Chapter Six
Luca lets me off around the corner from my apartment building, which is just a little south of the embassy. My mom might be getting home, and there could be paparazzi waiting.
“Can I borrow these?” I ask about the shades as he pulls to the curb.
“Keep them.”
“Thanks.” I step onto the sidewalk and close the door. Luca pulls into the street and flies away. I slip into a store and buy a baseball hat with the logo of a major soccer team, Juventus. I’d rather hide under an imitation Hermès scarf like a 1950s movie star, but that seems a bit too conspicuous for today’s Rome.
Our apartment is in an updated, older building. It’s where all the Dips not assigned to live at the embassy are housed. I scan the sidewalk for paparazzi. If they are here, then Luca is right, they’re hard to spot. I keep my head down and go inside.
My mom is home. Bright, sunny windows overlook a courtyard in the back of the building. “I was thinking we could have pasta from that new place around the corner,” she says. “What do you think?”
“I’m sorry, I had a late lunch.” I drop my book bag by the door and kick off my Converses.
“That’s fine. How was rehearsal?”
I rub my neck. “Hot and long and Patricky.”
My mom laughs. “Well, you’re almost free of him.” She’s reading, a teacup in her hand. Our lemon tree that stands sentry between the balcony doors is drooping.
“Have you watered Bert lately?” I ask.
“No, it’s been a few days. He does look a bit sad, doesn’t he?” I go into the kitchen and bring back a small pitcher of water. Bert has been with us since I was little, almost like a pet. I check his leaves for bugs and then take the empty pitcher back to the sink. I debated on the ride home how much to tell my mom about Luca. She’s sure to hear about him if Guin and the rest of them mention it to their parents.
“Hey, Mom,” I say as I start to put away the clean dishes sitting in the drying rack, “can I go to the Jamie Talon concert tonight?”
“Jamie Talon? That’s a hot ticket. Whom are you going with?” She knows about all the events to see and be seen at because the diplomatic corps is like a giant concierge for the Luca Kinnairds of the States. Kelsey and company have been whining for months they couldn’t get tickets, and even Patrick hasn’t been able to hook them up.
“A guy I met this week.” I try not to wince as I say it.
“A guy you met this week? How did you meet this guy? How old is he? What’s his name? Is he from here?”
I laugh to make her relax. “His name is Luca Kinnaird, and he’s only a year older than me. He’s some rich kid from Scotland, and I met him by accident and somehow ended up giving him a little tour of the Trevi. He’s just paying me back. That’s all.” I should have my fingers crossed behind my back.
“A rich kid from Scotland? And you barely know him?”
“It’s fine, Mom. He’s a little famous in the celebrity magazines, so he’s not going to kidnap me or anything.”
She raises her eyebrows and pushes a strand of brown hair back into its clip. “Well…”
“He doesn’t have bodyguards, I won’t accept any drinks from him, and I’m not hooking up with him. We’ll be at a concert. I promise, I’ll be completely safe.”
“What’s he famous for?”
I shrug. “Hanging around other rich people, from what I can gather.”
“Take your pepper spray,” she says, only half joking. “And keep your location sharing on and text me updates.”
“Okay.” I laugh and kiss her on the cheek.
“Story,” she says, stopping me as I walk out of the room, “he doesn’t sound like your type, but it’s good to see you do something with a friend.”
I just nod because Luca is not my type, and he’s definitely not my friend.
After a shower, I stand in front of my closet. Nothing I own is even remotely similar to what I picture Luca’s crowd will wear at the biggest concert of the season. The arena will probably be hot and crowded, though, so I settle on the nicest dress that I have, a pretty, sleeveless chiffon fit-and-flare in white with tiny blue dots.
Going to a concert with a rich guy isn’t like anything I’ve experienced before. “When we’re on for the paparazzi,” Luca tells me in the car, “just follow my lead and smile. And, whatever you do, don’t answer any questions.”
“Right,” I say, and watch Rome fly by.
We don’t have to park blocks away from the venue or wait in line to get in. We drive up to valet service and are whisked across a roped-off area while paparazzi take our pictures. I ignore the multitude of questions flung at us about how we met and how far I’ve fallen for heartbreaking Luca. I just smile. This will be over in a couple of months.
Luca stops once to let them get a good picture, and then he moves us on. He must have done this hundreds of times, because it’s completely effortless for him. My heart is pounding.
He takes my hand and leads me to the VIP section. Luca introduces me to more people than I can keep track of. Everyone is interested in me because they think I’ve captured the attention of Luca Kinnaird. Even I recognize some of these celebrities. I’ve apparently worn the wrong thing, though, because every girl I meet is wearing a body-con dress and comments on how “adorable” my outfit is.
As people are approaching or walking away from us, Luca gives me commentary on them. “He’s handsy, stay close to me,” or “She’s going to ask you to lunch tomorrow. Don’t say yes, trust me,” or “He’s a good chap, you should date him after you dump me.” He says this last one with such a charming smile, it almost feels like an inside joke between people who actually care about each other. Thankfully, though, the music is too loud for much conversation beyond “Hello, brilliant to meetyou!”
We go backstage for a meet and greet. People mill about and wait to get a picture with Jamie Talon. “You go ahead,” I tell Luca when it’s our turn, but he pulls me onto the backdrop with a look that says we have a deal.
Luca knows the opening act, a band from his hometown in Scotland that has started scoring hits in the past year. They come over and hug him. He introduces me, and then they talk to Luca about things at home. A guy named Craig asks me what I do.
“I’m headed to college in the fall. Back in the States.”
He seems confused for a moment and side-eyes Luca.
“Should I be doing something else?” I ask.
“Naw, naw, A’m sorry,” he says. “A’m being a total balloon. It’s jest wae Luca at’s usually models an’ sangers and sooch.”
Luca catches our conversation even though he’s been talking to another band member. “A balloon’s an idiot,” he says to me. He looks at Craig and slips into a much stronger accent. “Goanie no dae tha? Stop bein’ a chancer to th’ lass.”
“A’m sorry,” Craig says to me, “we’re comin’ to tha end o’ tha tour and A’m a bit gubbed.”
“Tired,” Luca says as he shakes his head at Craig. It’s nice to see him irritated by someone other than me, although I’m a little surprised at him defending me.
“It’s okay,” I say as lightly as I can, and hope there’s enough noise to mask the catch in my voice. Even though I don’t care what Luca’s type is, I get that not being his type is supposed to be an insult. I guess I should be glad the Dip Squad isn’t around to hear it pointed out that I don’t belong in this world any more than my own. My mom saying Luca didn’t seem like my type earlier is almost funny now.
Luca puts his arm around my waist. “Don’t mind him,” he says, “all his eggs are double-yoakit.”
“Aye, it’s troo,” Craig says.
I laugh it off, and they talk about other things. Luca’s accent is so thick, I sometimes don’t even know what they’re talking about. He drops it as soon as we leave them and goes back to his usual standard English.
More people who know Luca come up to meet me, and he introduces us politely while cutting off their intrusive questions with amazing skill. I’m actually impressed. I let him do the talking as much as I can. Most of the conversation is empty gossip or material things like cars, Cartier, or “running up to Monte for the races,” whatever that means. I really don’t have anything to say.
When the meet and greet ends, we go back to our seats in the VIP section with a group Luca knows.
“We’re all going out after,” one soft Swedish girl says to me. “You and Luca need to come to the club with us.”
“Not tonight, Saga, Story has an early morning tomorrow,” Luca says. I almost laugh out loud when I hear our weird names together.
“How did you two meet, anyway?” she asks.
I have no idea what our cover story is supposed to be, so I just look at Luca.
“The way every fairy-tale couple meets, Saga,” Luca says as he moves me to the other side of him. “Story was a damsel in distress, and I saved her.”
I arch my eyebrows at him because I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around, but Saga laughs at his vague but charming line, and then her attention is on the flickering lights as the show starts.
“So, what do you think?” Luca asks when Craig’s band is on their last song.
“They’re really good,” I say, and he slips his arm around me as I lean toward him a little so he can hear me.
“You’re hard to impress,” he says, “so I’m glad you likethem.”
“Is that a compliment?” I ask as the stagehands change out the set.
Luca bobbles his head a little. “Sure.” He says it with a smile, but I have no idea if he means it. And then the main event starts.
We’re so close to the stage that I can see where Jamie Talon nicked himself shaving. But the music is good, even if my ears will pay for this later. Luca laughs when Saga gets me to sing along with her.
When the lights come up, Luca turns to me. “Shall we?”
I nod, happy to see this end before anyone asks me any more questions I can’t answer about my boyfriend. Saga hugs me like we’ve been friends for years. “Another night, you’ll come to the club, yes?”
I look at Luca, and he drapes his arm around my neck. “Sure, Saga,” he says before turning us away.
“She’s harmless,” he tells me as we navigate the hall to the exit. “A little Swedish, but she has a good heart.”
I laugh. “What does that mean?”
He gives me a sardonic smile. “You know, she’s the tree-hugging, vegan type.”
“Oh, right,” I say. “One of those.”
Luca laughs and takes my hand as a valet opens the door for us, and Luca hands him the ticket for the car.
The Portofino no longer seems unfamiliar as I sink into it. We zip across Rome, lit everywhere in its white marble and ancient travertine and tufa. The prettiness of it never loses any of its freshness to me, and the way home takes us past the Colosseum.
“I love it all lit up at night,” I say. Luca slows the car over to a parking space and stops. We just look at it. A straggle of tourists walk around, enjoying the quiet cool of nighttime.
“It’s pretty impressive,” Luca says. “It’s hard to believe their Rome and ours are the same.”
“I don’t know, I don’t think they’re that different.”
Luca turns to me. “You do know about the gladiators, right?”
I smile. “Yes, but while their sports may have been extreme, it was still the elite power class doing one thing and everyone else doing another.”
Luca just looks at me, his face contemplative.
“I’m sorry. I told you I wouldn’t fit into your world.”
He bobbles his head. “No, you don’t. But I’m starting to think that might be a compliment to you.”
I look down. “This is going to be harder than we thought.”
“Yes. When are you finished with school for the summer?”
“Saturday is graduation. Why?”
“Well, I’ll use that as an excuse for the next couple of days, that you’re busy getting ready for it. And if anyone asks us why I’m not coming to your graduation, we’ll say I didn’t want paparazzi taking anything away from you or your classmates. Agreed?”
I nod. “People expect us to know more about each other than we do, though. I’m a little worried it’s going to trip us up.”
Luca purses his lips a moment. “Well, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next couple months. I know you don’t fancy me much, but maybe we could at least become friends? That might make this all more believable.”
“We could try.”
He nods and pulls the car back into the traffic lanes. When he drops me off at my flat, we don’t see any paparazzi. “Just in case,” he says, “do you mind if I lean in and make it look like I’m kissing you?”
“Okay.” He leans over and puts his hand against my cheek to hide our lips from any prying lenses, and then kisses my other cheek. He smells ridiculously good. Whatever cologne he wears isn’t cheap. “You did a great job tonight,” he whispers.
“A quarter-of-a-million job?” I whisper back.
Luca cracks up and pulls away, resting into his seat. “I’ll contact the university tomorrow and start the arrangements. Whose name should the scholarship be in?”
“Delaney John Herriot. The school will know. But, Luca, what if this doesn’t work out? What if I can’t deliver on my end of the deal?”
He shrugs. “It’s not an engagement ring. You don’t have to give it back. It’s a donation for a good cause.”
For the first time since I met him, I’m actually grateful. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
He narrows his blue-gray eyes a bit. “So, who is Delaney John to Astoria?”
I hesitate, because as soon as I tell him, the light bulb will go off. But if he’s willing to give me a quarter of a million dollars, then he has a right to know. “My dad.”
Luca’s face contracts into a big O.
The weight of all this suddenly feels like it might crush me, so I pivot awkwardly to my sarcastic side. “By the way, nice moves in and out of that accent tonight.”
Luca smiles. “Well, I may have attended fancy schools, but I’m still a Scot at the end of the day. You don’t have much room to comment, though, pretending to be an Italian tour guide.”
I return his smile. “I guess not. Good night.”
“Good night, Story.”
I get out, and Luca waits until I unlock the lobby door and slip inside before he drives away. I watch through the glass as the Ferrari disappears, and I have no idea what I should think about this devil’s pact I’ve made.