Chapter Eleven
It’s after midnight when Luca drops me off. “You were pure dead brilliant tonight. The princess was really taken with you.” He leans in and pretends to kiss me in case we’re being watched. It’s weird how familiar his touch is getting. He hesitates as he pulls back and gazes into my eyes a moment too long for me.
“She’s very nice. How long have you known a princess?”
Luca relaxes into his seat. “My parents are old friends of hers. When she was speaking French, she told me what an improvement you are from my usual girlfriends.” He looks over and smiles like he can’t disagree with her. He really does know how to be charming.
I laugh. “It’s nice to think someone from your world values something other than musical talent or model height.”
Luca tilts his head noncommittally. “The princess is a rarity. Most people in my world, as you call it, judge people on their position on Forbes.”
“So why do you care what the tabs say? They’re a different measure than what you’re talking about.”
“Because connections make the world go around, Story. And what a tab says about you can impact your ability to connect. Plus, I don’t want Jasmine to get hurt just because she wanted to leave a relationship with someone who is a very messed-up drug addict.”
He turns to me. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”
“People who are messed up on drugs are still people.” I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face, but I shouldn’t. “My dad was messed up and dependent on drugs. Just like Jeremy.” My voice is quiet, and I feel a little like I’m betraying my dad by admitting this out loud.
Luca pushes back a strand of hair that’s fallen in my face. “I know. I’m sorry. It was a stupid way to put it.” His fingers linger on my face.
“So, luncheon tomorrow at the fundraiser for…?” I ask to change the subject. He pulls his hand from my face and pauses to think about what cause we’ll be supporting.
“Too busy juggling your secret-real and fake-open girlfriends to know what charity you’re helping?”
Luca shrugs. “When you go to as many of these as I do, it gets hard to keep track. It’s like musicians saying all the towns look the same. Something to do with Mozambique, I just don’t remember if it’s animals or people.”
I nod and put my hand on the door.
“You hope it’s animals, don’t you?”
I look back. “I prefer animals to people, but I think there’s enough inequality in the world to make either a worthy cause. Good night.”
His “Good night, Astoria Herriot” comes from behind me like a soft breeze as I step up on the sidewalk. I don’t turn around, but he stays to make sure I’ve gotten safely inside the lobby before I hear the Portofino take flight.
My mom is waiting up, and I give her the details while we sip tea on the sofa. I leave out that our hostess is a princess. I suppose I don’t tell her because I don’t really belong in this world and I’m only here by chance, temporarily. There is no way to explain the deal Luca and I made. I don’t know how to even get close to it, like the flaming ovens the glassblowers in Murano use. I really hate lying to her. When this is all over, I’ll tell her that Luca wanted to make the contribution, even though we’re splitting up, because we’re still friends, and besides, he has to make charitable donations to help his taxes. That sounds plausible. At least until you get to how much. But maybe she won’t ask. Maybe my mother, the attorney, won’t ask how much money Luca donated to my dad’s memorial fund. I think my stats teacher would say I have a better chance of marrying royalty. But it’s not like I extorted Luca. I only asked for twenty thousand. It was his idea to give me so much. I just wish it didn’t make me feel so dirty. He’s literally paying me to lie for him, even to the people I care about. Every time that thought crosses my mind, I feel like I need a shower.
When I’m finally in bed, my phone lights up, and I reach for it expecting Luca to give me some additional command for tomorrow. But it’s Jack.
Just wanted to make sure you were okay.
Great, so he saw me crying, too. Fine thanks, it was just a beautiful song and I was being sentimental.
I get it, the whole father-daughter thing.
My fingers freeze over the keypad. I didn’t expect Jack, or anyone, to get it. But it’s nice not to have to explain.
Thanks.
It doesn’t feel like enough, but what am I supposed to say? Sometimes there aren’t really words for that kind of gratitude, and trying to find the words just makes it pathetic. There are no dots telling me he’s going to answer, and maybe he feels like I’m being curt. I’m not used to these shifting dynamics. This is why I keep to myself so much. And then the dots come.
You’re welcome. You’re a good person, Story. Your dad would be really proud of you.
I close my eyes, and tears I didn’t even know were right there fall to my pillow. I send Jack a purple heart emoji and put my phone on the nightstand. And for the very first time in my whole life, I feel like it’s kind of nice to be seen.
Luca calls me early the next morning. “Story, have you seen the tabs?”
“What have I done wrong now?”
“Nothing. In fact, you’re everyone’s darling. Glamorous shots of you on the princess’s arm are lighting up every tab. You’re officially vintage stylish, whatever that is, and beauty and brains combined. And, most importantly, you are the perfect fit for a roguish Scot.”
I can’t really share his enthusiasm. “That’s great.”
“Story! It is great! Everyone’s totally buying this.”
I am happy no one seems to suspect the truth, but there’s also something insulting about the fact that people need to be convinced. The only difference between us is that he has even more money and privilege than I have. It’s ridiculous how people are valued just for being famous. Like he said, he doesn’t even do anything.
“I’m worried they’re going to keep poking around and find out things.”
“Like about your dad? Or is there something else I should know?”
“About my dad. Luca, I don’t want strangers digging apart his life. It’s sad, and it’s no one’s business. People are really mean about addiction. I’m not sure I could take seeing that all over the internet.”
“Well, the best defense is to go on offense.”
“I don’t know what that means here.”
“They’re asking why you aren’t posting on your social media about us.”
“I don’t post on social media.” I did once, last fall, put up a picture of Anna Maria and me at the overlook of Rome. Guin made a comment about how only noobs post tourist pictures of themselves, not Dip kids. Even though everyone posts pictures like that, I deleted it. There’s no win from that situation. You’re either taking it or retaliating.
“Aye,” Luca says, “but you could post on social media. And, by doing that, you give them a little fodder so they don’t go rooting around in your barn looking for snacks.”
I’m a little thrown by Luca giving me farm metaphors. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Besides, fodder is for cows, not people.”
“You know what I mean, stop calling me out for mixed metaphors. And why isn’t it a good idea? I think it’s barry.”
I sit up and let out a heavy breath. Morning sun lights up the oriental rug by my bed. The only really terrible thing about being a Dip kid is that we’ve never had a cat or dog because it’s too cruel to make them go through quarantine with every move, so Bert, the lemon tree, is as close as we’ve come. But I think of the cats on my granddad’s farm and how they’d be stretching out on this rug right now if they were here, and it makes me wish my life were simpler. I should never have agreed to this deal.
“Story? What’s the problem?”
“If I post, then the Dips are going to make negative comments. Things like how there’s no way Story Herriot is really dating Luca Kinnaird, or how Luca Kinnaird is way out of my league.”
Luca laughs. “I think it might be the other way around, actually.”
That stops me. But it’s just Luca being polite. “Luca, I’m serious.”
“Story, you can’t refuse to live your life because some irrelevant person might be unkind to you.”
“Maybe, but I also don’t need to make myself a giant bull’s-eye, especially with people who already hate me. Patrick told Kelsey you must have suffered a head injury to pick me over all the models you know. It’s not safe for either of us. If they don’t believe it, why should anyone else?”
“Patrick is off his nutter. But people will believe it a lot more if you post about us.”
Compliments come so easy for him, I’m not sure he even knows he’s making them.
“Plus, I’ve been thinking about why I would break up with you. It needs to be something that doesn’t make either of us look like a jerk, and if I say it’s because I don’t like the attention, that’s believable without hurting either of our reputations.”
“All the more reason to post a few things. Then, when you do get reactions, you have a reason to say you need your privacy.”
“Right, because being followed around twenty-four seven by cameras isn’t weird enough.”
“I don’t get you, Story. You have no problem standing up to me.”
I lose my edge. “That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because you and I are fake. It doesn’t matter. These people are my reality. I’ve had to face them, every day.”
“So you’re saying you can only be real with me because we’re fake?”
“Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. It’s complicated, though.”
“You should just tell them off.”
“It wouldn’t change anything. And antagonizing them isn’t worth it. I’ll be gone soon, and things will be different.”
Luca is quiet for a moment. I think I’ve won.
“Will it? Or will there just be new people you need to hidefrom?”
I don’t answer him. Somewhere inside me, the little watchman who holds up the mirror is dinging his bell, trying to tell me that Luca might be right. But I’ve always hated that little watchman.
I pick at my nails. “I need to go. We can take a picture at the luncheon, and I’ll post it.”
“Thanks, Story. See you in a bit.”
I hang up and drop my phone on the bed. There’s only one thing I’m sure about. This is a much more dangerous game than I thought it was.