Ashton catches my attention and rolls her eyes. It draws a smile from my lips, but only at the drama of Brittany’s fake swoon.
“Are you walking for graduation, Leticia?” Brittany directs herquestion to me, but it’s clearly not graduation we’re talking about. Even more evident when she says, “You seem to be in the same place when we started the semester. Waiting on Mr. Right?”
“I’m not waiting for Mr. Right.” I shrug and dismiss the question entirely because how do you tell your acquaintances that you’re waiting for your father to marry you off like some princess in a fairytale? “I don’t think I’m walking at graduation either. We normally go to the villa in the spring.”
Ashton rests her head on top of her hands, supported by her elbows on her desk. “Okay, but seriously, there are tons of guys who would love a date with the infamously unavailable Leticia D’Medici. Or girls, if that’s your thing.”
With a sigh, I stop the nonsense the best I can. “Stop being silly. We don’t have long to work on this project.”
We’re seated midway up the lecture hall, and groups all around us are wrapping up their projects, while I feel like we’ve gotten nothing done on ours. It isn’t even that complex of a project.
“Don’t worry. I’m tackling it this weekend.” Kiersten yawns. “I’ve got a date with Addy.”
Addy, as in Adderall. If I didn’t hate this class so much, I might argue that we should all work on it together, but Kiersten is the best at statistics. It might be easier to let her do the work and accept taking the credit.
It’s not like I’m in this class because I’ll be using it someday.
I was stalling the inevitable: being married off to the highest bidder or for the most influence. It just so happens that I made an argument that I’m more valuable with a degree. Ridiculous, but it worked. A degree in communications can’t hurt when it comes to cooking and cleaning someone else’s mansion... and being shown off on someone’s arm as their ‘adoring’ and ‘grateful’ wife... but the analytics behind the communications won’t matter. Not that I’d ever let myself dream of working for some big fancy brand or doing social media for a cause I believe in. It can’t happen, so I don’t waste hope.
I hate that I’m so immune to the crushing weight of Mafia life and the expectations of my future. But since I was old enough to understand how our world works, it’s become a fact of life and one I don’t argue about anymore.
Sometimes, though, like right now, everything starts to feel pointless. Why bother trying for good grades? They only matter to me, and no one wants my opinion anyway.
“Alright, next class is here in five minutes. Everyone out,” the professor shouts from the lectern.
I slip my laptop into its plush green sleeve before tucking it into my sleek brown leather tote bag. I probably have a dozen different colors and patterns that I coordinate with my outfits. But it makes me smile to control something, and this, coordinating my accessories to my outfit, is about as good as it gets.
The group of us mosey slowly, mixing with the others out the door and into the foyer of the business building. I’m shrugging on my thigh-length trench coat when we reach the large open atrium, which is practically a glass fishbowl out to the streets of Chicago.
“Did you want to go grab coffee?” Ashton offers as we both take a moment to feel the brightness of the sun on our faces.
The early morning, two-hour lecture and winter weather leave much to be desired in the way of seeing daylight.
“That’d be nice, but I’ll have to check with the bodyguard. I don’t think we’re due home right away.” I dig through my bag, looking for the durable fern-colored phone case I slipped it into this morning.
“I thought my parents were strict about having me go with an armed driver, but your family is so intense.” Ashton sighs. “Are we doing the Christmas market this year?”
“Uhhh.” I don’t know how to let her down politely.
It’s not that I don’t want to do these things with her, but I’m trying to save all my good graces and asks to do things to see Antonella and get out of going to Italy for Christmas. Asking to go to the Christmas market right now would foil those plans.
“Leticia,” a guy says as he approaches.
I vaguely recognize him as one from the front row of our statistics class.
“See, told you,” Ashton murmurs, bumping me with her shoulder before taking a respectful step away for the illusion of privacy.
“New bodyguard?” Brittany gestures in the opposite direction as she nudges me away from the doors and closer to the guy who said my name.
The man she’s gesturing to is dressed in what they’re always dressed in. Black suit, black tie, and a scowl. Except it’s not a bodyguard.
“Worse,” I huff, adjusting my tote bag on my shoulder. “Older brother.”
I’m torn between obediently following the daily protocol of going home with my bodyguard or being polite and hearing what the guy from the front of class has to say.
“Oh damn.” She hums, keeping her voice down, but wags her eyebrows suggestively. “And what exactly is the family fortune in... you know, and is he single?”
The guy from the first row walks between Berto and me as he talks at me rather than to me. “Leticia, I was wondering if you’d maybe like to go out and get some coffee before my next class.”
