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I can feel every pair of eyes on me like a finger probing my skin. One of the production assistants turns to his friend, voice so low I can barely hear. “Does he know his boyfriend…” he drops into Italian, but I catch “un po’ di puttana.”A bit of a whore. Someone snorts. I catch his eye and wink, but the way his face flames doesn’t help the cold feeling in my gut.
“Quiet on set,” Campagna demands, but he’s smiling a little.
I pull away from Ethan; he lets me go. “What did they say?” he whispers.
“They said you have something hanging out of your nose.” I turn to Campagna. “We finished?”
“Si, for now. Do you want to see?”
“I don’t get paid enough to look at my face.”
The doors to the room are heavy as I shove them open, like they want to keep me in. Chills run through my body.
Fight or flight, except I can’t.
Go home, except I can’t.
Dad and Gray and Ethan, the people I should have been able to trust, are dragging me into the light and cutting me open so everyone can see what’s inside.
I head for the nearest restroom. Everything in this place is gilded and antique, and I half expect the toilet to have a pull chain. There’s a narrow gap between the side of the toilet and the wall, a little smaller than me. After turning off the light, I fold my shoulders up, wedge myself in, and hug my knees to my chest. Just for a minute, I can finally breathe.
The door pops open; Iforgotto lock it. A shadow blocking my way out. That’s the worst nightmare, the one I stay awake all night to avoid, and my heart is beating so hard it throbs in my vision by the time Ethan gets the light on. He blinks as I stand up. “What are you doing?”
“I aim better in the dark.” My voice won’t stay steady.
He looks like the stress is causing him physical pain. “I knew you couldn’t do this. But you need to pull it together, because we don’t have a choice.”
I cross my arms and look him up and down. “Why not?”
“Because—”
“Because I’m your meal ticket to a bunch of cash.”
“Come on.” He leans back against the door. “It’s for my mom. You met her.”
“And I’m sure she’d be cool with all of this. I bet you told her every detail of exactly why you came here.”
His face darkens. “Don’t.” Pushing off the door, he walks right up to me, as close as he can get without touching. I stare at the top button of his shirt, refusing to back up.
“Look at me.” He has no idea how bossy he sounds. And I obey, immediately, because I was built to be good. Meeting his eyes, I notice that they turn down a little at the outside corners, which makes him look very gentle and serious. “What can I do to get you to communicate with me?”
I break into a big grin. “Did you fuck him or did he fuck you?”
He throws up his hands and walks out. In the doorway, he pauses and looks back. “What did those guys say about you?”
He’ll look it up eventually, when he gets his phone on hotel Wi-Fi. I just shake my head. “Word of advice: never trust a guy who wears an infinity scarf post-2009.”
When he’s gone, I lock the door behind him and lean against it for a long time.
Big windows line the private dining room, overlooking views of the sea and the castle. They’re propped open to let in the smell of climbing roses and the calling of gulls. My skin’s on fire, like an addict, from being stuck away from the water for almost twenty-four hours.
The lunch setup is a full-on blowout—white tablecloths and crystal and rows of polished cutlery—to impress my father and the other board members who have joined him. Now that they’re being bought out by an American, all the local comeVa employees are fighting to keep their places in the new world order. Ethan’s eyes widen as he walks in.
If there’s any doubt about who’s really important here, it becomes clear when Ethan and I are shunted to the end of a table while the big men with money sit in the middle. I don’t mind; I like the cool air on my back. While everyone else has wine glasses, a lonely cup of water sits by my plate, just like Ethan ordered.Joke's on you. I wouldn't have drunk their wine anyway.
Waiters in black and white bring out bowls of clear, rich broth and a profusion of salad. I pick up my bowl and dump it into Ethan's, almost overflowing it. “Hey,” he complains as I add my salad to his.
“Hope you’re hungry. Anyone who doesn’t clear their plate is an ungrateful asshole.”
