“He didn’t touch me.” I prop myself up on one elbow, concerned. Cautiously, like approaching a wild animal, I rest my hand on Gio’s arm. “He didn’t touch me, okay?”
I watch Gio take deep breaths in and out. He calms down slowly, though I sense the rage is still simmering beneath the surface. After a beat, I lie back down. The song changes to Angels We Have Heard on High. It’s early May, but I love Christmas music any time of year. It’s so hopeful. I especially love the Glee version.
Maybe I did think high school was a little like that…
“I thought you weren’t allowed to go to the party,” he says, his voice low.
I shrug. “I guess they changed their mind.”
“It’s not safe for you.”
Umm… “Everyone will be there.”
“That’s exactly why it’s not safe.”
“Will you be there?” I ask hopefully. I’m not worried about the safety of this party. I mean…it’s a party. But I want him to be there anyway. “You could protect me.”
He lets out a disgusted sound. “No. I have a job that night.”
A job. That sounds ominous. It’s not like he’s got shifts at a movie theater or something. A job means something for his father. Something for la familia. What if something goes wrong? What if he gets hurt? He still has bruises from whatever awful thing happened the other night. How dare his father send him into violent, dangerous situations.
Then again, that’s exactly what my father is doing with Honor.
“We’ll see each other after,” I say. I was thinking of telling him we’d skip that night, but lying here with him now, that feels too painful. And now that I know he has a job, I’d just be worried about him until I saw him again.
“The party will be late.”
“I’ll leave early. I’ll tell them I feel sick or something.” I don’t mention that I already feel sick. I’ve wanted to go to a party, to anything, since forever. But now that it’s here, it feels all wrong. This isn’t about dancing in ballrooms and getting kissed in the garden. This is being paraded in front of Byron’s friends while Gio is off somewhere risking his life. “Please. I need to see you after the party. Meet me here.”
He grunts, still looking at the ceiling. “Maybe.”
Chapter Four
The party is a success. I know this because at least five people have told me so. How good the food is. How pretty the flowers are. How grown up I look in this dress. It makes me wonder if they want something from me.
Maybe I’m just being cynical. The people do seem very nice…if a little superficial. Every conversation I’ve had has been about the weather and the best wine vintage. And the weather again.
I miss lounging on the couch, choking down whiskey or listening to music. I miss resting my head on Gio’s strong thigh, feeling the warm weight of his hand on the back of my neck.
I miss him.
“Dear?”
My attention snaps back to the woman in front of me. It’s almost hard to see her face with all the diamonds crowding her neck and earlobes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Donato. I didn’t hear you.”
It helps that the ballroom is crazy loud. It makes it less weird that she has to keep repeating herself to me. “Call me Ines,” she says with a knowing smile. “You’re practically a woman now. One of us.”
One of us. But who is that exactly?
It’s like there’s a secret handshake that no one ever taught me. I understand what Gio meant about staying in the background and hoping not to be noticed. There’s something almost creepy about all the smiles and the wealth. And the congratulations for my sister, when everyone here knows what a monster Byron is.
Heck, everyone here is a monster.
All the jewels dripping from wrists and necks were bought with blood. But I’m supposed to smile and say, “I’m so thrilled to be here.”
She clucks. “It’s so hot though. More than usual, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it has been warm this year.”
Which is a lie. We live in Las Vegas. It’s basically a giant oven, a kiln that’s been baking the cracked clay earth for centuries. The grounds of my father’s estate are lush green, a testament to what huge sums of money and half the city’s water supply can accomplish.
We’ve made our own little oasis. But that doesn’t make it any less of an illusion.
I scan the crowd, but I’m too short to see above the black tuxes and fancy hairdos. “Have you happened to see Honor around?”
Mrs. Di Donato winks. “I saw her leaving the ballroom with Byron a few minutes ago. Young love is a beautiful thing.”
I manage some kind of nod that convinces her before making my excuses. Then I’m crossing the ballroom. I readjust the shawl as I go, making sure it’s covering my cleavage. My feet are aching after hours of standing in heels—seriously, whoever invented these was a masochist. Or a sadist. But they don’t slow me down. Whatever is going on between Honor and Byron, it’s not love. I have to check on her.
A man stops in front of me. I start to go around him, but he touches my arm.
I flinch back. Only then do I realize he was stopping me on purpose.