I sling my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her, whispering against her temple, “But I forgive you.”
As I draw away, I unhook her backpack from her shoulders and slip it down her arms.
“I can carry—” she starts to say, and then laughs as I hold it out of her reach. “One day I’ll carry my own bag home.”
“Not today.” I swing it over my own shoulder, adding its weight to mine. It’s heavier than it should be. Too many textbooks, because she never leaves anything in her locker in case she needs it.
I know this about her. I know everything about her.
She organizes her notes by color and hums to herself when she’s thinking. She tucks her hair behind her left ear when she’s nervous, but never her right. Her favorite food is her mother’s pretzel pigs in blankets dipped in ketchup. I know the exact pitch of her laugh. Her real laugh, not the polite one she uses with strangers. I know the way she smells after she’s been in thegarden, like grass and sunshine and something sweet that’s just her.
I know her better than I know myself.
I like her better than I like myself.
How could I not? She’s perfect.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go before it gets late.”
We fall into step together, her short legs taking two steps for every one of mine, but I make sure I’m not walking too fast for her.
“So,” she says, bouncing a little as she walks. She’s always bouncing, always moving, her body unable to contain all the energy inside her. “How was your day? Any news from the hallowed halls of St. Peter’s?”
I shrug. “The same.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s an accurate answer. Nothing changed. Nothing happened.” I got through class and did what I needed to do until I could see Mina.
“You’re impossible. Something must have happened. Did you have classes? Tests? Did anyone say anything interesting? Did you finally agree to have coffee with Ashley Ricci?”
Ashley Ricci is from St. Agatha’s, the sister school to St. Peters. It’s where my sister Adora goes with her best friend, Lucy Barone, and a whole load of Malus’s prissy, spoiled rich girls who bore the hell out of me. Mrs. Santoro, Mina’s mother and our housekeeper, couldn’t dream of sending her daughter to St. Agatha’s, as just one semester of school fees is her entire salary. I once asked Dad to cover Mina’s education because Mrs. Santoro works so hard for us, and Dad laughed. No, first he asked who Mina was, and then he laughed.
“Why would I get coffee with Ashley Ricci?”
“Because she’s pretty.”
I give a humorless laugh. “No, she’s not.”
“Cristiano, please. She’sgorgeous. And rich. And her family is almost as important as yours.” Mina ticks the points off on her fingers. “She’s perfect for you. You should say yes next time.”
My jaw tightens. There it is. The thing she does that drives me mad. Pushing me toward other girls. As if I could ever want Ashley Ricci. As if I could ever consider anyone but Mina.
“I’m not interested,” I say flatly.
Mina sighs dramatically. “My heart breaks for all those St. Agatha’s girls who are dying to date you.”
“Then they can perish.”
Mina laughs, delighted by my coldness. She thinks I’m being funny. She thinks I’m playing a character, the aloof, unapproachable heir to the Montoni empire.
I’m not playing anything. I don’t want Ashley Ricci. I don’t want any of the girls who ply me with candy and giggle when I walk past and stare at me like I’m something to be won.
I want her.
Only her.
But I can’t say that.
