Chapter Four
“Sorry about that,” Luca says while he zips through the tiny streets of Rome as if it’s not the least bit challenging. “Do you need to be anywhere right now?”
“I guess not,” I say, because really, it’s not like I ever need to be anywhere except for school. But I’d rather he didn’t know that. My mom won’t be home from work for hours. I start to wonder why he’s carried me off. You read about rich people who do weird crimes sometimes. Maybe he’s dangerous.
But his smile is sweet. “Brilliant.” His phone is already plugged into the car, and he tells it to get directions to “La Contessa.” I look at the screen on the dash. Whatever this place is, it’s well outside of Rome, based on the kilometers and forty minutes it will take us to get there. Part of me wants to demand where we’re going, and part of me just wants to get farther away from the Dip Squad and cameras. Whatever he wants from me, it’s probably best to wait until I’m out of his car to ask. At least then I could run.
Luca tells me to play whatever kind of music I like and unlocks his phone with his thumbprint. I pull up his music app and search until I find something I like.
“Good taste,” Luca says as the song begins to play. “Modern and yet classic, too.”
I’m not sure if he’s making fun of me, so I look at the scenery. After all, the guy likes Jasmine, so his taste can’t be that good. Her songs are typical pop fueled by racy lyrics and confessional drama.
He can go pretty fast because the car hugs the road so tightly, but I don’t have the faith in him that he has, and I grip the seat. He must notice, because he dials the speed back a few notches. The wind feels cool after how stifling school was, and I’m glad I put my hair in a bun this morning. I let myself bask in how good it is to escape the Dip Squad, even temporarily.
“There are some glecks in the glove box,” he says.
“Glecks?”
“Sunglasses.”
“Oh, thanks.” I dig them out, relieved to stop squinting at the sun and the wind. I slip them on, noticing that they are not the cheap plastic kind from the newsstand.
“They look good on you.”
I ignore this. “So, how did you find me?”
“I didn’t. The paparazzi did. I just had someone find out what they knew. There was no way they weren’t going to ambush you once they followed you to Gucci.”
“How did they figure out who I am so quickly?”
“They probably went into Gucci after you and paid the clerk to tell them your name from your credit card, or took a photo of it while you were paying. Someone followed you home, maybe to school this morning. Or they just found out once they had your name.”
“I didn’t even see anyone take my photo when I left Gucci.”
“Well, you can tell from the picture they used a telephoto lens. They were probably in a car across the street, or partially hidden by a delivery truck or something.” He frowns. “Half the time, you never know they’re there. Especially in a crowded city. It’s pretty easy for them to fit in, even with a really good lens on the camera.”
“How do you know so much about how they work? And how do you stand it?”
He laughs. “It’s part of the territory. I don’t really remember life without them. You get to know their tricks after a while.”
“What do you do that makes you so famous?”
“I told you, I hang around famous people. I don’t actually do anything. I just…am.”
He says this nonchalantly, but I feel like there’s a current of bitterness running through his words. He doesn’t elaborate, though, and I don’t ask.
My favorite song comes on. I put my head back and enjoy the wind and the beautiful Italian countryside whirring by. I wonder if Grace Kelly felt like this when she was filming To Catch a Thief on the French Riviera, riding around in beautiful cars with Cary Grant. It’s one of my mom’s favorite old movies.
“I looked for you online,” Luca says after a while. “You have accounts but no posts. How come?”
“I’m a professional troll,” I say, and he chuckles. I don’t really get why people look each other up online. No one is ever honest about who they are on the internet.
“Seriously, why no posts?”
We pass a cemetery with its tall sentinel trees. The Etruscans believed cypress trees have supernatural power and that their essential oil wards off demons. I think the best way to ward off demons is to keep your head down and stay away from them in the first place. The more people know about you, the more weapons they have to turn against you.
“I’m a private person.”
Luca’s face grows serious, and he gets quiet. Pretty soon, he pulls into the main piazza of a small town and parks. It’s a typical village in Italy, old and pretty, without being special in any way. He hops out, and I start looking for the handle, which is practically hidden in the door. By the time I find it, he’s come around and opened it for me.
“Thanks,” I say. “So, why are we here?”
He smiles. “The food here is great, so lunch. And a business proposition.”
I look around and nod. He’s apparently not a serial killer, and I’m starving. And this should at least be interesting.
We cross the square to a restaurant that’s housed in an ancient building overlooking a dry green valley. The heat of the day evaporates inside, which has been modernized in clean glass lines. Its beauty is in the contrast, with stone walls and exposed timber beams. It’s late for lunch, even by Italian standards, and Luca gets us a table in front of a panoramic window. The perfume of fresh bread and rosemary lingers in the air.
“Is this good?” he asks before we sit down.
“Fine.”
The waiter asks us in English what we’d like to drink. I ask for a limonata, and Luca says he’ll have the same. We look over the menus, and nothing is inexpensive. Even the antipasti are at least twenty euros. When the waiter comes back with the drinks and bread, Luca orders a seafood pizza and I get a salad.
“Do you want the salmon with that?” Luca asks. “It’s probably imported from Scotland.”
“I’m vegan.”
Luca nods. “Of course you are. Can’t stand to hurt animals?”
“Yes. Although you can’t really be completely vegan in Italy, so I eat some cheese and butter and eggs. But I try to make sure the animals are humanely treated whenever I can.”
“Naturally. So, you like tofu?”
“God, no,” I say, which makes him laugh.
“There’s hope for you yet, Astoria Herriot.”
“You can just call me Story.”
The conversation lulls as we wait for our food. I look out on the beautiful valley below, while Luca studies me. I get the feeling he’s used to getting the things he wants, almost like Patrick but without being mean about it. I don’t think Luca has to be mean to get what he wants. The guy oozes charm. The real question is what he wants from me.
The waiter brings our food and retreats to the bar, where he and the bartender chat. The restaurant is empty.
“I see why you brought me here.”
“No paparazzi, and no one to overhear.” He smiles.
“So, what’s this business proposal? And is it normal to make business proposals to your girlfriend?”
He chuckles. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get you out of all this with that tour guide story.”
“Me too.”
Luca’s smile disappears. “Well, the paparazzi seem determined to believe that you are my latest girlfriend.”
“Your latest?” I stab a piece of lettuce with my fork. “How many have you had?”
This seems to throw him, and he vaguely says, “A few.” He pauses before he offers me a slice of pizza.
“No, thank you.”
“Anyway, it would really help Jasmine and me out if you could pretend to go along. You know, make public appearances with me so people don’t realize—”
He hesitates, and I almost manage to not say “That you’re helping her cheat on Rowdy Funkmaster?” But I say it.
Luca furrows his brow. “Are you a fan of his?”
“No, I’ve never heard of him except as Jasmine’s boyfriend in the constant celebrity chatter none of us can escape. I mean, maybe I’ve heard his music, but I couldn’t tell you what his songs are.”
Luca sits back and relaxes. “Well, they’ve been struggling for a while, and they’ve basically broken up at this point.”
“Basically?”
“I read that your mother’s a lawyer. You must take after her.” He says it simply, not meanly, but it makes me feel mean.
“I just think people should be honest. If she doesn’t want to be with the guy, then she should tell him.”
“She has,” he says, and leans in closer before he whispers, “but she told him right before he went to rehab. He’s therenow.”
I pull back and can’t help it that my eyes grow wide. I guess I can understand not wanting to be with someone who has substance use disorder, but maybe she could have at least waited before she moved on to her next conquest. She’s left a string of broken hearts in Hollywood.
“Look,” Luca says, and he seems really annoyed with me. “I don’t need you to approve, just to go along.”
I take a big bite of my salad so that I don’t say the first thing that comes to mind. But even after I’ve fully chewed and taken a large swallow of my lemonade, I’m still thinking the same thing.
“I’m sorry, why should I go along with you on this crazy idea exactly?”
Luca looks surprised, as if he can’t imagine why anyone would not be willing to be his fake girlfriend.
“Well,” he says, and then pauses awkwardly. “There are a lot of perks to running around in my circles.”
“Like the Ferrari?”
He smiles as if he thinks he’s scored a point. “Exactly. You’ll get to go to all the best parties in Rome, see the best shows, meet, well, not the best people, but the people with all the access to the best things.”
I just look at him. Then I take another bite of salad and turn my face to the window.
“You’re not impressed by all that, are you?”
“Not really.”
“So what are you impressed by? Do you want money?”
I drop my fork. “I’m sorry, do you think I’m an item for sale, like that Rolex you’re wearing?”
The waiter jerks his head in our direction, and I really hope he only heard my tone and not my words.
“I’m sorry,” Luca says, flustered. “That didn’t come out right at all. Honestly.”
“I hope not. This idea is ridiculous.”
We sit in silence. Luca gazes out the window and taps his fingers on the table. I can’t believe the nerve of this spoiled brat and his diva girlfriend, asking me to lie for them as if I have nothing better to do in life.
“Well, what would make it worth it to you?”
I stare at him, and he’s actually serious. He’s willing to make a deal, sure I must have a price. I think about this for a few moments, like maybe there is something I should ask for? But there’s nothing he has that I need or want.
“There has to be something I can do for you? Do you want a trip? Front-row seats at Fashion Week?” He snaps his fingers. “Or maybe there’s someone you want to meet. The singer you played in the car? A five-star vacation on a private jet?” This kid could be a car salesman.
I think about maybe taking my mom to Hawaii. For just a moment, I see us hiking to see a volcano. It’s something we’ve always talked about doing. But I’d never be able to explain how I got someone to give me a trip like that.
I shake my head.
He shakes his head back at me, clearly frustrated that he can’t get what he wants.
“Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you—”
“Won’t—”
“Okay, won’t. But I don’t really want anything from you, and I don’t want to be part of a scheme to help some girl cheat on her boyfriend. Or supposed boyfriend, or whatever he is. Especially while he’s in rehab. Wow, that sounds even worse when I say it out loud.”
“What if he knew?”
I stare at him. “Excuse me?”
“What if Rowdy”—he stops and presses his lips together for just a moment—“what if Jeremy—that’s his real name—knew and said it was okay?”
“You’re going to get him to do that?”
“Look, Jasmine has already told him it’s over. He’s going to rehab for him, not her. He agreed it had to be for himself.”
“Are you sure he’s not hoping to get back with her when he gets out?”
“Positive. She was calling it off no matter what, and he knows about me. I think that’s what made him finally realize he needed help. Then the record label got involved and told them to keep it quiet until after the EP drops and makes its initial money splash.”
I study him for a long moment. That would make it better. But I still don’t want to be part of this. I didn’t like having cameras all over me. And I really don’t know how to be part of an in-crowd. But I feel sorry for this guy in rehab. “Would it help him?”
“You mean Jeremy?” Luca seems surprised I would ask.
“Yes. I mean, it would help him, too, since he’s on the album, right?”
Luca nods. “He’d have some peace from all the questions while he’s in recovery.”
Late-afternoon sun comes through the window and makes me squint. I would like to help this guy out. But this is crazy. “No, I’m sorry. Even if this Jeremy were okay with it, I wouldn’t fit into your world. No one would believe it.”
“People will believe whatever the paparazzi spin for them. And the paparazzi will spin what they want the people to believe.”
“So that means what?”
Luca shrugs. “My guess is that they’ll paint you as an innocent darling and be waiting with bated breath for bad-boy Luca to break your heart. That’s usually how it works. I’m one of their favorite villains. Jeremy will be out of rehab in July, he and Jasmine drop the album and, a few weeks later, announce a mutual breakup. She’s not dumping a fellow in rehab, and he’s not losing any face, either. And the album still sells.”
“And is this what really matters? That the album sells?”
He shrugs. “What else should matter?”
That’s the moment I know I’ll do it. Because I know what matters, and he doesn’t.
“What about Luca and Story? How do you save face for dumping me for her?”
“You dump me. For whatever reason you like. I’ll wait a week or two, and Jasmine and I will be out in the open. No one will expect me to be without a girlfriend for long, and everyone already suspects I like her. It will blow over easily enough.”
I gaze out the window. “I can dump you for any reason I want?”
“Yep. This can all be over by the end of July or early August at the latest. In the meantime, I’ll treat you like a proverbial princess. And everyone walks away a winner.”
I really don’t like the whole idea. But Luca has hit on my one soft spot. There is one thing I’ve dreamed of doing one day and this entitled, self-absorbed ATM can make it happen now with a wave of his check wrist. I calculate in my head what I think the things he’s offered me would cost, and it’s enough to at least get me started.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
He smiles. “Brilliant!”
And now it’s my turn to smile. “Yes. On one condition.”