Chapter Two
VINNIE
“Remind me why I have to go to this stupid dinner?” I complain to my nanny, Cecilia, as I look at her through the reflection of my vanity mirror.
Cecilia is less of a nanny and more of an older sister figure.
She’s twenty-three, and even though she was hired on to care for me, she and I quickly bonded, and the formalities dropped.
Cecilia helps me with everything: school, hair, makeup, boys.
She accompanies me to almost every event I am forced by my parents to attend.
She even lives here at the estate, although her room isn’t on the same floor as mine.
“Because, it’s a charity fundraiser at the mayor’s house and anyone worth a damn is invited,” she reprimands as she lets a curl loose from the wand, letting the hot strand bounce against her hand as it immediately starts to cool.
She passes the handle of the curling wand to me so I can hold it while she sprays my hair with hairspray.
“The Townsends will be there,” she continues with a coy smile. “I was talking to Esther today. She said Summer is ecstatic to go tonight.”
I roll my eyes at the mention of Summer, and her keeper—I mean nanny—Esther.
Summer is three years younger than I am and tries desperately to act like she’s my age. I only tolerate her presence at these dumb events because of her brother. Her brother makes my heart soar. I’ve had a crush on him since I was five.
I try to act casual as I ask Cecilia, “And Mason? Will he be there?”
She releases another curl and hands the wand back to me. Her lips turn up into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”
“Make sure my hair is perfect,” I snap, but a smile plays against my lips as she narrows her eyes at me.
“I may be hired to be your nanny, young lady, but I’m still older than you. It’d behoove you to remember that.”
“And it’d behoove you to remember that I’m your boss.”
We stare at each other through the mirror for several seconds, our expressions hard, before we both burst into laughter.
She pokes my side with her freshly manicured fingernail. “You’re a little princess, Vinnie. You’re lucky I’m so fond of you.”
“Mmmhmm,” I hum and bring a tube of pink gloss to my lips. Mom won’t let me wear makeup yet, but she lets Cecilia style my hair however I want, and buys me a new lip gloss whenever I ask. This one tastes like cotton candy.
When my hair is done, I stand, and Cecilia grabs my dress from where it hangs nearby. It’s beautiful. Ice-blue chiffon with a fitted bodice, and thick straps that tie on the top of my shoulders. It reminds me of a modern-day Cinderella, without the hoop skirt.
Shrugging from my robe, Cecilia slips the dress over my outstretched arms, careful as she brings it over my head, as to not ruin my hair or rub my gloss. Once I’m situated, she zips the back and turns me toward my mirror.
It’s lovely. I can’t wait for Mason to see me in it, and I wonder if he’ll finally notice me as more than just a childhood playmate.
Mayor Conrad Moser’s charity dinner is an absolute snoozefest. Nothing more than a four-course meal in their grand ballroom, packed with round tables for the most elite New York families to pretend like they care what each other has to say.
Mom insisted we attend tonight when Mayor Moser extended the invitation.
This is their first social gathering in their new luxury 5th Avenue penthouse, since typically parties were thrown at their main residence, Gracie Mansion.
Mom gushed about how close they live to the Met, if only part-time, and how she couldn’t wait to see it because it was a tri-level penthouse—a unique rarity at this level of extravagance.
So naturally, Father accepted the invitation, and here we are.
The auction was the most entertaining part of the evening, and even that was hardly bearable.
Leaning against my mother's shoulder, my finger traces along the extravagant beadwork on her tight champagne and gold gown. I was underdressed in comparison to her, but as she liked to remind me, “it’s not your job to stand out, Vincenza.”
Yet.
It’s not my job to stand out, yet.
But I will, someday soon.
“Mom, can I go find the boys?” I ask, waiting until there is a lull in her conversation with Mayor Moser’s wife, Elena.
My brothers had slipped from the room ages ago and were probably exploring the grounds or playing with some of the other kids I saw earlier who have also disappeared.
Who I really want to find, though, is Mason.
Looking around the ballroom, I realize I’m the only kid still sitting with their parents.
“Sure, sweetheart, but be careful wandering about on your own until you find them.”
Smiling tightly, I stand and slightly bow my head as a sign of respect to Mrs. Moser. “Dinner was lovely. Thank you so much, Mrs. Moser.”
“What a well-mannered daughter you have, Leighton,” she praises.
“A little not-so-well-kept secret, my dear. If you go through the main doors and up the staircase to the third floor, you’ll find an access door to the roof.
Somehow, all the children find a way to sneak into my rooftop hideaway.
It’s not much, but the view of the city is breathtaking. ”
“Thank you,” I tell her, then spin on my heel and force every bone in my ‘well-mannered’ body to walk, not run, across the ballroom and to the stairs.
My nude sling-back kitten heels echo against the dark wooden staircase as I climb higher, craning my neck to see if anyone is on the second floor. It’s quiet up here, so I turn immediately and climb the second staircase leading to the third floor.
Once at the top, I find the door Mrs. Moser mentioned will take me to the roof. For whatever reason though, I hesitate before stepping toward it.
My gaze sweeps over the ostentatious landing of the third floor and catches on a set of glass French doors that are slightly open. A light breeze ruffles the sheer curtains of the window next to it, the sounds of the bustling city pouring in.
I cross the space, drawn to the open doors, and push one just enough for me to slide through the gap.
Pressing my back against the door, it clicks into place, and the moment it does, a boy about my age slips out of the shadow cast by the wall of the balcony.
He wears simple black dress pants and a crisp white buttoned shirt, with a plain maroon tie hanging around his neck. But perhaps the most captivating thing this boy wears is his expression.
He looks sad, and angry, and above all, he looks lonely.
Something about his scowl makes me want to take his sadness away. I want to make him smile.
“Hi,” I say shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Hi,” he replies, and takes a seat on the stone bench in the center of the balcony. From there, he stares straight out at the lights of the city.
“What are you doing up here?”
“Probably the same thing you are.”
“Oh. Well, I was actually looking for my brothers.”
“Haven’t seen them,” he says with boredom. It makes me deflate a little inside.
“Do you want company?” I ask as I take a step forward.
His head swings toward me, and he looks me up and down before turning back to the city. Nodding once, he says, “Sure, but can we not talk?”
“Okay.”
Rounding the bench, I sit down next to him, leaving as much space between us as possible. I follow his line of sight and stare out at the twinkling skyscrapers. A few blocks over, a helicopter lands on the roof of Lenox Hill.
After several minutes, I can’t take the silence. “Are you sitting up here alone because something made you sad?”
“I thought we agreed no talking.”
My mouth opens, then closes again. There are so many questions on the tip of my tongue. A large part of me thinks it may be wise to go leave and find Mason, or my brothers, after all.
The boy exhales and leans forward with his elbows pressed against his knees. “Sì,” he sighs. “I miss my home. I wish to go back.”
“I’m sure your family will be leaving soon. The auction has finished and everyone is just talking and dancing.”
He laughs as I speak, turning to look at me. With his full attention, it feels like there is a spotlight shining down on me, the warmth of the light stifling. I squirm uncomfortably.
“I did not mean my house, I meant my home. Verona.”
“As in Italy?”
“Sì. The one and only.”
“Wow,” I whisper to myself, before asking. “What’s it like there? I’ve always dreamt of visiting. I’m half Italian, possibly a little more. My father is full, and my mother is half, mixed with Irish and French.”
“It’s very beautiful. A different beauty than New York has to offer.” He looks back out to the skyline. His tone is a little more chipper when he eventually turns back to me. “Were you born here? You must have been—your accent is purely American.”
“I was. Right here in New York, actually. My mom was born in Virginia and happened to meet my father when he was here for a summer abroad. They fell in love and he moved to the U.S. for her, and they settled here.” It’s more information than a teenage boy needs, but I love the story of my parents.
Their love story gives me hope I’ll find my own someday.
If they could find their soulmate by chance, after living an ocean apart for so long, certainly destiny has plans for all of us.
“Romantic,” he says, scrunching his nose slightly, though his voice holds no sarcasm.
“When did you move her?—”
“Vincenza!” My mom stops my sentence, her voice carrying through the closed doors as she looks for me.
His gaze snaps back to mine when he hears my mom, and I swear I see his eyes widen for a moment.
I sigh with annoyance. I want to know more about this boy…hear more about growing up in Italy, and why he’s here. How long he’s lived here. But instead, I discreetly wipe my sweaty palms on the underside of my dress and stand.
“I have to go. Thank you for keeping me company.” Smiling sweetly, I notice the way he stares blankly at me instead of returning the sentiment. It wipes the smile off my face, and I take steps backward to the door, not taking my eyes off him as he continues to stare at me with a cold look in his.
He glares at me as I twist the handle and step back into the penthouse, wondering where I went wrong.
Boys are so confusing.
“Oh, there you are, sweetheart! I was worried when your brothers showed back up at the table, but you weren’t with them. It’s time to go—your father’s already sent for the car.”
“Alright.” I follow her to the staircase, and grab onto the railing, turning to glance over my shoulder one more time at where the boy sits alone again, cloaked in the night’s darkness.
I can just make out his silhouette, and I ignore my inner persuasion that begs for me to go back out there and find out what I did to offend him.
Back on the main floor of the penthouse, Mayor Moser’s coat check attendant drapes my black coat over my shoulders. My father and brothers position their own coats, adjusting them while they talk amongst themselves.
When my mother ushers me into the waiting elevator and asks me if I had fun this evening, it’s with the ding of the doors enclosing our family inside that I realize I never even got the boy's name.