“It’s filet mignon,” his mother corrects him. “And it’s cooked perfectly.”
“Charles!” Riccardo bellows. “Get in here.”
The butler appears a moment later, a grim expression on his face. “Is there a problem, sir?”
“Yes, there’s a problem.” Riccardo spits. “Take this back to the chef and shove it down his throat. See how he likes it.”
“Riccardo!” His mother pales as she shakes her head. “Charles, please get him a cup of coffee. He’s not feeling himself tonight.”
“As you wish.” Charles takes his leave without any further encouragement, and I wish I could do the same.
Somehow, the dinner goes on as everyone pretends Riccardo didn’t just have a child-sized tantrum. After two cups of coffee, he seems to have sobered up slightly, but it does nothing to improve his personality.
His hand grazes the back of my chair, and I stiffen. He’s barely listened to a word I’ve said all evening, and now he’s trying to grope me.
I glance at him, and he doesn’t bother to hide what he’s thinking about. Another wave of nausea hits as I remember that at some point, I’ll have to let this man touch me.
Thankfully, Charles interrupts the moment, quietly approaching Michael.
“Sir, I’m very sorry to disturb you, but I’ve just had a call from your security. They tried to reach you, but kept getting yourvoicemail. There appears to have been an incident at your home. Apparently, one of your vehicles has been vandalized.”
“What the fuck?” Michael tosses his napkin onto the table. “Which vehicle?”
“A Hummer, I believe.”
“Not the Hummer,” Mom cries out.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll fuckin’ kill ’em, whoever they are.” Michael rises from his seat. “We have to go.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Venturi exhales a visible sigh of relief. “Please don’t let us keep you.”
I slip out of my chair without any decorum, scuttling after my parents as they make a quick escape.
“Thank you!” I call out over my shoulder.
“See you again soon,” Mr. Venturi responds.
Yeah, hopefully in the next century.
5
GABRIELA
I spendthe first half of my Saturday working on my storyboards and sketches. Next week, I’ll have to present them to my instructor for a critique before I move on to technical drawings and pattern drafting.
As daylight slips away and the dock party draws nearer, I find myself pulling up my Discord chat with Eros415. I’m still tempted to message him to confirm that he’s actually Nate. It isn’t just the noticeable difference in conversations that’s bothering me. I can’t get that video call with Eros out of my mind. He said he wasn’t a good man, and specifically told me he wasn’t good for me. It felt like he was trying to push me away, which doesn’t make sense when he initiated our conversations in the first place. But then again, does it really matter?
If Nate isn’t Eros, it will sting to know that he really has dropped me. But it shouldn’t. I can’t allow myself to get emotionally invested in anyone.
Nate might not be what I expected, but maybe I’m not giving him a fair shot either. Besides, it’s just one party. If it doesn’t go well, at least I can say I tried.
That intention is easier said than done as the hour approaches and my nerves get the best of me. Every time I needto leave the comfort of my own space, I have to give myself a mental pep talk. Beppe usually helps ground me, but this time, he’ll have to stay behind. He gets cold easily, and the party is outdoors. There’s also the added variables of concern over the journey there and back. Tonight, I’ll be venturing out on my own without security or transportation.
I already checked the route, and it’s a ten-minute walk each way, which isn’t too intimidating. But I’d rather Beppe stay here, where I know for certain he’ll be safe.
When I choose my outfit for the evening, I aim for warmth and comfort, settling on an oversized pink knit sweater and leggings.
After fixing my hair in a loose topknot, I apply some light makeup, and I’m ready to go. I tuck Beppe into bed with his favorite blanket, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head.
