“There you have it,” President Munchen says brightly, patting Quinn on the shoulder before turning back to the auditorium. “I hope you all will give this new plan a chance. Let’s put it to a vote.”
I fight the urge to reach for Quinn’s hand while the chair calls for the vote. My eyes fly back and forth, taking a quick tally of the hands raised in favor. The proposal passes. By the skin of its teeth, but still.
We’re going to Rome.
3
QUINN
EARLY MAY — TWO DAYS UNTIL ROME
I lookaround at the mayhem I’ve created in my bedroom. I have two days before my flight to Rome. Two days to figure out how to fit ten suitcases’ worth of clothes into three bags. It isn’t going well, but I’ll figure it out.
For the first time in years, I let myself enjoy the memories of the city that defined so much of my life.
Sitting on the wall outside the Pantheon with gelato dripping down my chin while my father gesticulated wildly, explaining how the pillars had been looted like it mattered to his five-year-old daughter.
My first kiss at twelve with Tomasso, the son of one of my dad’s contacts and my annual summer playmate, which ended with us in a fit of giggles over how wrong it felt to kiss someone who was practically a sibling.
My heart bursting as tears filled Colton’s eyes the first time he saw the city when we were twenty-one and studying there together our junior year. Rome has always been the home of my heart, but it felt likemoreduring those few months when I was there with Colton.
I haven’t set foot in the city in over a decade. Once I graduated and blew up my relationship with my family, I wasn’t particularly welcome on their annual trip. And with student loans up to my ears, I can’t afford to take myself. The joy in my work and the freedom from my parents’ control are worth what I left across the ocean, but now that it’s within reach, my whole body sings in anticipation.
From down the hall, I hear my front door swing open and closed. A few seconds later, Colton leans into my room, his hands braced on either side of the doorframe, scowl in place. “How many times do I have to tell you to lock your damn door?”
“I locked it when I got home!”
He raises an eyebrow. “And it magically unlocked itself? I didn’t know you had a sentient door.”
I point at him. “If that’s what you’re into, have I got a novella for you. A man gets turned into a door, and he’ll only turn back if the woman who lives in the apartment fu?—”
“Stop trying to distract me with your batshit reading habits,” he says, one side of his lips hitching up.
I sigh. “I’m sure one of my roommates left it open for their friends.”
He shakes his head. “You’ve gotta get roommates who aren’t in college.”
“Find me people who can afford this place without mommy and daddy footing the bill, and I’ll kick these babies out in a heartbeat. But a girl’s gotta pay her loans.”
Colt’s face softens at the last word. It’s the closest we ever come to discussing my family stuff. I don’t like talking about it, both because it sucks ass and because afterward he always feels guilty about working with my dad, and then I feel guilty for making him feel guilty and we both just feel guilty and sad. Great way to spend the day! Rehashing how their love and support was contingent on me following a certain path never makes me feel better anyway.
They’d given me everything when I was young. There was always money in my bank account and a ticket home for the holidays, no matter how brief the visit. My parents and three older brothers dropped anything if I needed them. I grew up feeling loved and important, basking in the glow of their support. It was a blessing, until my entire support system was ripped away from me without warning, and I was left with no coping skills to deal with the loss.
I was crushed when they cut ties at Dad’s request—or rather, Dad’s demand. He isn’t an easy man to go against. But I realized if their support was so easily taken away when I didn’t do what they wanted, it wasn’t support at all. It was control, and I have no interest in it.
There wasn’t a peep from any of them until last year, when Bradley prostrated himself at my feet and said he couldn’t get married without me there, winning me over with that same timid sweetness that made him unable to stand up to Dad back then. I agreed, with the understanding that I’d have as little contact with the rest of the family as possible.
Colt heaves a sigh. “I know you don’t want to, but we need to talk about your dad.”
“I don’t have a dad,” I say cheerfully, telling myself if I smile and joke about it enough, it’ll stop hurting. “He made that decision for me.”
“You know he’s going to be there this summer.”
“In a city of nearly three million people? How ever will I avoid him?” I ask dramatically, and Colton rolls his eyes.
“You aren’t going to talk about this, are you?” He sighs and rubs his brow. “Sometimes I wish I’d never applied for that damn fellowship.”
My gut twists at the mention of the Harrow fellowship. It was a defining moment of Colton’s life when he won at the end of undergrad. The shock on his face when they called his name instead of mine is seared into my brain. I didn’t want anything totake away from his victory, so I hid the shit show of everything surrounding the fellowship as long as I could, until he called from Rome one day asking why the hell my dad suddenly wouldn’t say my name.
