He’s probably looking for that blonde.
“Dario!”
He patted her shoulder. “There’s my dad. Better move quick if you want a chance with Tiffany. She’s got a crowd of guys chatting her up now.”
Nico waited and then glanced tentatively over her shoulder. Dario was nowhere in sight.
She needed to leave. Now.
You can’t just disappear without saying anything.
I’ll tell Celeste I don’t feel well.
She would catch a taxi to the ferry and pray she hadn’t missed the last one.
Nico looked anxiously around the room.
Where the hell is Celeste?
Maybe she was out on the terrace. She rushed across the room, weaving her way frantically through the crush of bodies until she reached the French doors. Once there, she opened them and stepped out.
The terrace was empty except for one lone figure who had his back to her, gazing out at the lake.
I’ll text Celeste.
She’d have to. She had to get out of here now.
Suddenly the figure turned around, and she was faced with the mirror image of herself.
He took a couple of steps forward and brandished his sword. “‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’”
Her eyes ballooned. “Rocco?”
He stood up straight. His sword fell with his arm to his side as he cocked his head. “Nico?”
Fuck-a-dilly-dewdrop.
Rocco approached her, looking her up and down. “Are you supposed to be … Inigo Montoya?”
She lifted her chin. “As you can see.”
She sounded, what? Annoyed? Perturbed?
Something.
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
Rocco shrugged.
She did likewise, and he wondered if she was mimicking him.
“Maybe,” she hissed, “because you asked like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you were shocked.”
