I smile, and this time, when I try to walk past Eden, she lets me.
“You can borrow my dress. The black lace one that makes your boobs look amazing.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She knows me too well and is willing to help me even though she knows the trouble I’m about to get myself into. She’s been there when I’ve fallen apart and almost ruined my life. I know she’ll keep her promise to pick up the pieces that I leave in my wake. I just wish, for once, I could keep my promise and be careful.
3
Nina
I could stand outside the Carini mansion all night, staring at it. For an art history major like me, it doesn’t get any better than the Carini mansion. It is full of architecture and structures that simply aren’t built like this anymore. But, as much as I would love to study every inch of the outside, study how every brick was formed and how every vine grew up the front of the building, it’s what is inside that really has me intrigued.
I got the tour of the mansion only yesterday, two days after we arrived, but there was so much more that I wanted to ingrain in my memory forever. So much more that I wanted to know about the history behind every room, every painting, every person who’d ever lived in the Carini mansion.
The mansion’s history alone would be enough for me to skip out on another lecture about the Italian Renaissance and come to the party here to get a chance to soak it all in. But that isn’t why I’m here.
I’m here to get Arlo to want me.
I see the security guard standing at the door, and I panic. I don’t have an invite. There is no reason he should let me into the party. But then I look down at one of the sexiest dresses I have ever worn. Just act like I belong, and there is no way I won’t get in. I’ve been let into parties and bars, wearing clothing that doesn’t reveal anywhere near as much cleavage as this dress.
I walk up the long flight of stairs that lead up to the entrance. I wink at the security guard and then begin walk
ing through the door.
I freeze. The guard’s hand firmly holds on to my shoulder as I move through the door.
“Let me escort you to your seat, Ms. Young,” the guard says, letting go of my shoulder and holding his arm out to me.
My eyes widen when he says my name. I try to smile and act like I belong, but I can’t help myself. I have to know. “How do you know my name? How do I have a seat? I wasn’t invited.”
The man continues to hold his arm out to me and now smiles calmly instead of the serious look that was on his face a moment before. “It’s my job to know who you are. And, as far as being invited or not goes, it’s irrelevant. Mr. Carini said you would come and saved you a seat at the main table.”
I stop blinking. I stop breathing. This can’t be right. This has to be a mistake.
“Arlo made it perfectly clear that I was not supposed to see him again. You must be mistaken,” I say.
“Are you Nina Young?”
I nod.
“Do you want to attend this party tonight or not?”
“I want to attend,” I say hesitantly.
“Then, I’m not mistaken. Mr. Carini said you would come. He saved you a place at the table. Would you like me to escort you to your seat now?” he asks again, growing impatient.
I stare down at the stranger’s arm and then slowly smile. I must have made an impression on Arlo if he knew I would be coming tonight and then saved me a seat.
I finally loop my arm through the guard’s extended bent arm. “Take me to my seat.”
He nods, and then his smile disappears as he starts guiding me through the large entryway and down a long passageway that is filled with paintings I didn’t get to see on my tour of the mansion. I try to focus on keeping my poise, thinking about what I’m going to say when I see Arlo, but the paintings draw my attention. One of the paintings is of a man dressed in clothing from decades ago who looks a lot like Arlo. The next one resembles someone who could be his grandmother. They are all family members. All share a history that is rich in culture and tradition. They all live in Italy. They all have lived inside these walls. All have kept family jobs that the rest of the town either doesn’t know about or doesn’t talk about. I could learn a lot from the paintings. Or at least, I could learn what the painter thought of the family.
But the guard who is walking me to my seat doesn’t seem to know that he should slow down so that I can get a good look at each painting as we walk by. He is set on his mission, and his mission is to get me to my seat as fast as possible.
We get to the end of the hallway when my escort stops abruptly.
He glances at me. “The dinner has already started. Be prepared,” he says as he reaches for the door.