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Music drifts in from a car passing below, the notes from an oldies station blaring through the open windows.MC Hammer?The song reminds me of the stories my brother used to tell me about my father smuggling DVDs of American music back in the old country.
Wearing a pair of ripped, cut-off jean shorts and a crop top, I’m not looking forward to going back to a uniform for the final months of school after spring break.
“The sun may be shining, but that’s about all that’s good about spring,” I grumble, half to myself. “You talk about teachers, but have you forgotten the kings? Talk about lording it over everyone.”
Speaking of the kings, a shiver works its way down my spine at the thought of one particular king.
Lucian.
To think that once upon a time, he checked off every bullet point on the ‘Imagine My Husband’ game we used to play as little girls.
Olive skin. Check.
Dark hair. Check.
Light eyes (gray, to be exact). Check.
Square jaw. Check.
And that’s just his face.
As if his looks aren’t irritating enough, he’s bad-boy catnip to a fixer like me. From the moment I loved him from the moment I set eyes on him in kindergarten.
My heart is a twisted puzzle when it comes to Lucian Popescu. With the way he’s treated me over the years, you’d think I’d be ashamed by how much I crave his attention.
Crina looks up from her place at my desk, and says confidently, “It’s the end of the road for the Big Bully.”
I roll my eyes. “And you know this how exactly?”
She gives a little dismissive shrug. “He’s got Roxana draped all over him with her octopus arms, staking her claim. They’ll be engaged any day now, and once he’s engaged, he can’t continue doing the weird shit he does to you.”
My stomach clenches at the reminder of his imminent engagement.
Falling on the bed beside me, Gabby gives an exaggerated fake shudder.
“As if any of us would want a man like that,” Crina continues, scribbling away in the diary she carries with her everywhere. Candy wrappers litter the desk. “Let the spoiled brat have him. I might hate her guts, but she has her uses. And distracting him in her bid to become his queen comes in handy. Did you see her dripping in Gucci from head to toe at Easter mass?”
“So trashy,” chimes in Gabby.
I hate to love him and yet, something happened to my insides when I caught Roxana slobbering into his mouth behind the church. Like Crina said, I should be happy that he’ll soon be engaged. Instead, I fantasize about the dark murderous prince who bullies me. There are no boy-meets-girl love stories in my world, and to harbor any fantasies of Lucian is practically an act of self-harm.
Always the optimistic one, Gabby insists, “What do we care about Roxie or the kings? Remember the poem we read by Robert Frost about the road not taken, Crina?”
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— / I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference,” she recites with a sigh at the end.
“We’re going to do that,” she promises, tapping the acceptance letter laying on the bed. “Our lives aren’t going to stop at the big Romanian wedding. We’re going to grow up to be something more than boring little wifies.”
Yes, yes, we made a pact to apply to colleges together. Crina and I are still waiting for our letters. Me, for a program in art curation. Crina for a writing program.
“But I want to do something now,” I grumble as I grab the small coffee cup on my night table and take a sip of Turkish coffee.
The small cup, a little larger than an espresso cup, has the words “Best Brother Ever” wrapped around it in cursive. Tatum left it behind in his hurry to leave, and I’m glad for it. It reminds me of him.
Gabby perks up. “What are you saying, Star?”
From my position, seated with my back to the headboard, I pull open the drawer of my nightstand and grab a sheet of paper.
Waving it in the air, I say, “My bucket list.”
