Chapter 5 Nothing Good Can Come Of This
Chapter five
Nothing Good Can Come Of This
Sophia
Fucking Gia “GG” Girmaldi and her petty gossip blog.
Problem is, it’s no schoolgirl blog; it’s a fucking media empire with millions of followers across all social platforms, a thriving podcast and branded merch willingly purchased and worn by even the most high-brow fashionistas.
This woman is the worst type of human, one who thrives on the power her words can wield on the lives of others.
Queen of Cunty-Mc-Cunt Country Club. Knowing how to play her like a fiddle is the key to getting her to come to your next social event, promote your business or services or keep your name out of her scandalous gossip blog.
Even the most prestigious lawyers of NYC who boast about their features in notable publications like Law Digest and Inside Law have a bat-line to GG.
Anyone who’s worth their weight in society standings knows if GG puts your name on blast the attention can make you or ruin you.
You can bet she uses this little nugget of power to her advantage at every opportunity.
Until this cringeworthy mention in her yearly wrap-up blog, I’ve flown mostly under her radar thanks to leaving the city for Harvard and only returning home for a few short visits.
My bestie Evie has quite the love-hate relationship with GG.
As founder of a successful creative agency, which she started after finishing her degree, Evie’s clients rely on exposure on platforms like Shhh Don’t Tell Daddy.
In contrast, my other bestie, Stella, a sought-after life coach and therapist, advises anyone who will listen to unsubscribe, block, and delete GG and anything she spawns.
I’m firmly in the love-to-loathe camp. As much as I detest her, without her godforsaken blog, I wouldn’t have been able to feed my curiosity about what Marco was up to during my time away.
More specifically, who he was sticking it in—sorry, dating.
Urghh, dating. Just at the thought of the word I recall the ultimatum Marco whispered in my ear six months ago after blindsiding me with a searing kiss I swear I can still feel tingling on my lips.
“You’ve got six months to get rid of him.
I’ll let you leave this time. Even the score.
But believe me when I say the next time you leave, you leave with me. ”
“Knock, knock,” comes my dad’s deep voice from the door, interrupting my spiraling thoughts, especially the ones laced with regret for thinking if I followed Marco’s command to break up with my boyfriend, things could be different between us this time.
“Hi, Dad. You’re safe to cross the threshold.”
He comes to stand beside me and squeezes my shoulder by way of greeting since my face is currently dotted with foundation ready to be buffed in.
“This is a new look for you,” he jokes, taking in my fluffy white bathrobe perfectly accessorized with a white towel wrapped around my head.
“What? You don’t think I can carry this look?”
“You’re my princess, so I may be a little biased when I say you can wear anything and still look beautiful, but I think you might need to step it up a little for tonight’s festivities—especially seeing as you could be meeting your future husband for the first time.
” He gives me one of his don’t disappoint me dad looks.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the article. There’s a lot of eyes on you, sweetheart. ”
“Daaadd. Please, not this again. I literally just got back and you’re already trying to marry me off. I don’t need help finding a man. In fact, I’m steering clear of them to focus on my career. You know that’s why I broke up with Aiden.”
That might not be entirely true. In fact, it’s a complete lie. But I’m not under oath, so there’s no way I’m admitting to my dad that I let my actions be dictated by my feelings for Marco—again.
“Aren’t you the same man who said, and I quote, ‘Who would read—let alone take notice of anything written in a trashy gossip blog for uneducated heathens.’” I raise my eyebrows at him imploringly.
“Well, as lawyers, it’s our job to always have our finger on the pulse. Look in unexpected places for the missing clues and possible leads.”
I roll my eyes at him in exasperation, because of course he’d find some way to lawyer-speak himself out of what’s really happening. This is his parade and I’m the prized pig.
“Here’s what you need to know about tonight.” In true Patrick Princi fashion, he completely ignores my request and carries on with executing the plan he’s so carefully laid out for me.
“Your mother and I worked with Elena to carefully select tonight’s guest list. The photographers are here to get photos of you mingling in the right circles.
Get them out to the society pages. Of course, people know who you are, but you’re not ingratiated into the law circle here in the city.
” He holds his hands up in faux surrender to cut off my protest. “I know. I know. It’s all my fault you ended up at Harvard—which, I might add, was still the best decision seeing as you graduated with honors.
” He gives me a told-you-so look, then continues a mile a minute.
I pretend to listen, responding in all the right openings even though it’s clearly a one-sided conversation.
“I also invited some exceptional candidates who I think would make a potential suitor, but if you ask me, I think you should set your sights on Arthur Bartholomew Jones. He’s a fine young man.
A little older and comes from a prestigious law family.
A great lawyer in his own right. You’d make a spectacular couple. ”
From the moment my mom excitedly told me about tonight’s New Year’s Eve event and the carefully curated guestlist, I understood the weighty implication.
The same one my dad is spelling out to me.
It’s time to find a well-matched suitor and entrench myself in the world where your every move is akin to a game of chess.
I’m silent for far longer than is common for me. Dad takes my lack of words as being nervous.
Rounding to stand in front of me and placing both hands on my shoulders so he can look me in the eye, he continues. “There’s no need to be anxious, Princess, I promise the plan I have in motion will have you moving in the right circles in no time.”
Spoiler: I’m not anxious. I’m just lost in a tidal wave of emotions as I’m transported back to that night six years ago.
The night Marco saved me from the grubby paws of Hamptons Ken, also known as Arthur Bartholomew Jones.
The night he broke my whole heart. God, get over it, Sophia.
Get over him, I scold myself. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.
Every fiber of my being detests what this shit show debut to society is about, and yet the unspoken expectations to live up to the family name float through the great halls of our palatial home like a sinister whisper.
People-pleasing is a hard habit to kick.
I need space to formulate a plan for tonight, so my smartest play is to simply smile and nod so my dad will just leave my room.
Just like chess, in this world the king might hold the power, but the queen is the most powerful. One thing they’ll all soon learn is that this queen fixes her own crown.
With my makeup done, I dress in my carefully chosen outfit and stand in front of the ornate full-length mirror, head cocked to one side.
I smooth my hands down the outfit my best friend Evie helped style for tonight’s party.
A draped, black long-sleeved YSL micro-mini with padded, boxy shoulders and a plunging neckline, teamed with ultra-sheer tights, sleek patent black high-heeled mules and oversized silver-tone earrings linked with half spheres inlaid with baguette-cut diamonds.
It’s the perfect mix of sophisticated and sexy minx—and nothing like the saccharine demure pink dresses strategically situated front and center in my walk-in closet.
My mother’s not-so-subtle way of telling me what I should wear for tonight’s festivities.
Fuck that. No matter how much of my life has been dictated, I will never let anyone tell me what I wear.
Expressing myself through style was my only way to stand in any sort of power growing up with three brothers and an overbearing dad.
“Hey, Kitten, don’t think too hard; you might break that big brain of yours.”
Marco’s husky voice breaks through the melancholic beats playing in the background. I spot him in the reflection, and I almost melt on the spot.
He looks like he just stepped off a fashion runway.
The soft black cashmere sweater hugs his well-toned boxer’s body, showing off the definition in his chest and biceps, while the black tailored pants frame his narrow waist and lean hips and fall to the perfect spot on his ankle, right above his expensive designer shoes.
There’s also no mistaking the way his package fills out the front of those trousers.
I’m not ashamed to admit that in this moment, I am jealous in the most unhinged way of a pair trousers.
He leans with one shoulder against the door frame, legs crossed at the ankles and one hand in his pocket while the other toys with the medallion on the gold necklace he never takes off but usually has tucked away under his shirt.
Interesting…is he nervous because he knows he royally fucked up?
“Like what you see, Kitten?” he says, flashing me a sexy smirk when our eyes meet.
I haven’t seen him in person since the party at Bella Donna, and hot damn, he looks even better than I remember.
His piercing green eyes stand out against his naturally tanned skin.
His longish dark hair is pushed off his face, highlighting his perfect facial structure—high cheekbones, straight nose, a strong jawline and full lips.
Lips I have spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about, especially after that one taste months ago.
All I’m saying is thank God my vibrator comes with an unwritten guarantee to uphold a code of silence.
A song he’d sent me to listen to recently plays in the background. Damn it, I hope he doesn’t notice.
“You liked this one, huh?”
Shit! Of course he would notice; being observant is literally what he does for a living.
“I think we need to have our own Spotify playlist.” He taps away on his phone and mine pings from where it rests on my makeup vanity. I walk the few steps to retrieve it and see a notification. Marco has invited you to collaborate. I notice the name of the playlist and burst out laughing.
“Songs to convince Sophia to forgive me. This playlist already looks comprehensive.” I hum as I make a show of scrolling the list. “You must have fucked up royally if it’s going to take this many songs to get this Sophia girl to forgive you.”
Crossing the room, he comes to a stop in front of me.
“What can I say. I was young and dumb.” He’s close enough that I can smell his clean woodsy cologne and see the sincerity shining in his eyes.
“So, here’s one I prepared earlier, because six years is a decent amount of time to put together a fucking epic song list. One that I hope Sophia might love enough to like me again. ”
“Well, if my memory serves me correctly, thinking with your big head was not your strong suit.”
“Touché,” he chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Lucky I’m all grown up now. Both heads screwed on right. For bonus points, they even know how to work together. You know, multi-task and shit like you girls always bang on about.”
“Touché,” I repeat back, unable to stop the smile forming.
There are so many unspoken words hanging between us, but somehow his simple acknowledgment of the shitty way we left things before I moved away to college loosens the bolts that batten down my heart.
In less than ten minutes I can already feel my resolve to keep my walls up around him starting to weaken.
Why am I like this? Didn’t I learn anything the last two times I let myself believe there was more to his easy playboy persona?
That we could be something more than this—whatever the hell this is.
I’ve known Marco my entire life. He’s just four years older than me, the same age as my brother Sebastian.
They’ve been inseparable since birth, so unfortunately for me, given I already had three older brothers, Marco took the role of “brother by default” very seriously.
I didn’t care much either way when I was a little girl prancing along behind them trying to keep up as they climbed trees and challenged me to video games.
“You know what you remind me of?” he said one day as I moved faster than my little legs could take me so I wouldn’t be left out of their game.
“A cute little kitten. Prancing and bumbling along. That’s going to be my secret nickname for you.
” I think I was about seven or eight at the time, but the nickname stuck—well, for Marco at least.
By the time my hormones kicked in, Marco was the star of all my teenage fantasies.
He altered my brain chemistry any time he was around and given he and Sebastian were joined at the hip, that was a lot.
Whenever his glacial green eyes zoned in on me, it was like an electric shock, pulsing through my body head to toe and stoking something deep in my core.
Steering us back to safer ground until we have the time and space to talk about what this is, I ask, “But seriously, what are you doing here? Don’t you have the big New Year’s Eve event at Bella Donna tonight?
You know how Sebastian gets when he’s down his ‘most eligible bachelor’ wingman. ”
Rolling his eyes at my dig, he volleys right back. “Moody as fuck! But he’ll get over it. Besides, he can have all the girls. I’m the lucky bastard who gets to ring in the New Year with the Belle Of The Ball.”
His laugh is husky and sexy. It makes quick work of wrapping itself around me, loosening yet another bolt holding the boards together around my heart.