Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The Art Of Persuasion
Chiara
My big night is here. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed while Evie, Sophia and Stella, finish getting ready for the Natalia Hirsch Photography Exhibition, which is the biggest event on the New York social calendar for tonight.
I confided in the girls today that I wasn’t just in New York to attend the exhibition as a guest; I was showing my work as part of the it too—a perk of having just beat out fifty other aspiring photographers to land the coveted position of Natalia’s first assistant.
An absolute dream come true. The way they rallied around me, celebrating my achievements, threatened to make me an emotional wreck.
It’s been so long since I felt the warmth of someone else’s pride cascade over me like a warm hug.
Four years with no parents. No real friends.
Acquaintances a plenty, but they’re never fully invested in you, only what you can do for them.
A playlist Marco made for Sophia plays in the background while Evie works her stylist magic on her, pushing her hands down the front of a fitted, low-cut dress, adjusting her breasts so they sit perky with just the right amount of cleavage. No bra required.
“You just need a little lift and adjust,” says Evie, standing back to inspect her handiwork.
Tears prick my eyes, the enormity of how close I am from escaping—or at the very least delaying—plans to have me married off for the sake of the family business sending my anxiety into overdrive.
I haven’t divulged what I think I overheard to anyone, too frightened that even speaking them out loud would have jeopardized my escape.
Sometimes I swear Uncle Gino’s walls talk.
Looking out to the scene in front of me, with all the markings of a Hallmark movie rather than the horror show I’ve lived through to get to this moment, I will myself not to let the emotions I fought off earlier get the better of me now. Not tonight. Not with my makeup perfectly done.
This has been a good day. Not all of them are.
I’m an expert at wearing a smile so big it casts a glow over the edges tinged with the gray mark of melancholy that grief leaves behind.
It’s never far, just receding back and forth like the tides.
But I can’t let the ocean of emotions take me away.
Not tonight, darkness, my old friend. Not tonight.
“Get those girls out, Sophia. Marco isn’t going to know where to put his hands first,” I tease. She smirks back at me like she knows exactly where this night could lead if he does indeed get his hands on her.
Laughter breaks out, and it’s exactly the circuit breaker I need. In a few hours, I hope to be toasting the start of the rest of my future, one of my own making. One I earned. A future that feels like life is finally working for me and not against me.
It’s this sobering reminder that plays on a loop in my mind as we wait for Marco to pick us up, and I covertly reread my text thread with Raf.
Again. For the third time. I should not be letting a man consume my thoughts in this way again.
I know he’ll be there tonight, so I’m hoping we’ll get the chance to chat.
Though if his three terse text responses are anything to go by, he’s pissed at his sister for giving me his number, and even less impressed with me for spamming him with messages.
And taking his photo “without consent.” And ruining his designer tie.
And calling him an old man…then flirting with his brother.
He’s so prickly, yet if all I can get from him is the sting of our exchanged barbs, then I’ll take it.
I know I’m not winning him over with my antics, but I get a thrill out of making him the center of my attention.
His indifference only fuels my determination.
I just want to muss up that pristine facade and make him snap.
Behavior that’s not doing me any favors in getting him to think of me as anything other than immature.
Yet poking the wolf feels like it’s the only way to get his eyes where I want them, and that’s on me.
Because for some inexplicable reason, from the moment I laid eyes on him, he’s all I’ve wanted.
There’s something behind those fortified walls he’s built like a fortress that feels familiar.
As if heaviness of whatever hurt he’s carrying is a gravitational pull.
I’ll be the first to admit I hide behind sunshine to shield others from my darkness, whereas Raf has carefully constructed his stoic personality.
Hiding behind a thunderous scowl and clipped tone to keep emotions at arms-length and stop anyone from getting close enough to crack that shell.
I can tell by the tick in his jaw and his reticence to be in close proximity, there’s something about me that unnerves him—and the knowledge I could be the one to put the chinks in his armor is like an aphrodisiac.
I swore I would never let myself fall for an older man again after the last one double-crossed me, but maybe the fact I am is another sign that I’m finally steering the ship, that I can finally break free from the chains of my trauma and chart the waters of my own life, regardless of my uncle and his plans for my life back in Sicily.
“You ready to slay tonight?” asks Stella, taking a seat next to me on the bed, a small smirk tugging at her lips as her eyes can’t help but skim over my screen.
I black it out, though I know she’s already seen the messages.
I look up at her and plaster on a bright smile. “I was born ready to slay,” I announce, in hopes my confidence will hide the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling.
Not missing the shine in my eyes, she wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into her for a half hug.
“It’s okay to want something so badly but feel absolutely shit-scared at finally having it within reach at the same time,” she says softly, seeing right through my disguise.
“Change is not meant to be comfortable. It’s meant to help us grow and evolve.
And often, it comes to show us that we’re stronger than we think we are. ”
A single tear rolls down my cheek. I quickly swipe it away, willing myself to stop the dam from breaking.
Stella is bold and brash, like me in many ways.
But she’s also perceptive and warm and clearly excellent at this life coach thing, because without me uttering a word about the conflict warring within me, she gave me the words of reassurance I didn’t know I even needed.
“Also, don’t forget you’re a bad bitch. That grumpy fucker should be so lucky to have your attention,” she says pointing at my phone screen. “His broody sexiness doesn’t excuse his bad manners. I say give him hell and make it burn real good.”
I throw my head back in a laugh, and she joins me. Then she tugs me to standing and links her arm with mine. “I like you, Chi Chi, and I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together,” she says, leading me towards Evie and Sophia.
“Chi Chi?” I giggle, giving her a puzzled look.
“Yep. Every member of a kick-ass girl gang needs a nickname. Evie’s Pocket Rocket.
And as you probably know, that one there”—she says, thumbing her finger towards Sophia with a playful eyeroll—“is Kitten. Yes, Marco ordained it, and we only ever call her Soph, but we all know if he calls, she goes running!”
I laugh at that, remembering the first time I saw the nickname flash up on Marco’s dash, knowing instantly she was someone important to him.
Thanks to a certain gossip blog and pics that looked far worse than the reality of the moment, our friendship almost sank before it started.
Thankfully, we got that little misunderstanding under wraps quickly!
“And what’s your nickname?” I ask.
“The girls just call me Stel, but I also go by Stella Bella and Bombshell,” she says with a coy wink.
“Marco’s waiting downstairs,” Sophia calls out excitedly.
That girl is so gone for her man. I don’t believe for a second that Marco is just my chauffeur.
My cousin AJ might take me for a fool, but there’s no way he’s entrusting me to the bustling streets of New York City without some sort of protection.
He may think he’s duped me, but I spotted the telltale symbol of Marco’s family connection on his medallion.
I just need to find the right time to verify my suspicions.
Now is not that time. I need tonight to go off without a hitch, and then I want to celebrate with delicious cocktails, dancing, and a good fucking time. Maybe in all senses of the word.
You deserve this. You’ve worked hard for this. You’ve got this.
By the time we arrive at Le Sip, the sadness that threatened to rain on my parade has passed.
Belting out some car karaoke helped, though I’m not sure Marco’s eardrums agree, but whatevs.
He’s probably just delighted I’m not subjecting him to “audio porn” as he refers to the romance audiobooks I make him play while he drives me around town.
Of course I could just listen with my headphones, but where’s the fun in that?
I’m sure he’ll reap the benefits of his newfound knowledge.