Fern's Perspective
"Mom, I'd like another roast." Daniel's voice rang out sharply, pulling me back to the present. His little hands shot up in the air, and his eyes sparkled as he eagerly watched the waiter bringing the dish. His movements were effortless, as though he had nothing to hide, no secrets to keep.
I took a deep breath, and the corner of my mouth lifted into a faint smile. "Eat slowly, don't choke." My words were light, but underneath the table, my hands clenched into fists, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on my palms.
Giovanni's gaze felt like a searchlight, locking onto me with unsettling intensity.
I kept my composure, the smile on my face unwavering. "As you can see, Mr. Giovanni, this is my son, Daniel."
"A human son?" Giovanni asked bluntly, his tone smooth yet heavy, the kind of gentleness that carried a weight you couldn't ignore. He picked up his dinner knife and sliced into his steak with deliberate slowness, his gaze lifting to meet mine with an intensity that felt like it could pierce through to my soul.
My heart skipped, but I forced myself to stay calm. "Yes. His father was human." I said, my tone casual, as though the answer was completely ordinary.
Giovanni, however, wasn't so easily dismissed.
"He's special," Giovanni murmured, his eyes drifting toward Daniel. "His scent is a little different."
I nearly spilled my glass of water trying to steady myself. "Maybe it's because his father was an athlete?" I said, attempting humor, though it felt forced and hollow.
Giovanni didn't seem to notice the awkwardness. He furrowed his brow slightly, but didn't press further, instead changing the topic. "Daniel likes barbecue?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
I nodded, while Daniel, seemingly accustomed to me answering questions for him, focused entirely on his food.
Noticing a subtle shift in Giovanni's demeanor, I quickly interjected, "Daniel was frail as a child, and I don't get to take him out much, so he might be a little nervous."
Giovanni's gaze shifted back to me, now sharp and appraising.
"Daniel is very well-behaved," he said quietly, but with more weight behind the words than I could ignore. "He's like you."
The moonlight spilled into the dining room through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over the table. I looked out toward the night, a wave of unease rising within me, but I pushed it down. Giovanni's gaze remained fixed on Daniel, laden with both scrutiny and suspicion. I knew the potion was still working, but his hawk-like eyes made my nerves jangle.
I took a slow, quiet breath, trying to calm myself. No, he wouldn't notice. Daniel looked like any other normal human, Giovanni would never make the connection.
I quickly diverted my eyes and pretended to focus on my plate. But just then, I heard a burst of laughter from both Daniel and Giovanni. The lightness of it made my heart tighten in my chest.
Daniel innocently asked, "Mr. Giovanni, do you always cut your steak into such small pieces?"
Giovanni chuckled softly and set his knife and fork down. "Yes, out of habit. Didn't realize you did the same."
Daniel raised an eyebrow, as though his eating habits had just been recognized. "Yeah, my mom always said I was a picky eater."
I looked up in time to catch Giovanni's teasing glance. His smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but his eyes were sharper, probing. "I'm afraid my mom didn't teach me to be quite so precise with my pickiness," he said, the underlying meaning clear.
A chill ran through me. My fingers tightened slightly under the table as I tried to keep my composure. "Daniel's been studying food since he was a kid; he's a real foodie," I said, hoping the shift in conversation would steer us clear of any further questions.
Giovanni didn't press the issue but returned to his meal. Yet, I knew that the doubt hadn't entirely left his mind.
Daniel and Giovanni were more alike than just in their eating habits.
My eyes can't help but fall on Daniel as I watch the skillful way he moves his knife and fork, the confidence and grace he exudes in his conversation. These details make it impossible for me to ignore the innate similarity between him and Giovanni.
It's not just a matter of bloodline.
My throat tightens. There's no hiding this natural connection, and Giovanni is so perceptive that, sooner or later, he'll notice it.
As it is, Daniel seems to have developed an inexplicable closeness to Giovanni. He moves closer, glances at Giovanni with curiosity, and says, "Mr. Giovanni, you have the same eyes as me."
My heart skips a beat.
"Do I?" Giovanni chuckles lightly, his eyes turning to me with a thoughtful gaze. "Then it seems we're quite destined for each other."
My fingers tighten under the table for a brief moment, but I quickly relax them. I look down and stroke Daniel's hair, not acknowledging Giovanni's words.
The atmosphere becomes subtly tense for a moment.
Giovanni leans back in his chair and shifts his tone, attempting to lighten the mood. "Daniel, what do you like to do in your spare time?"
Daniel freezes, seemingly caught off guard by Giovanni's sudden question. He glances up at me, and after receiving my encouragement, answers in a soft voice, "I like to draw."
"Draw?" Giovanni smiles, his interest piqued. "What do you like to draw?"
"Draw... mom," Daniel's voice falters slightly, his shyness evident.
Giovanni's smile softens. He nods, his voice low and gentle. "Your mom is a great subject."
I watch this scene silently, my emotions a mix of unease and apprehension. Giovanni's behavior is completely unexpected. His attitude toward Daniel doesn't seem like mere concern; there's something deeper, an indefinable emotion that I can't quite place. It leaves me feeling uneasy and shaken.
I remain on high alert for almost the entire dinner, as the interaction between Giovanni and Daniel flows surprisingly naturally. They converse easily, and even some of Daniel's hesitant questions are met with Giovanni's calm responses. This closeness frightens me, making me fear that Giovanni might begin to recognize Daniel even more.
Just as I'm lost in my thoughts, Giovanni looks up suddenly, his tone unobtrusive but tinged with a hint of curiosity. "Daniel, how old are you?"
Daniel sets down his knife and fork, smiling proudly. "Four, but soon to be five."
"Is that so?" Giovanni repeats, his expression thoughtful, a slight frown creasing his brow.
My mind races, and I quickly interject. "Daniel's always been very smart. He likes to mimic adult behavior and seems more composed than other kids his age."
Giovanni doesn't respond immediately. His gaze lingers on Daniel for a moment, then a smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. "Imitation, huh? Well, I suppose it does run in the family."