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“What’s Ezra like?” I ask. I figure it’s better to know so I can prepare myself for him. If I’m going to be around them for however long, I’ll need to know what to expect.
Vance, who is a few paces ahead of me, turns to give me a cheeky grin. I find myself smiling back for no good reason—he’s a huge smiler, and it’s infectious.
“Oh, it’ll be pretty obvious once you meet him,” Vance chuckles. “I don’t think there’s anything I can say to prepare you for him.”
What the hell kind of an answer is that?
I’m a little worried, but it’s not like I have a choice. I get the impression that the two of them are going to be as insistent as Alexander. Somehow, I’ll have to find a way to get Tara and Nya here, if only to take some of the attention off me.
They’re Alexander’s friends, not mine.
I don’t want to be alone with them.
“Where do you want to go for breakfast?”
“The Ivy. It’s my favorite restaurant.”
Vance nods, leading the way.
TWENTY-TWO
ALEXANDER
It’sa sunny day in Sorrento.
Despite the smidgen of anxiety I’ve had about the trip—mostly about making a good impression with the Society members and leaving Alize on campus without me—I’m optimistic as I descend the stairs onto the tarmac.
Good weather is always a favorable sign.
It helps that this time around, instead of having the meeting in the middle of the Atlantic, I’ve been summoned to Italy. It’s much easier to get here from Switzerland.
The private airport is tiny—there are only a handful of hangars and no other planes out on the tarmac. Apart from the staff on my jet and the driver sitting in the waiting Maybach, I’m the only person out here.
When I near the car, the driver hops out to open my door.
“Welcome to Sorrento, Mr. Duke,” he says in a thick Italian accent. I nod my acknowledgment. “I’m Eufrasio, and I will be your chauffeur today.”
He’s a capable-looking man, dressed in a burgundy suit with a matching hat. There’s enough gray hair peeking out from underneath it for me to think he’s not much of a threat. I relax a little. Not that I’d have a problem protecting myself. I brought more guns than clothes.
The car was sent by the Kingmaker Society, and it shows.
The seats are made from thick Napa leather the color of buttermilk, with polished paneling and the latest technology throughout. A privacy screen separates the passenger’s cabin from the driver’s. The Kingmaker Society crest is stitched into the headrests with golden thread.
I take a bottle of sparkling water from the mini-fridge.
The private airport is a few miles away from the city, but close enough that there’s evidence of tourism even this far out. Though it’s almost the end of the high season, the streets are bustling with cars and bicycles. People roam the streets, taking postcard-worthy shots of the vistas. In the distance, dozens of yachts mill about in the shimmering blue waters.
When the car slows to negotiate a bottleneck in the route, I catch a glimpse of a family on vacation. A huge diamond ring glistens on the wife’s hand and the husband has their son on his shoulders. They’re happy and smiling, laughing with each other, soaking up the sun and enjoying each other’s company.
I stare at them for as long as I can. There’s a tingling in my chest that I can’t place. They seem so…happy. No, it’s more than that—they seem unburdened. They’re enjoying the moment, obviously elated to be sharing it with each other.
This place is so fucking beautiful, and seeing all these people having fun, enjoying their lives, makes me think of Alize. I should take her here one day soon, once we have all this shit behind us. It’s close enough to campus, too.
It’s the perfect spot for a trip over a long weekend.
Alize has never told me her dreams, but after being locked up all her life I figure she would enjoy traveling. I would enjoy it too, mostly being able to experience everything for the first time through her eyes.
For the rest of the drive, I imagine Alize’s voice in my head, reacting to everything I see. I hear her laugh when I see the street performers, and I can picture the shine of her hazel eyes when we roll by a pasticceria. She would love sampling all the different Italian desserts—and I would buy every single one of them for her, if it would make her happy.
