Chapter Three

Victoria cackles. "So, he's not old and wrinkly?"

I groan and turn on my side on Victoria's bed. I prop my head on my hand and sigh. "Not exactly."

Brett arches a brow at me and crosses his legs. Out of all my closest friends, he's always been the one who could read me easily. He knows when I'm lying. He knows when I'm exaggerating. And he knows when I'm bullshitting. We've known each other for years. Since middle school, to be exact.

Right now, I'm keeping the full truth from them and he can sense that. I'm just not prepared to tell them about Luca Ferrante. The matter is far too serious to take lightly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Victoria asks while combing her thick black hair. There's a wrinkle between her brows, and her lips are pursed as she waits for an answer.

I tell her, "Never mind. I don't really want to talk about it. I'm still...processing things."

Brett eyes her suspiciously as he combs his hair back. I try not to appear nervous to him, but it's getting impossible to ignore his gaze. He's applying eyeliner in the mirror and is still watching me. If I keep avoiding the topic, he'll truly know that something's up. I say, "Is there something you want to say, Brett?"

"Is there something you want to say?"

"I said everything there is to say," I mention. "I'll tell you the full story when I'm ready to tell. Can you accept that?"

"Fine," he says.

Victoria eyes us strangely but says nothing. She's used to our bickering by now. I wait for them to finish so we can leave. I'm anxious to get out of here and try to forget this weird afternoon. Dancing the night away is a good place to start. I love dancing. If there's anything that I can do well, it's dancing.

I wonder what Sarah Ferrante would think of that.

I left as soon as they did. I wanted to talk to Mary about the whole incident, but I preferred not to. I'll leave it for later. We all need time to process what happened. Tomorrow morning, we'll have a clearer idea.

I borrow one of Victoria's heels for the night. I was so anxious to leave home that I forgot to grab a good pair. I only grabbed a new black dress I bought last week and a small purse for my phone and lipstick. It perfectly matches the dress. I'm satisfied with my appearance. The three of us go downstairs. The topic of Luca Ferrante has been forgotten. We are now discussing the man Brett met last week, a man whom Victoria and I think is a red flag.

He doesn't agree with us. "And your definition of a red flag is what exactly? People work, you know. Maybe he doesn't have time to reply to all my messages on time."

"You texted him three days ago," Victoria points out, fluffing her hair in the mirror in the living room. "Can't you just accept the fact that he was merely a one-night stand?"

"No, I can't," he says. He sounds offended. "It isn't like that. You didn't even bother to meet him."

"How would I meet him when he didn't accept your invitation to dinner?"

Brett scoffs. "He didn't say no to the invitation. He didn't even reply to the message yet!"

"My point exactly!"

I ignore them as we climb inside my car. I know the place we're going, so I don't need GPS. We've only been there a few times but it's an incredibly popular nightclub. A bit wilder than what we're accustomed to, but tonight, I need to be someplace where I can forget who I am. I want to dance amongst a crowd of strangers and forget the Ferrante family, my mother, and the whole world.

Victoria and Brett keep arguing about the mystery man he met, but I opt to stay out of it. I really don't have an opinion on the matter. I'm not fit to judge. He gets protective of his mystery man, and whenever any of us try to talk some sense into him, he gets upset. So what's the point in trying to do so? Hopefully, he'll come to his senses soon. But that's the best that I can hope for.

The nightclub is crowded today. There's barely any space in the parking lot, and there are like five cars behind me. I find an empty spot right at the end, and it appears to be the last one in this row. The argument stops and I'm thankful for it. I rearrange any stray hairs on my head and then exit the car. Victoria and Brett follow me out.

"Whoa," Brett exclaims. "It's going to be crazy in there."

They join the queue to get inside. While in the queue, we talk of nothing special. Victoria complains about the long wait, but Brett hushes her and reminds her that this was a club of my choosing. They both feel sorry for me, I know that. I've made them understand that this is something I cannot refuse, which is true. If Luca Ferrante chooses to marry me, I can't deny him my hand. This is a negotiation. Strictly business. Feelings never need to be involved. As a matter of fact, feelings don't exist in our world. Marriages are meant to strengthen families, although I don't know what lies my mother conjured to get a family like the Ferrantes on our side. Dad won't tell me, so I guess I'll find out if I ever marry Luca, or if the whole affair leads to a scandal.

They might not appreciate being fooled.

We finally make our way inside the club after the bouncer checks our ID and we pay. The music is so loud that it feels like the whole room is vibrating. I glance upstairs at the packed dancing bodies. I want to go up there. The last time, I didn't get to do that. I wonder what it'll feel like to dance on a railing and watch the whole thing from above.

Victoria shouts in my ear, "Hold on! We've got to get drinks first!"

"I'm paying this time!" Brett announces, fishing out his credit card. "I'll open the tab. You stay here. What will you girls have?"

Victoria asks for a cocktail, and I opt for a beer. Plain beer. Tonight, I want things to be a little different. Brett eyes me oddly before making his way toward the crowded bar. He's going to stay there for a while. Victoria glances around and readjusts her dress. I start shifting my weight from one leg to the other. All I'm waiting for is for Brett to come back with the drinks. After that, I'm going to let go of all my worries and troubles.

This is going to be an unforgettable night.

Thirty minutes later, I'm upstairs with my drink in one hand and the other in the air. Victoria and Brett are laughing beside me, but I'm glad I entertain them. I don't take it personally. I know I'm acting crazy tonight, and perhaps the reason is that I've just realized how precious freedom truly is. I don't think I've ever appreciated it as much. What happens if I marry into such an influential family? Will I be able to have fun like this, or do things get more serious? I remind myself once again that he might choose Mary, but that makes my skin crawl, so I don't think about it at all.

I'll leave the thinking for another day.

"You're spilling your beer everywhere!" he says, followed by a laugh. "What the hell has gotten into you, girl?"

I grin wildly at them, which only makes them laugh harder. I down half the bottle of beer and let it settle in my stomach before jumping again. I'm having a blast. The music is electrifying. I can feel the positive energy all around me. I close my eyes and let it all sink in. My body moves on its own accord. It's like I've become a mere vessel in which energies flow through. I am no longer a person. I am a free spirit. I dance for a bit longer, and then finish my beer.

I stare at the empty bottle, then turn to Brett and say, "I want another one."

After the fourth bottle, I get a little dizzy, but it all adds to the feeling. I dance upstairs, then downstairs, and all the while, Brett and Victoria follow me. They're now dancing after a few drinks, and the happiness I feel is crushing. There's no beginning and no end to it. It simply exists. We form a circle and take turns dancing. Brett has always been the worst dancer, so we laugh at him. This is exactly what I needed to feel whole again. Nothing tops this.

"I'm thirsty," Victoria says, panting. She wipes at the sweat on her hairline and cringes. "I need something really cold."

We walk toward the bar. It's somewhat empty now, so we place our orders quickly. I'm staring at the pretty bottles of liquor on the glass shelf behind the bartender when something catches my eye. A man in a black suit approaches the other side of the bar. He makes eye contact with me briefly before waving the other bartender over. I look away, mainly because I don't want to be staring at a stranger. It isn't safe. The last thing I need is a man approaching me with worse intentions.

When I look back, he's gone.

Brett and Victoria receive their drinks and start heading toward the dance floor. I'm waiting for mine still. The bartender is opening a bottle of beer for me when the other bartender approaches me. He has a bottle of cold champagne in his hand, along with three flutes. He places them in front of me and says, "For you."

"I didn't order this," I tell him, perplexed.

"Someone did," he says, wiping the counter as if this isn't the weirdest fucking thing to happen.

"Who?" I demand. I have a feeling that this has something to do with the man who spoke to him just now. It has to be. I start looking around for him but to no avail. He's gone.

The bartender shrugs, and slides a piece of paper toward me. I stare at it in a daze. It's been torn from a tiny notepad. I pick it up and bring it close to my face, which quickly becomes bloodless.

Dear Laura,

I hope you enjoy the drink.

Luca Ferrante

PS. You're a spectacular dancer.

I glance around once more, hoping to catch his eye. I don't see him, and that's the part that worries me. How is he here? How did he find me? What is the meaning of this? He saw me dancing. He was close enough to see me dancing and I took no notice of him. There's a bitter taste in my mouth. I know for a fact that I won't be drinking this champagne, not even if my life depends on it. I stare at the note again. I can't believe it. I just can't.

"Laura?"

I ball the note in my hand reflexively and turn to face him. He's eyeing me with concern. "What's the matter?" he shouts over the music. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

That I have. I gulp and shake my head. "I think I had too much to drink," I say, staring at the floor where I've dropped the note. "I'm going to be sick."

This isn't a lie.