across his features, but he broke into another smile before I could decipher it.

“But there aren’t any hives at your house?”

“Thankfully!” he replied, a tinge of relief creeping into his voice. “Felice lives over in Lake Forest. But while my mother’s in Europe he makes it his business to check on us, to make sure we’re not all killing each other.”

“So he makes his own honey?” I confirmed, trying to stay on topic. I thought of the black-ribboned honey jar again, the one that turned up the week Nic’s family moved in.

Nic’s answer came slower this time. “Yes.”

“Does he give his honey away?”

“Why?” His expression changed, and I didn’t understand the way he was looking at me. Like he was suspicious of me. Was I asking too many questions about his family? Or had honey just become a universally sore subject for everyone? I had obviously missed the memo.

I shrugged, watching him as carefully as he was watching me. “A jar of honey turned up in the diner not too long ago. It had a black ribbon around it.”

“OK …”

“We were wondering where it came from, or who it was for.”

“Who found it?”

“I did.”

Nic’s brows furrowed. “What did you do with it?”

“I brought it home and tasted it. It was nice … Then I dropped it by accident and it broke,” I added. There was no way I was telling him what really happened. It was too weird for even me to understand, and I had known Jack my whole life. One unhinged uncle was enough for this conversation.

Nic’s frown deepened, and he shook his head. “Like I said, Felice doesn’t live around here.”

“So that’s not something he would do?”

“I highly doubt it,” he said, his attention turning to the stars above us. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“But I do worry about it,” I said, fighting the urge to tug on his arm so he would look at me again.

As if sensing my request, he returned his gaze to me. “You worry about honey?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face.

I felt myself blush. When he put it like that, it did seem pretty stupid. “I just don’t like to feel like I’m out of the loop about something.”

“Try being the youngest of five brothers.”

We walked on, our hands swinging side by side, almost touching, as rows of beautiful homes on tree-lined streets bled into smaller, boxy houses along cramped, gridlike blocks.

“So you don’t mind having an escort home again?” he asked, following my lead as I crossed a deserted intersection.

“No.” I felt shy looking up at Nic in the moonlight. There was something about the way his eyes were shining, or how his hair was falling in waves, curling beneath his ears, that made my mouth dry.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t upset about earlier. I know Valentino was rude, but he was probably just trying to save you from the Felice train wreck.”

I waved my hand in the air dismissively, even though I felt relieved by his explanation. “I’ll get over it.”

“Good.”

“Speaking of Valentino,” I said, letting my curiosity take over, “can I ask what happened to him?”

“You mean why he’s in a wheelchair?”

“Well, yeah,” I replied, looking at my shoes. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Nic didn’t seem affronted, and I exhaled quietly in relief. “I take it you’ve realized that he and Luca are twins,” he said. I nodded. “Well, when my mother was pregnant with them, Luca’s position in the womb put pressure on the lower half of Valentino’s body. He couldn’t move properly, his legs became tangled in bands of the amniotic membrane, and when he was delivered he had what they called a ‘skeletal limb abnormality.’ His right leg was completely crushed and turned in at the hip. The doctors operated on him when he was a kid, but the leg never developed the right way after that. He can walk for short distances with a cane, but he prefers to use the chair.”

“Has it made him resentful of Luca?” I wondered.

Nic shrugged. “I think he’s just glad Luca didn’t decide to eat him in there.” He chuckled at my shocked expression. “His words, not mine,” he clarified. “I don’t think he resents Luca. Valentino has always been the most intelligent of all of us. He has the most creative mind, and understands people really well — a whole lot better than Luca. They’re so close that sometimes it feels like they’re the same person. They agree on everything, and if you decide to argue with one, then you’re arguing with both, and they will steamroll you before you can even think straight.” He paused for a second, losing himself in a memory that made him smile. I watched him carefully, trying to figure out what was unraveling inside his head. “I think Luca has always felt guilty about the opportunities he has, but Valentino isn’t a victim. They’d die for each other.”