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PROLOGUE
BIANKA
Two Years Before
Shopping for a new semester is my favorite part of back-to-school.
As Ellie and I haul our considerable loot from the store, I can barely hold on to the number of shopping bags weighing me down. If this were Central Chicago, I would have two of my brother’s men watching over me who I could pass the heavy load off to.
But seeing as I’m smack-dab in the middle of Marchetti territory. I’ll have to fend for myself. Not that I mind. I love the freedom that comes with it, even if it does put my brother on edge.
“Ugh, I’m going to dream about that last pair of shoes you bought,” Ellie moans, her arms laden with massive designer store shopping bags as well.
I sigh contentedly. “I might just sleep in them tonight.”
Ellie laughs. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“Hey, I’m not the one pining over another girl’s shoes,” I tease, twirling to face my fellow theater major and best friend.
Ellie rolls her eyes emphatically as I step backward through the exit of Max Mara’s impressive first-floor store. Flashing Ellie a cheeky smile, I turn to watch where I’m going and squeak as I pull up short.
Cassio Marchetti stands mere feet in front of me. I know the strikingly handsome man, who’s right around my age, from one of the theater classes I took last semester. He’s as lithe and broad-shouldered as ever in his typical expensive and dashing attire tailored to perfection. The shock of dark waves that fall casually over his forehead is the perfect combination of messy and stylish. Heat flashes across my skin the instant I lay eyes on him.
“Holy hotness,” Ellie breathes behind me, making my face go up in flames as I pray he didn’t hear her.
“Well, if it isn’t Bianka Popov,” Cassio says, his smooth-as-silk voice making my heart stutter as my eyes make their way up his tall, finely Italian-suited frame. His eyes dance with mischief, and the left corner turns into the classic Marchetti smirk. He glances down at my bag-laden hands, and his amusement grows. “Out for a bit of light shopping?”
I laugh, trying to rein in my body’s immediate response to him as my skin warms several more degrees. My quivering stomach, my heart thundering inside my chest, the way I can’t seem to catch my breath–my reaction is as overpowering and uncontrollable as the day I first met him. “Um–yeah. Something like that.”
Ellie clears her throat loudly as I get lost in Cassio’s hazel gaze. He has the slightest sliver of brown in one corner that reminds me of a freckle. Somehow, that makes his beautiful eyes fascinating to me. I snap out of my reverie at the sound, jumping a little.
“Oh, Cass, this is my friend Ellie. Ellie, this is Cassio. He was in my Acting Workshop class last semester.”
“Elise,” Ellie corrects me, dropping her bags in her right hand to step forward and shake Cassio’s.
I purse my lips at my friend, unamused by her attempt to sound more sophisticated when shenevergoes by Elise unless she’s trying to flirt. But Cassio seems oblivious to the way she bats her lashes.
He takes her hand with a warm grin. “Pleasure.”
“I’m a theater major with Bianka. I’m surprised I didn’t have you in any of my classes last year,” Ellie says, withdrawing her hand to twirl her long, straight mahogany hair.
Cassio chuckles. “Oh, I’m not a theater major. I just took the one class as an elective–for fun, you know?”
“Oh.” Ellie sounds distinctly disappointed.
“You’ve been having a good summer, though?” Cassio asks, turning his eyes back to me. “I feel like we’ve hardly hung out.”
Partially, that’s because Ilya’s treated me to several vacations, from a week of Broadway performances in New York with Ellie to a two-week Jamaican beach vacation with my mom and a bodyguard to keep a close eye on my safety. Of course, Ilya’s been far too busy to join, but that hasn’t stopped him from spoiling me rotten.
But the other reason I haven’t spent much time with Cassio this summer is I simply can’t seem to buck up the courage to invite him to things. While he’s invited me to a few group outings along with the other friends he made in theater, I can’t gauge whether he’s asking me just to be polite. I get too flustered around him to dare initiate anything.
“Yeah, we should probably change that,” I say.
“Seriously, I suddenly feel like I have so much more to learn about you. In our entire semester together, you never told me you had a twin,” he teases, gesturing to Ellie.
Ironic, considering Cassio is a twin, but I know he’s joking.
Ellie and I might be joined at the hip, and we certainly do look alike in some ways–light eyes, dark hair, a similar enough size that we’ve never hesitated to share clothes or shoes–but Ellie doesn’t have the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks or the impossible-to-tame curls that I’ve been cursed with.
