Chapter Twenty
On the way back to Rome, Luca fills me in on the success of our latest PR heist. Dani’s followers have increased substantially, and she’s gotten some trial orders from a store in London. Another small chain she already has a line with is expanding her collection.
“Wow, just from the tabloids and us posting those pictures from last night?”
“I told you social media is powerful. Just remember, it giveth and it taketh away.”
“I’d be just as happy if it had never giveth to me, but at least it’s helped Andy’s cousin.”
Andrew meets us back at my flat and brings lunch. After I’ve showered and changed, we sit on the floor of the living room and finish watching Charade while we eat spinach pie and fruit cups and they plan out which outfits I should wear as if they were YouTube stylists.
“This is getting too weird for me. Can you two just—not—”
They both laugh. Luca says to Andrew, “I think she’s gotthis.”
Dani texts me. I can’t believe this! I’ll send you some more outfits.
Please, no wide pants. I’m too short.
Gotcha. What is your style?
Don’t worry, it’s old school.
Tell me.
1950s Givenchy and a little boho.
OMG, I love that stuff. Audrey Hepburn was a queen. I can work with that.
I send her thumbs-up and winking emojis. The intercom buzzes. When I answer it, a woman says in Italian that she has a delivery for me. No one ever sends me packages, so I can’t imagine what it is, but Luca offers to go down for it. That’s when I remember the swamp dress is still shoved under my bed, so I grab it while he heads downstairs. When I bring the box out, I ask Andrew to make sure they take it with them.
“What is it?”
“The dress Jasmine sent me for the gala. I keep forgetting to give it to him when my mom isn’t here.”
Andrew comes over and lifts the lid. When he pulls the dress up, his mouth drops open.
“Don’t tell Luca. He thinks she was being nice. Just give it to her stylist.”
He lowers it back into the box and puts the lid on like he’s burying something frightening.
“It really didn’t fit,” I say, which is more defense than she’s entitled to.
“She’s every guy’s dream and all, but honestly.” He shakes his head. “She’s my least favorite of all the girls he’s dated.”
“She won’t be the one he ends up with anyway. It will be some bluestocking heiress who runs carpool like a boss and a dinner party like Amal Clooney.”
Andrew laughs, but then he doesn’t. “Story, I’m worried about how close you two are getting. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re a nice person, despite your proletarian proclivities.”
“Such flattery, Andrew,” I say with a Southern accent, “I declare you will make me swoon.” He gives me a tentative smile. “Don’t worry,” I add in my normal voice, “I solemnly swear not to become too attached to Luca Kinnaird. We’re friends. Without benefits, unless you count riding around in a Portofino.” Besides, even if I wanted to be more than friends, which I don’t, Jasmine is the girl he’s chasing. Just like Patrick said, guys like Luca don’t date girls like me. I’m just someone he’s gotten used to, like that Pomeranian in a backpack I thought I’d be.
Andrew nods, apparently satisfied.
Luca comes back with an enormous box.
“What on earth?” I ask. It’s from the gallery. When I open the box, it’s the three prints I gushed about to the photographer. “Luca—”
He cuts me off. “I had to buy something to support Rishi, so you should have some souvenirs of this ridiculous adventure. Something besides that new wardrobe you don’t really want.”
I throw my arms around him. “Thank you!”
He squeezes me before he lets me go.
“He bought himself one, too. A photo of some cheetah cubs,” Andrew says.
I blush, and then Luca says we’re missing the whole plot of Charade, and we go back to watching the movie, Andrew wedged between us like a chaperone.
Afterward, they put the swamp dress in Luca’s car before my mom comes home. They stay for dinner. Luca has promised Saga, his Swedish model friend, that we’ll come to some club tonight, but he seems reluctant to leave. Even I know you don’t go to clubs in Rome before midnight, but it’s after twelve when Andrew reminds him for the third time that we shouldgo.
The club is in Trastevere, which is the most bohemian of Rome’s neighborhoods, with lots of trendy nightlife. For once, Luca doesn’t have to take my hand because I’ve already grabbed his before we’ve even gotten through the door. I’ve always hated crowds, but it was never a problem before Luca came into my life, since I just avoided them. The club is huge. Each floor has a different theme, and the place is packed.
We snake our way through the first floor as a deejay pumps electronic dance music to sweaty people jumping up and down like elastic dolls. I stick so close to Luca, I can smell the lavender laundry detergent of his honey-colored T-shirt. A few people grab him to say hello as we go by, but you’d need a megaphone to actually talk. The bass thumps inside me as we reach the stairs.
The second floor is delivering hip-hop to the dance-hungry inhabitants, who slosh their drinks around and scream, but their words are lost beneath the vibrating amplifiers. The girls wear very small dresses. Puddled makeup and disheveled hair complete the look. Luca reintroduces me to some people I met the night of the Jamie Talon concert, but we keep moving. I recognize some American actors at the bar, but there are people from all over the globe dressed in their designer finest.
We finally make our way to the rooftop garden, and it’s a thousand times cooler and quieter, even though summer in Rome is never cool and Italian pop music is blasting. Baby K is on the dance floor with an entourage, as the deejay plays her latest hit. We find Saga and her friends. She pulls me into a hug, but I don’t entirely let go of Luca. I’ve been clinging so tightly to him that he turns and asks if I’m all right.
“Fine.” He gives me a sympathetic smile and drapes his arm around me. I lean into him, and this time it isn’t for show. Being in this crowd has made me realize just how much I hate them. I refuse to look at Andrew in case he’s sending me warning shots, and he hovers close on my other side. Saga squeezes in between Andrew and me. She’s wearing a metallic gold dress and she looks absolutely gorgeous. “Isn’t this place great?” she yells.
“Awesome,” I say, with as much fake excitement as I can muster. Luca pulls his lips in to hide a smile.
“We should go shopping together tomorrow,” she yells. “I’ll get Luca to send me your number and I’ll text you!” Her blue eyes are almost as glittery as her makeup.
There’s no way I can afford even the cheapest item for sale in any store where this girl shops, but, despite my many lessons at the Luca Kinnaird School of Social Event Avoidance, I can’t think of an excuse.
“Brilliant!” I say instead.
Luca starts laughing. He pulls me back a bit and rests his lips on my ear. “Don’t worry. She’s steamin’. She won’t remember by tomorrow.”
Andrew gets us drinks from the bar. He hands Luca a bottle of beer and me a glass of something clear with lime.
“I figured you’d prefer sparkling water, but I can get you something else if you want,” he says before he takes a swig of his beer. I just shake my head. We talk to Saga and her friends for a while.
Luca drops his head toward mine. “I’d ask you to dance, but the floor is pretty tight.”
“It’s fine, honestly.”
“I figured you’d rather stay here.” We’ve managed to nudge our way to the edge of the balcony. Below us, the river sparkles from city lights. There’s an occasional breeze to keep us cool, and Saga tells me all about her school in Lund and her modeling and her horses.
“Do you want another?” Andrew asks us, pointing to our drinks.
“No, I’m good,” Luca says. “Story?”
I shake my head.
“Saga, let’s dance first,” Andrew says. He grabs her hand, and she follows him to the floor. Luca and I watch them.
“They make a cute couple,” I say.
Luca smiles. “Saga would decimate him. Her last boyfriend was a Qatari prince, and the one before that was a French billionaire venture capitalist. The one before that was a girl.”
I smile. “And to think we max him out.”
Luca laughs and takes a swig of my water. Saga’s friends talk to Luca about soccer. I just lean into him, the cotton of his shirt soft against my cheek. They’re pretty drunk, and most of what they say just rolls into nothingness. Then a guy in the group named Emile takes out a small vial and starts offering pills to everyone. I don’t know if they’re Molly or opioids or what, but it doesn’t matter. Every muscle goes stiff. The worst is that I’m not entirely sure Luca won’t accept, until he doesn’t. I can hardly breathe.
“One of these days,” Emile says in accented English, but Luca just looks at him. My pulse is pounding in my ears.
When Emile offers me one, I say no, but no sound comes out. It’s just my lips moving. “Come on,” he says, “it’s good stuff.”
“No,” I say, this time with shaking sound.
“Leave her alone, min,” Luca says. He pushes Emile’s hand away from me.
“It’s just some fun,” Emile says. “Go on, have one!”
“Please stop,” I say.
“What’s wrong with her?” Emile asks Luca. “You’d think she just got out of convent school for the night.”
Luca’s arm is still draped over me, and he has a strand of my hair wrapped around his finger. It tightens. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s hilarious,” Emile says. “Look at her face. She looks like she’s seen a ghost!”
Luca releases me and steps close to Emile. “Nothing’s wrong with her, you tadger. Apologize to her.”
Andrew runs off the dance floor and gets between them. Tears sting my eyes.
“Let it go,” Andrew says as Emile and Luca stare at each other.
“I didn’t think you went for choir girls, Luca,” Emile says. “Or doesn’t your slum rat know how to have fun?”
Luca’s fist comes up, but Andrew pushes him. It’s just enough for Luca to regain control.
He steps back and scoops up my hand. “Let’s go.” He turns and makes a wake for me to follow. Andrew trails behind us, as Saga yells at Emile that he’s a jerk and someone else defends him. We thread our way back through the throng of people down to the street. Paparazzi take our photos, but they don’t follow us. There are bigger fish in the club.
When we’re clear of them, Luca stops. “You okay?”
I nod, my eyes glistening. “I’m really sorry.”
He hugs me. “You have nothing to be sorry about. That guy would push drugs on his grandmother. I don’t care what they do to themselves, but they don’t have any right to manipulate other people into it.” He wipes a tear from my cheek.
“He really is a bawbag,” Andrew says.
“I shouldn’t have taken you anywhere near that jerk.” Luca squeezes me to him.
“It’s not your fault. People who use want everyone to use. It makes it seem okay to them then. It justifies it.”
He shakes his head. “I hoped that since the club would be crowded, it’d be okay. Saga is sweet, it’s just some of the people she attracts. I wanted you to have a good time. Now you’ll never want to go clubbing again.”
“Well, maybe I should take you two clubbing instead?” They both look at me like I couldn’t possibly be serious.
“I mean it.” I sound like I’m eight.
Luca purses his lips in a smile and holds his key fob up for me to grab. “Lead on.”
I drive us back toward Via Veneto to a club Anna Maria has taken me to a couple of times. It’s more of a piano bar, really, but it’s popular with the university crowd.
Anna Maria is with a group of friends at some tables near the small stage. She waves us over when she sees me. She introduces everyone, and one girl asks Luca if he’s “the” Luca Kinnaird. I worry she might say something about the tabloids in front of Anna Maria, but there’s too much commotion, and she doesn’t. They pull up chairs for us while a trio plays jazz and soft Italian pop. The tables are strewn with Italian bar food like Pecorino with acacia honey and fried clams. They’re making fun of the Italian government, and those who speak English switch to it for us, and the rest is a jumble of translation and laughing.
“Story tells me you’ve been taking her to all the most fun places in Roma,” Anna Maria says to Luca.
“Actually, it’s the other way around. I take her to all the exclusive places, and she takes me to all the fun ones.”
Anna Maria smiles. “She’s great, isn’t she? It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“She is great,” Luca answers.
“She’s right here,” I say. “She can hear everything you’re saying.”
“We can be more critical, if you like,” Luca says.
Anna Maria laughs and asks if he speaks German.
“Not really. Just French.”
“Ah, my papa is from Francia,” she says. “Now we can talk about her!”
“Tell me what she says about me,” Luca says. The two of them dive into an animated conversation. I catch my name sometimes, but mostly I sit between them as if I’m watching a tennis tournament. I need to put French on my language-learning app. I look over at Andrew. “Do you know what they’re saying?”
He shakes his head with way too much innocence. “Traitor,” I say.
“I like this boy,” Anna Maria tells me.
I try to think of some way to prepare her for our coming split without sounding like a total jerk, but I can’t. When the band takes a break, they all come over and squeeze in with us because the drummer, Silvano, is Anna Maria’s cousin.
Luca and Silvano start to talk about drumming after Luca compliments his technique.
“Do you drum?” Silvano asks him.
“Aye, but not as well as you.”
“Wait, why didn’t I know this?” I ask.
“You should have done a CIA background check on me,” Luca says.
“I guess that’s fair,” I say, and he laughs.
The whole table starts talking about music, and it’s as lively as their conversation about politics. Luca and Andrew seem to be having a really good time, although Andrew is often looking at Anna Maria. When the band’s break is over, Silvano sends Luca up to play a couple songs. I guess I’m watching Luca too intently, because Andrew grabs my hand and pulls me to the dance floor. Or maybe he just wants an excuse to ask Anna Maria next. It’s a slow jazz number, and Andrew holds me close. I have one hand on his shoulder, and we’re holding our other hands together like we’re in some old movie. Luca watches us as he taps out the notes.
“He can’t fly fighter jets,” Andrew drops in my ear.
I pull back and smile at him. “No, thank heaven for the little things.”
Andrew laughs and pulls me back in. “I never know what to make of you, Astoria Herriot.”
When the song ends, we clap, and Luca hands Silvano the sticks and comes over and claims his place as my supposed boyfriend, while Andrew asks Anna Maria to dance. Luca slips his arms around me and fixes his eyes on mine. He brushes some hair back behind my ear. Sometimes I wonder if he gets as confused as I do about what’s real and what’s not in our lives now.
It’s ridiculously late, though, and I’m tired. I rest my head against Luca’s chest and breathe in his pine-scented aftershave as the four of us float around the tiny dance floor of this quirky old piano bar. Anna Maria smiles at me, happy to have finally met my “cute Scottish boys,” but I start wondering whether I may have made the biggest blunder yet in bringing Luca Kinnaird any deeper into my world.