“He’s here,” Howard yelled from downstairs.
“Coming!” I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, then teetered down the stairs. Sonia’s high heels were really gorgeous but crazy high. I miraculously made it to the bottom of the stairs without performing any sort of involuntary gymnastics, and when I looked up, Howard was giving me this misty look.
“You look beautiful. I don’t care what Ren’s girlfriend looks like. She doesn’t stand a chance.”
“That would be nice. But I’ll be happy if he just talks to me again.”
“I’m betting on the former.”
There was a knock on the door and Howard crossed the room to open it. “Hello. Are you Thomas?”
“Yes. Nice to meet you.”
I clattered over to the doorway.
“Woah! Lina, you look . . .” Thomas’s jaw literally dropped. But then he noticed Howard looking at him like he was a deer during hunting season and he quickly cleared his throat. “Sorry. Nice dress. You look really pretty.”
“You look nice too.” Gray fitted suit. Hair styled messily. I could practically hear Addie spontaneously combusting from here.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
“Ready.” I walked over and gave Howard a hug. “How long can I stay out?”
“As long as you want. Well, within reason.” He winked at me. “It’s going to work out.”
“Thanks.”
I followed Thomas out to his car and he opened the door for me. “You really do look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.”
“What did your dad mean by ‘it’s going to work out’?”
“Uh, I’m not sure.” I glanced at my phone for about the millionth time. All afternoon I’d been hoping Ren would call. And all afternoon he’d kept not calling.
Thomas got in the front seat and put the keys in the ignition. “Nice car, right?”
“Really nice.”
“My dad has a Lamborghini, too. He told me if I have a clean driving record for a year I can take it out sometime.”
“Too bad it’s not tonight.”
“I know, right?” He backed carefully out of the driveway, then took off down the road. “Did you know you have to be eighteen to drive a car in Italy? I think I’m the only one at our school who even has a license.”
“Ren will get one next year.”
“But he’s only a junior.”
“He’ll be eighteen in March.”
“Oh.” He pulled out onto the road and accelerated, turning up the music too loud to talk.
I’m sure riding through the Italian countryside in a luxury convertible with a young 007 should have been a magical experience, but it was lost on me. I was too busy mentally rehearsing what I was going to say to Ren. And trying to keep young 007’s hands off me.
“Valentina’s dad works with my dad, only he’s even higher up. I’ve been to lots of parties at their house and they’re always crazy. One year they did this big Japanese dinner and there were women lying on the serving tables. You had to eat your sushi off of them.”
“Ew. Really?”
“Yeah, it was awesome.” He slid his hand onto my bare knee—again—and I made a big show of rearranging my legs so he’d move his hand. Again. I looked at him and sighed. Any other girl would trade all the gelato in Florence for a chancing to be sitting in my spot. But they weren’t me. And they didn’t know Ren.
When we finally pulled up to the party, I was shocked. Not because the house looked like Dracula’s castle—of course it did—but because of how many people were there. Cars and cabs were all funneling into the driveway while throngs of ecstatic partygoers weaved their way toward the front door. It took us ten full minutes and three leg rearrangings just to wind our way up to the valet station.
When we got to the top Thomas threw his keys to the valet, then made a big show of helping me out of the car. A red carpet was draped on the big stone steps leading up to the entryway and tons of people were making their way inside. I’d been a little worried I’d be overdressed, but everyone looked like they were on their way to some kind of red-carpet premiere. This was definitely a The Dress occasion.
“This is way bigger than I thought it would be,” I said, grabbing Thomas’s arm before I could lose my balance on the stairs.
“Told you. It’s going to be awesome.”
“Do all of your friends live in houses like this?”
“Just the ones who throw parties.”
The entryway had a long, curving staircase and an extravagant chandelier made of colored glass. A man holding a big stack of papers stopped us.
“Name, please.” His accent was as thick as his biceps.
“Thomas Heath.” Thomas turned and grinned at me. “And my date.”
The man shuffled through his papers, marking Thomas’s name. “Benvenuti.”
“Do you mind if I check your list really quick?” I asked. “I’m wondering if my friend is here.”
“No.” He scowled at me, covering the list with his hand. “It is privato.”