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His tone sounds contemplative, like he doesn’t know first hand—and something hits me. “Oh hell, your dad…” I say, and then I trail off, feeling terrible that I drank tonight.
When I dare to look up at him, he’s looking gently down at me. “Did I ruin prom?”
“Of course not.”
“No?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t care. In fact, I think you’re the prettiest drunk.”
His lips curve into a funny little smile before he bends down a little, brushing a kiss over my cheek. Then our friends start cheering and I look over my shoulder to find the line of limousines is moving.
“How’d you set this up?” I murmur.
He takes my hand. “L’ho fatto con soldi sporchi.”
“I can’t believe you speak so much Italian.”
“Not as well as my parents,” he says, before Dani and her boyfriend and Ree and the girl from Jace’s party head into their limousine together.
“I think you do,” I murmur as we step back, so other friends of ours can get into their limo, which must have gotten here before ours.
He gives me a little smile.
“You’re just modest,” I tease.
“Better than the alternative.”
I don’t have time to agree because our limousine is next up. It’s black and glossy, long and glamorous, and I feel like a princess as Luca sweeps me up and lifts me inside, settling me on his lap. I hear cheering behind us, and all that makes me feel a little flushed and dizzy as the door shuts and I look up at him.
He kisses my forehead as the driver pulls off and gives the guy an address. The divider wall goes back up. I lean up so I can kiss Luca. “Thank you for doing this.”
“You deserve it.”
“Do you really think that?”
“No.” He smiles, a Cheshire Cat smile. “I know it.”
I sleep on his shoulder during the ride to Isa’s. I don’t even know I’m sleeping until he jostles me awake and whispers, “We’re here, la mia rosa addormentata.”
“What does that mean?”
He chuckles as he helps me out. “The sleeping rose.”
I blink up at the house—an ivory mansion made of some kind of flat, almost translucent-looking stone. It has a dark roof, narrow, dramatic windows topped by loopy, iron-looking accents and filled with long drapes. I glance toward the front doors. They’re delicate and crystalline, framed by four columns and underlined by a gorgeous, bib-shaped staircase that has to be white marble. I can feel Luca looking at me as I take the place in for the first time since a slumber party when I was twelve.
“What do you see when you look at it?” he asks quietly.
“A castle from a fairy tale.” I picture us as queen and king and smile at him. “What do you see?”
He swallows, looks away for a heartbeat, and then gives me an honest answer. “Another world.” His lips twitch. “But not forever.”
I want to say it’s not another world. I want to reassure him that he belongs here. But I don’t want to disregard how he feels.
I settle for taking his hand as we walk toward the door and asking, “What kind of life do you want?”
“One where I can buy you this.”Chapter SixteenLuca
I don’t know how I didn’t realize before. Elise told me the party was at Isa’s house. I don’t know an Isa and didn’t care where we were going—but now that I think about it, Alesso told me last year that he thought Roberto’s daughter went to school at “one of those magnet schools—maybe it could even be yours.” At the time, I didn’t figure anyone in that family would be at a public school.
I feel like I’m moving underwater as we’re ushered through the front doors into an expansive foyer. It’s got a huge hanging light fixture that looks like an explosion of rectangular black crystals. Out in front of us, there’s a table that looks solid gold, topped by a mirror that’s so tall it reaches nearly to the ceiling. On top of the table is the mother of all flower arrangements. It’s got roses that are black and gold and red, and a bunch of vines that look like thorns arranged in different layers, so they’re sort of reaching toward the ceiling.
I suck in a breath of rose scent as I blink down at the floor—black marble with little gold lines—and look to our right, where a woman in a black gown stands in a wide, arched doorway. She beckons us into a big-ass room that’s centered on some stairs. And I get why. These stairs are motherfucking art. They twine together, curling every which way, looking almost like they’re melting as they fall into this empty room from above.
“Dinner will be upstairs in the formal dining hall. Ascend the stairs and you’ll meet another usher,” she says softly.
I notice that she’s pretty in a really made-up kind of way, with a dress that shows off a teardrop diamond necklace and huge tits.
