I stared at her. Since when did she shush me? My parents never really disciplined me. They were always too busy.
“They’re here,” she whispered as she turned to stare me down.
Call me crazy, but I didn’t like the way she said, they’re here. Suddenly, the only thing I wanted to do was run out of the room. Mom was up to something, and I wasn’t going to like it.
Chapter Two
I glanced behind my mom and saw two guys sitting at my parents’ VIP table. There was an older man with greying hair and another man with darker hair, but that was all I could see since his back was to me.
“Who’s here?” I asked with what I hoped came across as nonchalance.
Mom gave me a look as she adjusted her dress, pinched her cheeks, and then turned her obsessive personality onto me.
“I really wish you’d worn your hair up,” she said as she started primping my curls and pinching my cheeks.
“Mom, please,” I said, holding up my hands so she would stop. It was humiliating that she was acting this way. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. In a few weeks, I would be eighteen. But right then, you would have thought I was a little kid with popsicle-dyed lips and ratty hair.
“I’m sorry. I just want you to look nice,” she said as she took a deep breath.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why?”
She pinched her lips together. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to work her lipstick into submission or trying to keep a secret. A nauseating feeling settled in my stomach—I feared it was the latter.
“Why am I here? What did you do?” I asked as Mom plastered on her fake smile and started to turn.
If she heard me, she didn’t show it. Instead, she walked away from me and toward whatever impending doom loomed in front of me.
Great.
I glanced toward the exit and, for a moment, wondered if I could make it there before anyone saw me.
“Brielle, join us, please,” Mom said in her company’s here voice.
Too late. I resigned myself to the fact that retreat was not an option. I glanced longingly at the door one more time before I clenched my jaw and forced myself to head toward the VIP table. I just needed to get through whatever this lunch was and then get the heck out of there. I’d survive this. After all, I’d been pretty much on my own since I was a kid.
“Hello,” I said in a sugary-sweet voice. I stepped up next to Mom and turned my smile toward the two men sitting at the table.
It was like staring at twins—if they had been born a few decades apart. The younger one looked about my age. He had dark hair and olive skin. His dark eyes lit up as his gaze roamed over me. A few seconds later, he was out of his seat and reaching over the table to take my hand.
“Hello,” he said. His voice hinted to an Italian accent. “My name is Stefano Esposito.”
I stared at his hand, which extended from a perfectly tailored suit. He looked as if he’d stepped out of an Italian GQ. My gaze flicked over to Mom, who was smiling so hard, it looked as if the edges of her lips were about to disappear into her hair.
“Be polite,” she said quietly as she nudged me with her shoulder.
I glanced back at Stefano and nodded as I shook his hand. “Brielle,” I said.
Stefano’s smile widened to reveal perfectly white teeth. I couldn’t help but stare at how bright they were, sparkling back at me.
“It’s incredible to meet you,” he said as he squeezed my hand.
I nodded as I wiggled my fingers loose from his grip. He settled back into his chair as I pulled out mine. Before I could reach down and pull my chair forward, a waiter appeared to help me.
Once I was situated, Dad showed up. His face was red, and beads of sweat formed on his brow as he nodded to Mom and me and then turned to the Espositos.
“Sorry for keeping you,” he said as he waved down the waiter and ordered a scotch. “I had a disturbance to take care of,” he muttered under his breath.
I peeked over to see Mom’s face redden as she pulled her lips into a perfectly manicured line. No doubt she was not happy that Dad was drinking in the middle of the day, but there was no way she was going to say anything about that. Not in front of guests.
Wondering if I should push her, I contemplated ordering a grande sundae when the waiter asked for our orders, but I decided against it. It wasn’t like I would even have a say in any of this. Mom ordered for me before I could get two words out.
I felt like pulling out my driver’s license to remind Mom that I was no longer a baby. But knowing her, she’d just sigh and tell me that I was being difficult. Again.
Feeling stifled, I glanced around, wondering why I ever came back. At least in New York, I had a school I loved and friends who cared about me. Mom tried to control me there, but I could always hang up the phone. When I was here, my parents weren’t even around long enough to ask me how my day was or what my plan for college was. Nothing.
“Talk to Stefano,” Mom hissed as she leaned toward me.
That snapped me from my thoughts. I glanced over to her to see her nod in Stefano’s direction. I didn’t like that she was plotting something without cluing me in. I took a deep breath as I stared back at her.
“Now,” she mouthed, accentuating the “o” with her bright red lips.
Defeated, I turned to find Stefano grinning at me. I reached out and fiddled with the silverware on the table. After pulling out the cloth napkin, I slipped it onto my lap.
“So, have you been in the US long?” I asked as I smiled over at him.
Stefano nodded. “I’ve been studying business at Harvard for the last year. My father wants me to learn from the best schools.”
I feigned interest. “Wow. Harvard. Nice.”
Well, this was highly suspect. It was obvious that the Espositos were rich, and that meant this was a job. My parents wanted something from them. The fact that they insisted I be here…I stifled a groan. This was not good.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I said as I set my napkin onto my plate and stood.
Mom’s hand engulfed mine. “Are you sure it can’t wait?”
I stared down at her. Was she serious? “No. It can’t,” I said, leaning toward her, hoping she’d pick up on my tone.
Mom looked as if she were wrestling an alligator as she glanced at the Espositos and then back at me. She sighed and nodded toward the bathroom. “Go and come back.”
I slipped my hand from hers and nodded. “I will,” I said with a poor attempt to hold back my frustration.
Thankfully, Mom didn’t notice the snap to my tone as she returned to talking to Stefano, Senior. I took her moment of distraction as my chance to get the heck out of here. I weaved through the tables in the direction of the bathroom—but I slipped into the lobby instead.
The Livingstone Casino and Hotel was huge. It had been passed down from generation to generation. It was the crown jewel of the Livingstone empire, and the lobby was just as formidable as the pride my family held for it.
Large floor-to-ceiling windows filled the front of the hotel, allowing a perfect view of the ocean. A large chandelier floated above me, catching every ray of sunshine and projecting them all over the place.
I leaned against the nearest wall and took a few deep breaths. I wasn’t sure what my parents were plotting, but whatever it was, I didn’t like it. When it came to business, my parents were ruthless.
Two security guards drew my attention as they made their way out of the casino on the other side of the foyer. It made me wonder if this was the disturbance Dad had been talking about earlier.
Right behind the two guards, two men appeared. The younger one—the one in a leather jacket and with dark, almost black, hair—had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of the older-looking man with matching hair.
The older man was pitched forward. His skin was pale, and he looked as if he hadn’t seen the sun for a very long time. The younger one look disgruntled as he helped who I could only assume was his dad out i
nto the lobby.
“We told you to keep him out of here,” Horace, one of the security guards, said.
The boy flicked his gaze up to Horace and nodded. “It won’t happen again,” he said.
As he drew closer, I couldn’t help but stare at him. He had dark green eyes and his hair kept falling over his forehead. I was pretty sure I’d seen him around a few times, but it wasn’t like Dad let me associate with the locals.
Just as he passed by, he glanced over at me. His lips were drawn into a tight line. One that rivaled my mother’s. Embarrassed, I turned my gaze to the floor to study the Italian marble that lay at my feet.
What was I doing? Why was I staring at this stranger?
Nervous, I slowly peeked back up only to find that he’d made his way through the doors and out onto the sidewalk. Horace and his buddy must have been satisfied that they’d gotten rid of him because they didn’t follow him out.
Horace stood a few feet away from me with his arms folded.
“Psst.” I leaned forward, hoping I could get Horace’s attention. When he didn’t respond, I tried again. “Horace,” I whispered louder.
Horace turned and studied me. “What do you want, Ms. Livingstone?”
Ugh. When he said my name like that, it made me feel like my mother. I shivered at the thought and then decided to push it far from my mind. “Who is that?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the two guys who’d been escorted out.
Horace followed my gesture and then glanced back at me. “Why do you want to know?”
I tried not to groan and instead shrugged like I didn’t care. “No reason. I’ve just never seen them around here before.”
Horace turned so he was facing me. His normally tight shoulders had relaxed, which seemed strange. He was a naturally uptight kind of guy.
“The drunk goes by Miller. He slums it up around town. Mostly getting in way over his head at the tables.” Horace nodded toward the casino.
I waited, hoping he’d bring up the younger guy, who was, let’s be real, the only one I was interested in.
“The kid holding him up is his son. I think I heard Mr. Miller call him Jet? But I’m not sure. The man drinks like a fish, so who knows what he was mumbling.” Horace straightened.
I nodded, casting a smile at him. “Interesting.” I let each syllable slowly roll off my tongue.
Suddenly, Horace’s gaze was back on me. His eyebrows were knit together, and his tight shoulders had returned. “Stay away from them, Ms. Livingstone. They are not good people. That whole family is mixed up in some bad stuff.”
My pulse began to pound as I shrugged, hoping he’d think I wasn’t interested in Jet, and I slunk back to the part of the wall I’d been holding up.
I watched as Jet helped his father hobble over to the columns in front of the hotel. Mr. Miller reached out to lean against one.
The valet looked disgruntled as he studied the two of them. I wondered if he was going to say something, but when a black Jaguar pulled up, the valet sprang into action. A few seconds later, Mr. Miller straightened as he began yelling at Jet.
After a few violent waves of his hand that almost caused him to topple over, Mr. Miller half-walked, half-stumbled away from the front and around the corner, disappearing from view.
My gaze made its way back to Jet, who was standing there, watching his dad leave. His brows were knit together, and his eyes narrowed. I recognized the look of disappointment written all over his face. It was one I’d had on very many occasions for my own parental units.
When it became apparent that his dad wasn’t going to return, Jet shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and dipped his head. He made his way down the sidewalk, and just before he disappeared, he turned and met my gaze again.
Heat pricked my cheeks as I contemplated looking away—I didn’t want him to know I’d been watching him—but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt as if there was something stopping me from moving…breathing…anything.
Thankfully, it only lasted a few seconds before he lowered his gaze and disappeared around the corner.
My heart was racing at a pace that made me grateful for ribcages. I was pretty sure it would have taken off if not confined.
I leaned against the wall and tipped my head back, closing my eyes. I could see the depth of his stare and the hurt in his gaze as he studied me. And all I could do was stare at him. Maybe Kate knew him. I was going to have to call her later and ask.
And then I felt like a stalker. Great.
I was such a loser.
“Brielle Livingstone, what are you doing out here?”
Nothing like good ole Mom to snap me back to reality. I straightened and glanced over to see her approach with a very disgruntled expression. As she drew near, she wrapped her hand around my arm and pulled me closer.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said as I allowed her to drag me back toward the restaurant. “I just don’t want to be a part of whatever you and Dad are conspiring.”
Mom’s gaze slipped over to me and she sighed. “You are a Livingstone. It’s your responsibility to make sure the name lives on.” She hesitated and brought me closer to her. “Whatever we ask of you, we expect you to obey.” She met my gaze. “You understand that, right?”
Why did I feel like Mom was asking me to give away my firstborn? Did what I want matter to them at all?
Before I allowed that question to reach my lips, I let out a sigh and nodded. Truth was, my parents didn’t care about me. They didn’t care about how I felt. They had a mission, and, no matter what or who they hurt, they were going to accomplish it.
“Of course,” I whispered as I forced a fake smile.
Mom’s wrinkles relaxed as the first genuine smile I’d seen in a long time played on her lips. She pulled me into a hug that felt like an attempt at closeness.
“I knew I could depend on you,” she said as she held me for a moment.
I nodded as I followed after her and obediently sat down in my vacated chair. Stefano smiled over at me, and I returned it.
It didn’t matter how I felt about this or what my parents were about to ask me to do. Mom had said it perfectly. I was a Livingstone. It was my job, and I was going to do it no matter how much I didn’t want to.
It was my birthright. I had no choice.
Chapter Three
The lunch progressed with very boring conversation. Stefano kept trying to engage me in small talk. First it was about the weather, then about a sports team. When I mistakenly called a football touchdown a goal, the frustration in Stefano’s voice and hand gestures became grossly apparent, so I decided silence was probably best.
And with neither of us talking, I could hear what my parents were plotting on the other end of the table. It was right around the time I heard Mom say, “they’ll have such a fun time,” that I decided they needed my full attention.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked as I turned and shot Mom a death stare.
Mom, of course, didn’t respond. Instead, she smiled at Mr. Esposito and waved me off. “Oh, Brielle. You’ll get used to her special brand of humor.” She reached under the table and squeezed my leg.
I yelped, which caused her to loosen her grip. Stefano gave me a confused look, but I just smiled it away. “I’m sorry, what does that mean? He’ll get used to it?”
“You’re coming to Italy for the summer, and maybe longer,” Stefano said as he leaned in and wiggled his eyebrows. “You know this, right?” He stuck his spoon into a large scoop of gelato.
I stared at him. “I’m sorry…what?”
Mom sighed. “Don’t be dramatic,” she hissed as she leaned in. Her breath was hot on my ear.
“I’m going to Italy for the summer?” I asked, pulling away. I wasn’t in the mood for her don’t cause a scene lecture. My parents were shipping me off to some foreign country with people I didn’t even know. “Why?”
Gah. I hated how my voice came out all high-pitched and scratchy. Like I had no control over my emot
ions—which I didn’t, but I didn’t want them to know that.
“It will be fun,” Mom said, giving me a wide smile.
I stared at her. So, she wasn’t even going to pretend that what I’d just heard was a lie. Which meant…
My lungs began to constrict as my eyesight blurred. The walls in this ridiculously enormous hotel felt as if they were closing in on me. My breath came out in short, staccato bursts. I needed to get out of here. And not just to the foyer.
Out of here, out of here.
I stumbled to my feet. I was pretty sure Mom said something to me, but I couldn’t make it out. My whole head felt as if I were underwater—everything looked blurry and sounded muffled.
All I could think about was how much I needed some air.
Mom made a grab for me, but I didn’t care. I lifted my arm and broke her grip.
Somehow, I made it out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and out to the back alley. As soon as the salty, warm outside air filled my lungs, my mind began to clear.
I tipped my head up to the sky and let the warmth of the sun wash over me.
After a few very deep breaths, I began to feel a tad ridiculous for reacting the way I had. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend their summer in Italy, laying on the beaches and eating pasta. But I knew it wouldn’t be a dream vacation. With my parents, it never was.
It was going to be a nightmare, and I would be stuck in it. At least here there was some semblance of freedom. There, I wouldn’t have any friends, speak the language, or know which side of the road to drive on.
“That was incredibly rude,” Mom’s high-pitched and very annoyed voice drew my attention.
I groaned, making sure it was loud and very obnoxious. I wanted her to know how much I hated what she and Dad were doing to me. The fact that they were planning my summer—my future—without my consent was not okay.
“Mom, what is going on? Why did Stefano say that I was going to spend my summer—the summer before my senior year—in Italy with him?”
Mom’s cheeks were flushed with frustration as she eyed me. “What? I thought you’d be excited to spend summer vacation in a foreign country.”
Rule #5: You Can't Trust the Bad Boy (The Rules of Love) Page 2
