Page 28 of Always Mine
It’s only when I look properly that I notice he has a slightly bruised eye.
“Lu! What happened to your eye?”
“Might want to ask Rambo here.”
“Looks like someone is itching for a pigeon pair,” Marco claps back, amused.
“Buddy, take my word for it, I think you might want to save some of that pent-up frustration for our last-minute dinner guest.”
“Please elaborate,” I demand.
“The one and only Arthur Bartholomew Jones. Dad just asked Mum to set another place at the table.” The doorbell chimes as he turns and leaves with an incredulous half laugh. Marco’s jaw tenses, and his playful demeanor is quickly replaced with simmering fury.
Stepping into him, I rise to my toes to bring us eye-to-eye and run my nails through his hair. Locking my arms behind his neck, I repeat back the question he asked me last night. “Do you trust me?”
When he doesn’t answer immediately, I silently implore with my eyes. Resting my forehead on his, just like he did that night all those years ago, he nods in acknowledgment before adding in a low growl.
“I let you go once, but now that you’re back for good, you’re mine. Fuck your father. Fuck the fallout.”
I’ve waited a long time to hear those words, and now that he’s detonated that truth bomb, there’s more than just questions and emotions free falling; there’s also my heart. He shattered it once when he walked away, and now he’s claiming it’s his. The only question now is, if I give it to him willingly, can I trust him to keep it safe?
Chapter fourteen
There’s Always An Agenda
Sophia
“Igotyou,”Marcosays, handing me the salad bowl. The gesture is simple, but the intensity of his gaze lends weight to those three little words, sending my already stuttering heart into double time. I give him a soft smile as I take it from him, putting some on my plate before passing it back so he can do the same. As I lift my head, my eyes lock with my father’s. His expression tells me he’s been watching us intently, cataloguing each interaction. Analyzing them before deciding on how to proceed.
There’s a reason “The Patrick Princi” is one of Manhattan’s most sought-after criminal lawyers. He can find the tiniest loophole in even the most seemingly watertight case and blow the whole argument out of the water. He’s a master in the art of persuasion and meticulous in his pursuit of winning at all costs, but the same can be said for his pursuit for justice. It’s these traits under bright shiny lights that made me want to follow in his footsteps. To fight for justice. To strategize and negotiate. Right now, though, as he watches his plan unfold very differently to how he strategized, I can see how those same admirable traits can be applied to muddy thewaters. Jaw tight, face flushed, and brow furrowed in annoyance, he tries to steer the dinner conversation back to his agenda.
“So Arty, you were saying the annual Law Gala is approaching. As we discussed, Sophia would love to co-chair on behalf of our firm. It’s a great opportunity for her to become acquainted with her peers from the law fraternity. Any introductions would be greatly appreciated.”
My father smiles at me proudly. I know part of him means well, but also, I just wish he’d stop thinking he knows what’s best for me. The tension at the table right now is palpable. Emotions running high, the air heavy. Everyone’s mask is fixed in place to hide unspoken truths. My mind wanders back to the family dinner just like this one when I announced I’d accepted the offer from Harvard instead of Columbia.
“Boys! Come on inside. Dinner is ready to be served! And you know how your father gets about eating cold food!” Mom calls from the big open window in the family dining room overlooking the soccer pitch in our backyard where my brothers Luca, Raf, Sebastian and his best friend Marco are playing a game of two-on-two. I’m already seated at the table, a few minutes away from the moment I’ve been dreading. After months of fighting my Dad on my college choice, tonight I’m granting him his wish and announcing I’ve chosen Harvard instead of Columbia. Putting six hours and two hundred twelve miles between me and the reason for my backflip. Marco Marrone, or Marco-Boy as I’ve affectionately nicknamed him, the hot, sweaty, delicious mess walking towards me. His white t-shirt slick with sweat sticks to his well-chiseled body, and I can feel my cheeks start to warm as he approaches the table. It’s been two weeks since he pressed his soft lips to mine in a kiss so tender and sweet it made his words cut deeper. I’ve replayed that night in my head so many times now, hoping for a different ending, but it always ends the same, with Marco telling me to go to Harvard. Even though I was the drunk one, it’s like he’s totally forgotten about the whole thing and gone back to friend-zoning me.
“So Dad, a little birdie told me a secret,” Luca mock whispers conspiratorially, while looking directly at me.
“Well I do hope that bird smelled better than you,” Dad gripes as he shrugs him off.
My heart rate spikes. Fucking troublemaker! I wanted to share this news on my own terms, but my big brother knows I need the push to be brave. Taking his seat on the other side of Dad, directly opposite Raf, he looks at me and grins.
“Sophia will spill the beans. I mean, Sophia can you please pass the beans?”
I’m not laughing. In fact, I am pretty sure Marco can hear my heart beating out of my chest, that’s how loud it sounds to my own ears. Picking up the beans, I pass them over, sending a-not-so-subtle ‘thanks-for-fucking-nothing’ look to Luca, who snickers at me. When I look up, I meet my father and mother’s imploring eyes. I roll my shoulders back and clear my throat. It’s now or never.
“Ah yes, I do have some news I’d like to share with you all.” I pause to muster up the enthusiasm I don’t feel. “I’ve accepted an offer to a law school. Harvard, here I come.”
My dad’s delighted clapping makes me jump. The victorious smile on his face is the complete opposite to the disappointment threatening to take over mine.
“Princess, that is brilliant news. I knew you would come to your senses. Harvard is where you belong. Let’s toast to my darling daughter. The first Princi woman to go to Harvard.”
Everyone raises their glasses, and I keep a fake smile plastered on my face as I raise my toast towards my parents, not daring to look at Marco.
“Can I be excused? I just want to quickly let Evie know that I told you all the good news.”
“Of course, but hurry back so your dinner doesn’t get cold,” says Mom.
