I close the book now, ready to hurl, but holding it in because I can’t risk messing up my amazing Prada look. It feels slightly lessamazingsince being in it for so many hours, but I expected it to be taken off me after only a few, so that’s my bad. The car begins moving again, and I get a call.
I don’t look before I answer, “Hello?” Should have looked. It could be anyone— interviewers from articles, publicists offering their services, the Luciano clan attempting to pinpoint my exact location.
“Hello, Ms. Lombardi?”
“One of many. Who’s this?”
“Vincenzo San Giovanni, Antonio’s older brother.”
“Oh.” I breathe, not sure if he heard the shock in my tone, as he continues.
“Look, he’s made an awful mistake and gotten his dates mixed up. He wants to extend his apologies and would like me to reserve you a spot at Providence for this evening. If you’ll have him, he’d be honored.” There’s a muffled noise in the background, and I figure it’s why Vince is calling me and not Antonio. I roll my eyes and let him wait for my response. He says nothing, giving me a moment. It’s partly why I say yes, but mostly I say yes because I have no other choice.
“Wonderful, he’ll pick you up at—”
“No need. I’ll be in Malibu, so I can have my driver bring me.”
“Oh. My apologies. I didn’t know you had already made it back to Cali. Not a problem. He’ll see you at ss-” there's a slap in the background, and Vincenzo quickly spits out, “Eight.”
“Yep. Great.” I say before hanging up the phone.
“Things are looking up for you, Prin.” Alk smiles toward the back seat, and I laugh at his optimistic outlook on life. He’s always been kind to me and kind to the world, that never gave him a reason to believe in its goodness. As admirable as it is, I can’t get on his wavelength. I’m thankful for him, though.
After the rest of our almost insufferable drive to the mansion, I see it just in the distance. The orange trees perfectly line the road on either side, the vineyards sprawling after that. Our barn, kaleidoscopic shades of green like my mother's eyes, is surrounded by horses and sheep. The four-story luxury of the Lombardi Manor towing at the end of it all. It looks almost like a castle, and I liked to think it was as a child.
We would come here only on rare occasions before selling it when I was ten. It was heart-wrenching; I couldn't believe my castle was no longer in our possession. Alk started calling me Princess after that to soften the blow. We only just bought it back a couple of months ago, thankful to see that the previous owners hadn’t changed much in their thirteen years of owning it. I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing, being stuck here. But then again, it wouldn’t be the best thing, either.
We pull up to the courtyard entrance leading to the grand entryway. I’m glad I have plans tonight, thankful I can escape sitting in the silence of empty corridors for too long with a book and a cup of orange tea.
“Out you go, Princess.” Alk is hoisting me from the height of the car to the stone-laid pavement, and I let him, grabbing my clutch from the seat on the way down.
“Thank you.” I smile in his direction, glancing back to the house where my Gran is surely sitting at the third-story windows, looking down at us. We call that room the observatory, not because it literally has an observatory in it, but because Gran has sat at those towering windows with little benches attached since I started going out more frequently. Being the only child of the main Lombardi family is not without its challenges.
We make our way through the courtyard, and I note that there are five more butterflies than usual, all varying colors, almost missable amongst the beauty of the flowers. The glass front doors are already open, my mother in the doorway smiling from ear to ear, ready to hear about the night I didn’t have.
“Mother!” I force a smile back at her sincere one, and she throws her arms around me as the rest of my bodyguards form a line a few feet behind us.
“Stell! Tell me everything.” She pulls me out of our hug and links my arm in hers. Her long blonde hair is swishing about as she begins to discuss all the ideas she had for a wedding and how it must be some odd coincidence that they’ve come to her now. I try desperately not to roll my eyes, though I sneak in a few as we walk through the glass corridor down to the kitchen– our favorite place to speak.
She shoos away our chef and kitchen attendant upon our arrival at the kitchen island. The large, earthy, modern-meets-stupid-rich-people-cottage ambiance, is bursting with light from every direction, giving the entire room a warm incandesce. My mother’s beauty is perfectly illuminated in this light.
She’s like a lemony glow of radiance. Her shiny pale yellow hair, fair skin with sun-kissed freckles covering the perfect places. Every feature she has is delicate and petite, but her eyes are the real draw. They pull you in. Mostly green with a light radiance in the center thatmakes them almost look mythical.
On the other hand, my genes are far darker and more mysterious, thanks to my Sicilian father. He was just as handsome, but every one of his features was starkly opposite to my mother's— strong, defined, orderly. Our family was a steady ship when my father was alive. Now it's rather chaotic with only my mother, to say the least. (And to say the most, she painted an abstract mural in my bedroom without asking the other day and got paint all over my Versace bedsheets.)
Eyes full of wonder, she looks at me, perfectly pointed chin resting on her fists as she leans over the island.
“Didn’t you just love him? I hear everyone does. He’s always making people laugh and—“
“He didn’t show.” Her face falls, and she scrunches her nose up like she smells something foul.
“...Didn’t show you his funny side—“
“Didn’t show, period, Mother.” Words are forming on her lips in response, their implications seem dangerous, so I push forward before she can get them out.
“But, he apologized… Well, Vincenzo apologized on his behalf… and I’m meeting him tonight in LA for dinner.” She blinks a little, climbing back down off the heated ledge she was willing to throw us off to reinforce her promise of keeping her controlling end of our deal.
“Okay.” She says in a reasoning tone, tilting her head and looking past me. I wait in silence, following the swirls in the marble with my tired eyes as I wait.