‘Um … what?’ I said.
She pointed to the crown of her head, where her parting split her long hair evenly. ‘He kissed me here. On the head.’
‘He kissed you the way a parent kisses a newborn baby? He kissed you … like, paternally?’
‘Oh, Jesus, Sophie.’
‘What? I don’t understand! Your rants are always so vague. I feel like I need CliffsNotes.’
She placed her palms on her knees and drew in a deep breath. ‘Have I never told you this theory of mine?’
‘Oh, I love your theories,’ I said, leaning back in my seat and getting comfortable. ‘Please. Proceed.’
She smirked at me. ‘I have long been convinced that when a boy kisses you on the head – not in a sexual way or a hint-hint-I-want-to-have-sex-now way – just tenderly, like in a way that comes naturally to him, almost like a reflex, it means he has crossed over the threshold of “like” or “lust” and has fallen in love with you. Sometimes they don’t even realize it. It’s like their body and their reactions understand it first and then their brain gets it a while later. But mark my words, it is a sign.’
I was trying my hardest not to smirk.
‘A kiss for the sake of a kiss, and nothing else,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you, it’s a sign.’
‘Where did this theory come from?’
‘My mum,’ said Millie. ‘About two months after she started seeing my dad, they were standing outside the cinema and it was freezing cold. He had his arms around her and she was hugging him back, trying to steal his body heat, and they were laughing about something in the movie they’d seen, and he just leant down and kissed her on the head, and she said that’s when she knew.’
‘Knew that she was in love with him?’
‘No!’ Millie scoffed. ‘That he was in love with her. Have you seen my mum? She’s way hotter than my dad. He had to play the personality game to get her. It was a longer process.’
‘Uh-huh …’ I said, coming around to the idea. I had never really experienced it, so I supposed I couldn’t say for certain whether it was bull or not. Even though it did sound pretty suspect. I could, however, believe that a boy was madly in love with her. That part on its own was easy. ‘So, Crispin loves you, then?’
She nodded, her hair curtaining either side of her face. ‘I could just feel it.’
‘Well, that’s cool,’ I said, grinning at her. ‘And I’m not surprised, either.’
‘He’ll probably say it at the dance. I don’t know what I’m going to say back yet.’
‘Do you love him back?’ I asked.
Millie shook her head. ‘Nah, not yet.’
‘You could pull a Han Solo, and say “I know” when he tells you.’
‘Your nerdy sci-fi knowledge notwithstanding, Soph, that is actually not such a terrible idea.’
‘Yes, it is!’ I said, alarmed. ‘Don’t say “I know”. That’s so mean! I was kidding!’
‘I’ll think of something,’ she assured me. ‘Anyway, returning to my earlier point. You don’t need to worry about some poxy Falcone curfew barricading you in your princess tower. Cris and I will just come and get you tomorrow evening, and we’ll all go together. You can have your Cinderella moment. I will make sure of it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, in earnest. ‘I think I’ll make a rather dashing third wheel.’
‘You’ll be the sexiest third wheel in the history of Cedar Hill High. And if you’re feeling uncomfortable, just say the word and we can ditch Cris, because as I’ve always said, Soph, you’re my real true love.’ She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. ‘There’s no love as real as that of a girl and her best friend.’
‘Damn straight,’ I agreed. ‘I love you, Mil.’
She winked at me. ‘I know.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NORMALITY
When I stood in front of my mirror and saw myself in the royal-blue gown – my blonde hair framing my face in waves, my cheeks lightly rouged, my eyes made bigger and bluer with shadow and mascara – I started to cry. This girl I barely recognized. This girl my mother would have fawned over. This girl who looked elegant and happy.
This girl who wore a mask so convincing she almost fooled herself.
My reflection seemed so far away from who I had become. It wasn’t me, this new image. Inside I was dark and broken. White-hot with rage. Weakened by grief. Inside, I was a black hole, waiting to devour any semblance of happiness.
This wasn’t me, but for tonight, I desperately wanted it to be. And the realization, when it came, was like a punch in the gut. So I cried, just a little, and then I cried a lot. I sank to the floor, pulled my knees into my chest, buried my face in my mother’s sweater, and wept.
God, how I missed her. I missed who she was, and who she made me believe I could be. I missed the way she made me feel. I missed the world I used to know, and all the wonderful people in it. I missed the possibility of a different life.
Be strong. Be brave.
When I stood back up, reapplied my make-up and fixed my dress, I realized that for the first time in a long time, I looked like her. I didn’t look like my father. I didn’t look like a Marino. I looked like Celine Durant, my mother. Not a Marino. Not a Falcone.
Tonight, at the Masquerade Ball, I would wear two masks. The gold-embroidered one from Millie, and this painted smile that spoke of another life.
Millie texted me just after sundown to let me know her and Cris were almost at Evelina. I didn’t know who was downstairs so I decided it would be safest to meet them at the end of Felice’s driveway, far away from any prying eyes.
I gave myself a final once-over in the mirror. The dress fitted like a glove, hugging me in at the waist and parting in gentle ruffles towards the floor. I had redone my make-up – this time with waterproof mascara – but the urge to cry had passed, and in that moment, I felt strong. Excited. I unearthed my mother’s favourite sapphire necklace and earrings and put them on.
I grabbed my bag and my mask, and sneaked downstairs, treading as softly as I could so my heels on the marble floors wouldn’t give me away. I kept my breath bound up in my chest as shivers of anxiety coursed through me.
In the foyer, I ran into Gino. He was crawling along the floor on his hands and knees and squinting at the tiles. I probably could have stepped right over him, but I figured I wouldn’t take the chance.
I bent over him. ‘What are you doing?’
He snapped his head up, and his face broke into a grin. ‘Sophie!’ he said. ‘Wow. Nice dress. You look like a young Brigitte Bardot.’
‘I—what?’
He sat up on his hunkers, disregarding his search. ‘She’s a French actress from back in the day. I like her movies.’
‘Um, OK. Cool. Thanks?’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, still beaming.
Ah, Gino.
I gestured at the floor. ‘Everything OK?’
‘I lost my earring,’ he said, tugging at his ear and frowning.
‘Oh.’ I didn’t add that that was probably an improvement. ‘Do you want me to help you look for it?’
‘That’s OK.’ He paused, and looked up at me again. ‘Do you want me to help you sneak out?’