More Than a Pretty Face (Vincitore Academy 1)

Colliding

The party was in full swing.

From the darkness of the garden, Margherita, head spinning from too much champagne, spied on the gazebo, where the bald man who was smiling too broadly was asking Re to put in a good word with Luca's father. Re causally answered he didn't meddle in the family business.

"But business is all your family cares about!" The balding man retorted.

A significant pause followed. The smarting comment was sadly true, but Re managed to restrain his temper. Older people tried to manipulate him all the time, and he could not stand it.

Ever so jovial, he replied, "Once I inherit the business, I'll be glad to hear you out, but it'll be a few years. Will your company last that long?"

Chastised, the guy skulked away.

Luca, thinking himself alone, flipped him off with both hands, sticking his tongue out.

Margherita could not hold back a snicker. "Real mature, as always." She walked to the gazebo and held on to the railing, woozy.

"Earsdropping, now?!" Luca had been caught showing a side of himself he would have rather kept private, particularly from Pescatore.

Margherita was positively green. "'Eavesdropping,' you idiot, and not on purpose. Do you know where's the bathroom?"

Impasse.

Every time they held each other's gaze, time stopped, and tonight was no exception—not after the pool, not after five days away from each other. Had she been sober, Margherita would have never talked to him, but she wasn't.

Pescatore's face was pale but splotchy. She was leaning heavily against the railing. This girl was utterly reckless. After the way he'd behaved, Pescatore was now confronting him while drunk and alone, in a remote corner of the gardens. She was begging for trouble—trouble he'd never give.

The thought of her tears, which he'd caused, still made him hollow inside. If she was ready to acknowledge what was between them, she'd better say so out loud, because he wasn't going to hate himself more than he already did.

Forgetting about the bathroom for one minute, Margherita managed to break the silence. "Must be a pain being a scion, huh?"

Luca was taken aback. It sure was. So much. All the time. Yet everyone envied him. "I can't even drink for fear of misstepping. You have no idea."

Margherita marveled at the candid confession. "At least you get the girls." She couldn't believe her own traitorous tongue. Was she jealous?

"Are you serious?" He blurted, outraged. "Those girls mean nothing to me; they don't even see me. All they want is my money and my name. The school is full of them."

Wow. She had not thought about that. Given the various tabloid images of Re on dates, she'd pictured him a player just as much as Bellocchio. Was that why Re was so cold and unreachable, close only to the P2? Re's frigid reaction to Laura's love confession made a lot more sense in this light. Indeed, the girl had thrown herself down a flight of stairs just to get his attention, as she herself had admitted back in April.

Re was still glaring at her, somehow. Of all the insults she'd thrown his way, calling him a player was the one that had offended him.

"I'm sorry," she said, meaning it.

Wow, he liked her so damn much. He walked down the steps, leaning against the opposite railing. "Yea...me...me, too. I—sorry I raised my voice just now."

Luca Vincitore could not remember the last time he'd apologized to anyone. Had he ever?

Re felt as if, growing up, he'd been spread all over the universe, atomized to fulfill the outlandish expectations that pulled him left and right, whereas Margherita's presence concentrated him in one place, right under her gaze, as if, finally, he could just be himself, Luca.