My teeth clenched. “I fell.”
“Madonna! How much have you drunk?”
“Apparently more than I thought,” I muttered.
Her hesitant gaze ran to Nicolas and Christian, who were the two most ungentlemanly men I’d ever met—the former for pushing me into the pool, and the latter for not helping me out.
Gianna came rushing outside with a towel, and Christian flicked a slow gaze to her over his glass, like the glance was equal parts involuntary and unwanted.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, accepting it.
“I think I have something for you to wear.” She grabbed the heels I’d pulled off so I could get out of the pool. I should have thrown them at Nicolas’s head, but by that time I had the entire party’s attention.
As I followed Gianna inside, everyone stared at me with wide eyes—well, all the women. I expected the worst from my papà, but he wasn’t even looking at me. His attention was on the two men on the patio, his expression darkening.
My stomach dipped.
How many had seen that it was Nicolas who pushed me in? And why would he do something like that? I guessed Russos did what they wanted when they wanted. Papà should have known from the beginning not to get involved with Nicolas.
I followed Gianna into a room that looked like a spare, while drying my hair with a towel. She dug through a bag on the bed, and something twisted in my chest. Was she planning on spending the night? Ugh, why did I even care? Nicolas had pushed me into a damn pool. I didn’t like him at all.
Gianna found a pair of red shorts that had white trim on the edges and up the sides, and a plain white t-shirt. The outfit was from the seventies, right off Farrah Fawcett. I was beginning to wonder where Gianna shopped.
I accepted the clothes and a sports bra—thankfully, Gianna was close to the same size as me in the breast department—and turned around to change.
“Thank you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I guess I’m just . . . clumsy.”
Ugh.
Gianna laughed. “You don’t have to lie. I saw Ace push you in.”
I paused with my dress around my waist while I pulled the t-shirt on. “How many saw?”
“Oh, mostly everyone.”
Of course they did. I blew out a breath, shimmied the dress down my hips, and then pulled the shorts on.
Turning around, I saw Gianna lying on the bed, her feet on the floor and her arms stretched above her head. It was an unladylike pose the Sweet Abelli would have never imitated. And I envied her for it.
“Thank you for the clothes again,” I said. “I’ll wash them and return them to you.”
“Keep them.”
Silence morphed between us, and I had an urge to fill it.
“Does he usually push girls into pools?”
She laughed, sitting up. “No, definitely not. He would have to care to do that.”
I paused, not knowing what to say considering she’d insinuated he cared about me. What have I gotten myself into? All I knew was that I needed to undo it.
“It’s not like that.” I wanted to sound firm, but I came off more uncertain than anything.
She smiled, but her eyes conveyed years of hidden torment, before saying quietly, “It never is.”
A few minutes later, I learned that everyone had in fact witnessed my sister’s fiancé pushing me into the pool. Apparently, this was hard for even the Russos to understand, because the women—Valentina, especially—regarded me with scrutiny, like they’d finally noticed I was at the party. Jemma, however, looked at me with sympathy, as though I’d gotten into something that would eventually kill me. I didn’t know what to think about that one.
On the way out of the apartment, I ignored Adriana’s drunk and curious questions, Benito’s angry gaze on the back of my head, and my papà’s and brother’s stone-cold silence. Before I stepped out the door, I glanced back.