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My mom’s “team” is fifteen overpaid Hollywood professionals who do hair and makeup for the New York celebrities’ red-carpet events. Her “dressing room” is two levels and over twelve hundred square feet of MAC and Charlotte Tilbury makeup, Vera Wang gowns, a collection of designer shoes, armloads of jewelry, and walls of mirrors.
She raises a brow at my clean face. “Trust me. We’ll need every minute. Besides, you start welcoming the heads of the family at seven, an hour before the party.”
“K, Mom.” I raise my arms over my head, faking a long yawn. “Well, in that case, I think I’d better turn in now. Big day tomorrow.”
That raises an arched brow. “What about the studying?”
“It can wait.” I turn to eye her. “I just saw Paolo’s car arrive.” I don’t mention that I saw him and had pussy flutters. “Don’t you have some important guests to be attending to?”
“Yes. You know that. Dad has a meeting with a few of the brothers, then afterwards we’re hosting one of our, in your words, boring grown-up dinners for whoever’s come to town early.” She waggles a finger at me. “Don’t forget you promised to come down and show your pretty face. Be sure to change into a dress first.” She eyes my ripped jeans again. “Please. For me?”
Crap!
Totally forgot about the dinner and the fact that she asked me to make an appearance. Good thing she stopped me from sneaking out. When they came up to get me to make my rounds, they would have ignored my note, opened the door, and found an empty bedroom.
I pop another gummy, chewing thoughtfully before I answer. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Of course I remember.”
“Mm.” She gives me one final look, suspicion in her blue eyes. Finally, she air-kisses both my cheeks, then finally leaves, turning on a heel. She waves goodbye with red fingernails as she goes. “I’m off to break the news to Paolo.”
“Poor man,” I mutter, closing my door.
Bodyguarding me is going to be a real challenge for him. As a kid, I never colored in the lines. Didn’t grow out of it.
I fall across my bed with an annoyed huff.
Mom is on high alert. I’m expected to make the rounds. There’s no way in Hamlet I’m getting out of here tonight. My trip will have to wait till tomorrow, till after the party. I move across the room and collapse onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Tomorrow night will be my last chance to do what I need to do before I leave. Before I give myself fully to the Bachmans, I have to do this one thing. To finally reach my goal. I’ve worked oh-so-hard. I’ve given it my all, my blood, sweat, tears.
This time…I need to win.
It’s my last chance.
Then, I need to say goodbye.
Because once I leave for Italy, I know I’ll never see them again.
And I’ve made a promise to myself.
This will be the last time I go to the Pit.
three
Around 5:00 p.m. Savage’s arrival in the Hamlet in Connecticut for his business meeting with the heads of the family
Savage
Once I arrive in Connecticut, I head straight for the Hamlet. As much as I wouldn’t want to live here, even I have to admit the place is an incredible feat. The family built it years ago, creating their own self-sufficient town that, thanks to generous payments to the state and friends higher up, answers to our laws only.
The Hamlet has its own school, post office, amphitheater with outdoor stage, a sports field, a medical center, and a playground. Now, I’m driving down the narrow, dirt path leading to it. It’s only wide enough for one vehicle to enter. The drive is lined with massive oak trees, planted way before we bought the three-hundred-acre piece of land.
The path widens, leading to a huge iron gate that is the only break in the wall that surrounds the entire property. Guards stand on either side of massive stone pillars that meet at the sides of the gate.
The gate senses the tech planted in the sleek black Mercedes I drive, opening wide for me. I’m waved through by a young brother with shaggy, light brown hair. I pass thick woods filled with more huge, old oak trees, another barrier guarding the town. As you drive further down the road, the woods clear, and single-family homes on large parcels of land come into view.
The homes are beautiful. Each one was custom-built to Bachman specifications. Houses trade hands depending on people’s changing life circumstances. The walls must be soundproof, the homes must be outfitted with the latest Bachman tech and security. And each one has a large, luxurious owners’ suite for couples to retreat to.
Some of the homes are brick, others stone. Some have pools in the backyard, others basketball hoops in the driveway. Nothing like the homes I grew up in. If you can call a one-bedroom apartment with a pullout sofa a home.
