My Not So Super Sweet Life

by Rachel Harris

  Lucas links our fingers together, and the gentle reassurance has my shoulders descending from my ears. He’s been quiet for the last hour. Just before he came over, his dad’s partner from Milan showed up at his door. The man said he had meetings at the LA office, but for some reason, Lucas doesn’t seem to buy it. His right leg is bouncing, and he’s distracted. The wheels in his brain are clearly churning, turning over this guy’s visit again and again like some weird ruminating cow. I don’t know why this bothers him so much, and now isn’t the time, but I squeeze his hand and make a mental note to ask him about it tonight.

  Tonight.

  The highlight of this wacky day gone awry. Chill bumps explode down my arms just thinking about our date, wondering where he’s taking me. What surprises he has up his sleeve. The boy is a romantic—it’s the artist side of him—and he never fails to make me feel special. And turned on.

  “What kind of event?” Dad asks, steepling his fingers on the tabletop.

  For a second, I think he’s asking about our date. Warmth fills my cheeks as I lower my lashes to avoid eye contact. Dad and I may be close, but we draw the line at dishing the deets about our love lives…especially now that I actually have one.

  But then Mom answers.

  “The premiere for the latest Holly Underhill film,” she says. “The director is a friend of mine, and I thought it would be something fun the kids and I could do together.”

  The way she keeps calling us the kids rankles about as much as hearing her spew my full name. I’m not the five-year-old little girl she left behind. I’m sixteen. And Ransom is nineteen, already an adult. But hey, at least she wants to hang out with me. That’s an improvement over the last ten years.

  The stupid, foreign hope I felt at the beach springs to life again inside me. The one that makes me think it’s possible that she really has changed, despite the media circus yesterday. That maybe, just maybe, we can have some semblance of a mother/daughter relationship. If not a normal one, at least one that isn’t fractured beyond repair.

  Dad taps his lips twice, drags in a deep breath, then squeezes his temples. “Thursday is a school night.”

  He closes his eyes as if in pain, and I imagine I can see the good and bad angels screaming in his ears. They look a lot like Jenna and Caterina.

  The bad angel is reminding Dad that this is what he’s always wanted for me—a chance to know my mother. To figure out the other half of my DNA, get over my trust issues, and officially move on from the past. Since things got serious with Jenna, he’s been urging me to embrace our new family unit. In many ways, I have. Jenna’s and my relationship is leaps and bounds better than it was a few months ago, thanks to my trip to the past. Spending a week in the sixteenth century gave me a fresh perspective on my present. My aunt helped me appreciate Jenna’s wonderful traits and realize that there was room in Dad’s life for both of us, even though my future stepmom and I are so drastically different. But it wasn’t a miracle cure.

  Meanwhile, the good angel is recapping how hard he’s worked to shelter me from the business. Dad’s über-protective, so while I do go with him to events from time to time, say a film location or to one of his premieres, I’m usually whisked into the theater on arrival as he gives his requisite sound bite. Something tells me Caterina will have her newly reunited family standing right beside her on the red carpet.

  “Do you want to go to a premiere?” Dad asks, opening his eyes to search mine.

  Way to lob a loaded question.

  Do I want to go? Honestly, no. Spotlight, attention, cameras, and crowds are not my scene. But along with that rainbow-and-ponies fantasy of Mom and me skipping off into the sunset, I still want answers about my past, and the only way to get them may just be to step inside Caterina’s world. Be around her more than just a few brief moments so I can decipher truth from fiction. Person from persona.

  So, I say, “Why not? It could be fun.”

  I feel the weight of Lucas’s stare on my cheek, but I don’t turn to meet it.

  Dad hesitates before letting out a long breath. “All right. But I’m sending Jack with you.”

  Caterina nods, clearly understanding this isn’t negotiable. Another weird silence falls, and I glance at Ransom. He hasn’t said anything this whole time, just sat there silently watching and fiddling with his fork.

  I wish I knew his story. Knew how he really felt about our mother, and about me. Is he down for this whole togetherness gig, or is he as wary and confused as I am? Lucas doesn’t trust him. Normally, that’s my department. But when it comes to Ransom, I can’t seem to find the energy. I understand the need to know your parents. To see where you come from and get answers about your past.

  For the first time since he walked into the airport terminal, I look at him—really look at him and not the boy who looks like Cipriano or the rocker who seems so lost. He’s nineteen years old, on his own, an adult who must have some kind of life back home. Yet he sought our mother, this spectacle, out for a reason. What is it?

  What does he hope to gain?

  Rance glances up and catches me staring. His dark eyes give nothing away. After a moment, I force a smile and take a bite of Jenna’s chocolate cream pie. Maybe the answers lie in a sugar rush. Right now, it’s about the best plan I’ve got.

  Clue Number One

  ∙Lucas∙

  I shove my wallet in the back of my jeans, grab my jacket and keys, then stare at the present I had made for Cat. I’m still debating on if I should take it. I may’ve talked big last night, and I like to think I can be romantic when need be, but I’ve never worked so hard for a girl in my life. Never put so much thought into a date or cared if the girl would like it. This gift could be either the sweetest Valentine’s Day present ever or the lamest.

  But hey, at least it’s real.

  Grounding Cat in reality is one of the things I hope to do tonight…that and exploring our PG-13 rating some more. Hearing her agree to go with her mom to that premiere threw me at lunch. The girl I know desires privacy and wants her art to speak for her. She prefers being behind the camera, taking pictures for her portfolio, or storing them up to sketch later. She’d never put herself on the other side on purpose. At least, I never thought she would.

  The possibility that I don’t know Cat like I’ve always assumed I did is driving me crazy—but I know that I do. Cat’s not into the superficial game. This is about her chasing her answers, and I’m all for her doing that.

  I’m just scared that she’ll lose herself, the girl I know, in the process.

  The chime on the house alarm dings, followed by male voices. Pocketing Cat’s present, I head out my bedroom door, tugging on my leather jacket. I’d hoped that my father and his business partner wouldn’t return until after I’d left. Seeing him this morning reminded me of Angela’s suspicions. Dad moved here to get the L.A. office of Lirica Records running. That sort of thing takes time, and there should be no reason for us to move again. But, now that they’re here, I may as well see what I can find out just in case. I’m halfway down the hall, ready to interrogate, when the sound of my father’s laugh stops me in my tracks.

  Holy shit.

  It’s rough and almost rusty, as if his throat forgot how to make the sound—but it’s his laugh. I haven’t heard it since David died, but I’d know it anywhere. It filled my childhood. It’s infectious. It always inspired my mom’s beautiful smile and then her tinkling laughter, and soon, we’d all be laughing, even if we didn’t know why. A knot settles thick and hard in my stomach as my feet pick up speed. I need to prove with my eyes that I didn’t imagine it. As I reach the living room, the sound breaks again.

  “Dad?”

  My father looks over from his conversation with his partner, and the knot jumps into my throat. Dad’s eyes…they’re not dead. They’re also not shining with joy and humor, like they used to do when he laughed. But it’s an improvement. Angela looks over her shoulder at me, and I see the same curiosity and fear reflected on her face
.

  We want our dad well. Hell, we want our dad back.

  But why is he coming back to us now?

  “Lucas, we were just talking about you,” my father says, instantly making my spine lock.

  Mr. Rossi smiles at me. “Your dad was catching me up on how you and your sister have been fairing here in the States. Sounds like you found your place. Still the soccer star.”

  Of course. That’s all I am to my dad. Not the artist guy, or the guy who loves cars, but the soccer player. The stand-in for David.

  Resentment that’s been boiling for months—years—rises to the surface, agitated by suspicion. Angela’s right—every move we’ve made has been preceded by a visit like this. Like hell Mr. Rossi’s simply here for meetings. He’s here to screw with my world.

  “I have found my place, sir,” I say, hurt and adrenaline fueling my need to get it all out, once and for all. “But not on the field. Soccer’s not really my thing anymore.”

  Angela’s dark head whips around, Exorcist-style, from her spot on the sofa. Mr. Rossi jerks in surprise, and Dad’s non-dead but not joyful eyes flash with fire. Two distinct reactions, emotions, from him in one day. That’s a damn record.

  My sister’s wide-eyed gaze grabs mine as she mouths, “Now?”

  She’s right. I don’t have time for this. I need to make sure everything is set for my date, and then I have to pick up Cat. This is the worst possible time to have this discussion, and I don’t need to say everything now. But I’m not going another second pretending to be someone I’m not—especially when I fear Cat’s in danger of doing the same thing.

  “Since when is soccer not your thing?” my father asks. He glances at his partner, and I sense his inner battle. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this shouldn’t happen with an audience. But thank Christ it’s finally happening.

  “It’s never been my thing,” I confess, a weight lifted from my chest as I say the words I’ve wanted to say for three years. “If you ever really saw me, you’d know that. Soccer was David’s sport. I did it to hang out with him, because I idolized my big brother. And then when he died, I played it to please you. But I’m over it, Dad. I’m through with living my life for someone else. Come Monday, I’m telling Coach I want off the team.”

  Ignoring Dad’s sharp intake of air, and my own inner desire to lay it all on the table now, to tell Dad that if he moves back to Milan, he’ll be doing it without me, I begin walking again. A smile twitches my lips as I cross the living room. Let him think on this tonight; then we’ll talk.

  Angela’s eyes and mouth are open so wide she looks like a Picasso painting, but I feel almost weightless as I pass her. Euphoric. Eager for the future. Oh, there’s a little scared shitless in the mix, too, but I’ll worry about Dad’s reaction when I get home.

  Right now, I have a date.

  …

  The rumbling of my bike catches the neighbors’ attention, along with my paparazzi friend, as I pull into Cat’s driveway. I lift two fingers in a wave, still unable to believe I talked Mr. Crawford into letting his daughter ride with me. Understandably, he’s concerned. Owning a motorcycle isn’t nearly as common here as it is in Italy, and the guy is super protective. He made me jump through a few hoops last night, and I had to bring my safe driving certificate this morning. What really sold him on it was my vow to let Jack tail us—that and his belief that Cat needs this. Something unexpected and fun. With all the ways the world is rapidly changing around us this week, a motorcycle ride seems tame.

  Plus, he threatened me within an inch of my life if I even thought about going over forty-five. Or touch a drop of anything liquid other than water.

  Shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans, wondering why I suddenly feel so nervous, I hike up to the door. Jack and his partner nod as I walk past their truck. They’re punctual bastards; I’ll give them that. But honestly, as much as it sucks having chaperones on Valentine’s Day, I don’t mind the security detail so much. They keep their distance when it’s important, and my plans involve plenty of alone time. My blood heats as I knock.

  “Prepared to swoon my ass off,” Cat says in lieu of hello when the door swings open. She winks and then twirls around, showing off her outfit. All I told her was that she needed to be ready at five, and to wear jeans and her leather jacket. The jacket is draped across her arm, the jeans are molded to her curves, and her silky top is dark blue, setting off her gorgeous eyes. “Is this appropriate mystery date attire?”

  I lean in to kiss her lips, glad to see her smile. I’ve been on cloud nine since I finally put it on the line and stood up to my father…but seeing Cat happy, knowing what I have planned, and watching her take the night of surprises in stride shoots it to another level.

  “Perfect,” I say, nipping at her lip. “You look edible.”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes, but her cheeks glow a bit brighter. “Flattery will get you everywhere, though since you’re a guy, I’m betting you’re just hungry.” She sticks her head back through the door and calls out, “Love you!” then closes it firmly behind her. “Do I at least get a tiny hint about tonight?”

  I take her jacket and hold it out, helping her slip her arms through the holes. Grasping her shoulders, I spin her around and let her see my bike waiting in the drive. “Clue number one.”

  Cat squeals and does a bounce-like dance. “Are you serious?” She shoots me a quick, questioning look, and when I nod, her face becomes a mask of confusion and eagerness. “Did you clear it with Dad first?”

  “You think I’m stupid, woman?” I wrap my arms around her slender waist, imagining how it’ll feel having her arms wrapped around mine. And thighs straddling my hips. I glance at the photographers snapping away near the fence, and immediately begin thinking about puppies. “Of course I cleared it with him. As if I could get away with not clearing it between your bodyguards and Star magazine staked outside your door.”

  “Touché,” she says before doing another bounce step. “I’m gonna ride a motorcycle. That’s so badass!”

  I chuckle and link our fingers, tugging her forward. “Come on, little badass. Let’s give the paparazzi something worth capturing.”

  Her answering smile is so dazzling it nearly steals my breath. Knowing I put it there makes me feel like a freaking king. “Are you trying to get me in trouble, Mr. Cappelli?”

  “Always, Miss Crawford,” I reply. “Always.”

  With a knowing nod at the bodyguards as we approach my bike, I remove my second helmet from the seat and help her put it on, smoothing back her hair and strapping it. I step back and look at her. Standing beside my bike in curve-hugging denim and leather, the black helmet in place, she does look like a badass. My badass. And she’s never looked hotter.

  “Damn, I wish I could kiss you right now.” Both the helmet and the prying eyes of the paparazzi keep that from happening, but when I catch her licking her lips in response, I groan and shove on my own helmet. “The quicker we get where we’re going, the better.”

  Her eyes light up from behind the visor as I flip it down. I hop on my bike and take her hand, tugging her close. “Swing your leg around and scoot up close.”

  Cat does as I say, intuitively grabbing onto my hips and pulling herself closer. She’s not close enough. She’ll never be close enough, but I take her hands and lace them around my stomach, then grasp her knees and tug them firmly beside mine. She slides an extra inch. The scent of leather and rose mingles in my nose as the heat of her body seeps past the denim. I could get used to this.

  I look back to see her face. Her flirty grin says she’s enjoying this as much as I am. “During a turn, you’re gonna lean slightly. When we turn right, look over my right shoulder, and keep your body in line with mine. When we turn left, look left. Got it?”

  She lowers her gaze to where my lips are behind the visor and shifts closer. “Look and lean. Got it.” Her voice is a mixture of excitement, fear, and desire.

  This was an excellent idea.

  “One more
thing?” I say, waiting for her gaze to flutter back to mine. “Hold on tight and enjoy the ride.”

  Cat laughs, and pressed up against me like she is, I feel the vibrations throughout my body. I yank the clutch, press the starter, and feel her jerk behind me as the engine rumbles to life.

  “Best Valentine’s Day ever!” she screams in my ear.

  And it’s only just begun.

  Eight Petals

  ∙Cat∙

  Riding wrapped around Lucas’s firm body as the world blurs in a whirlwind of color and sound might just be the highlight of my existence. At the very least, it makes my top ten moments. Our speed is slow as Lucas navigates us through the streets of my neighborhood, but it doesn’t matter. Even with the obviously Dad-approved pace, this is nothing short of exhilarating.

  With a tummy full of butterflies and white noise in my ears, I can’t think about my mother and brother. I can’t stress, wondering if by wanting to know them better, I’m somehow hurting Dad and Jenna. On the back of Luc’s bike, all I can do…all I want to do…is feel.

  From this viewpoint, Wilshire Boulevard looks brand new. I’ve traveled this road more times than I can count, but today feels like the first. The scenery is different. Palm trees are taller, the street somehow bigger. The colors of the buildings are crisper. I snuggle into Lucas’s back, loving the sensation of being so close and wishing I wasn’t wearing this dang helmet so I could get even closer. Wishing that I could stay right here in this moment of not doing, but simply being, forever.

  When Lucas takes a right onto Comstock, I have an inkling where he’s taking me. Holmby Park is on this street, a beautiful spot with walking paths and tons of trees. It would be a great place to kick off our date. But I’m not ready to end the ride.

  Lucas slows as we near the four-way stop near the park, and I sigh…only then to release a completely random (and un-Cat-like) giggle when he shoots right past it. The muscles of his taut stomach shake with his laugher, and I close my eyes as I grin. I don’t need to see where we’re going. I don’t really care where he takes me or what we do. As long as we’re together, and away from the insanity of home, I know it’ll be amazing.