11
Chiara
After leaving Alistair in the silence of early morning, I don’t return to Villa Moretti. Most likely, everyone has headed home, and I must do the same to deal with my mother’s fury sooner rather than later.
I’m surprised she didn’t call me while I was with Alistair. Her silence doesn’t bode well. It means she’s thinking of a punishment that will hurt me deeply. I don’t regret my actions though. Spending the weekend with Alistair is something I will never forget. I connected with him on a deeper level than I ever thought was possible with any man, especially a stranger. I erroneously believed that this kind of rapport could only be built with time.
My heart is heavy when I park in front of my parents’ upscale building in Porta Romana. It’s lunchtime, and I hope Mom is out, eating with her snobby friends. But no sooner do I step out of the elevator onto my floor than I can hear Mom’s raised voice. She’s having an argument with Dad, and I bet a million euros it’s about me.
Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door and walk in. From the entry foyer, I can’t see much of the apartment, but if I could hear my mother’s voice in the hallway, my parents must be in the living room.
“Chiara, is that you?” my father asks.
“No, it’s a burglar here to rob you in broad daylight.”
With heavy steps and a heavier heart, I join them in the living room. Mom is standing, cradling a glass of whiskey in her hand. Her eyes spark with fury when they land on me.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asks.
“Spending the weekend with a friend. Max told you, didn’t he?”
Mom laughs without humor. “Do you mean slutting around with that American savage you found in the middle of the road?”
“Alistair is not a savage,” I grit out. “He has more class than you, Paola, and that weasel husband of hers.”
Mom takes a step forward. “How dare you speak to me that way?”
Dad stands up from his chair, getting between us. “Darling, calm down.” He turns to me. “Chiara, apologize to your mother. That was uncalled for.”
“Uncalled for? She’s the one who called me a slut.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This silly war between you two is going to send me to an early grave.”
Dad believes my fights with Mom are because we’re too stubborn and similar. He couldn’t be more wrong. We argue because Mom is a bully, and if I don’t fight her from time to time, she’ll crush me until I can’t get up anymore.
“I’m sorry, Dad. You know Paola and I never got along. I didn’t think she wanted me around, and, well, I figured no one would miss me at the reception.”
“Sweetie, of course you were missed,” he replies with kind eyes.
“Don’t you dare go soft on Chiara now, Giovanni. She took off without a word to spend the weekend with a stranger. And she did that under our noses. How can we know she won’t do something worse living alone in America?”
A sliver of fear pierces my chest.
“I’ve never done anything reckless like that in my entire life.”
“So you say. Those are not the stories I’ve heard.”
I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails into the softness of my palms until it hurts. “Whatever rumors you heard are all lies.”
Her lips curl in a wicked grin. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And your actions this past weekend only reinforce that. Your trip to California is canceled. You’ll complete your final year of high school here in Milan where I can keep an eye on you.”
“What? You can’t do that.” My eyes fill with angry tears. “Do you know how hard it is to be accepted at DuBose High? It has one of the best programs in the country for anyone interested in a career in the film industry.”
“You should have thought about that before you pulled your latest stunt.”
I turn to Dad. “Did you agree with this?”
“Chiara, perhaps you should stay. I don’t want to worry about you while you are miles away from us.”
“This is such bullshit. You know I’m responsible. I’m the top student at All Saints.”
“I know, tesoro.”
Fuck. I knew Mom would aim for the punishment that hurt me the most, but I didn’t think she’d convince Dad to not let me attend DuBose in California. I’ve been looking forward to it since I started high school.
Nothing I can say will convince him to change his decision now that Mom poisoned his mind against me. There’s only one person who might have a shot, the one who triggered my flight response and sent me straight into Alistair’s loving arms.
Pietro.
I head to my room, locking the door to avoid an invasion by my mother. Then I call Pietro, hoping he’s not too distracted on his honeymoon.
He answers on the third ring. “Chiara, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I was so worried about you. You disappeared and… I know it was all my fault.”
“What you did was shit, Pietro.”
“I’m so terribly sorry. You were right. What I did was caused by pre-wedding jitters.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you kissed me.”
“Please, Chiara. I beg you. Don’t tell anyone that.”
“I won’t, but you need to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“My father wants to cancel my trip to the States because of what happened this weekend. You need to tell him why I bailed from the wedding.”
“What do you mean I have to tell him? You mean the truth?”
“Yes, Pietro. The truth.”
“Chiara, I can’t do that.”
“It’s either you confess to my father, knowing he won’t tell a soul, or I tell everyone.”
I’m hoping Pietro is dumb enough to not realize my word means nothing in my family.
“What if your father decides to tell Paola?”
“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”
I wait with bated breath for his answer. If Pietro calls my bluff, I can say goodbye to California.
He sighs deeply. “All right, Chiara. I’ll do it.”
12
Alistair
Two months later
I loosen my tie as I stride out of the brick building where the meeting with the mediator took place. What a waste of time. I couldn’t sit in that room face-to-face with Nadine and listen to her five-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyer try to convince the mediator that the bitch deserved half the vineyard I gave to my parents for their fortieth anniversary. He said I had no right to make such a gift without her signature on the deed, never mind that we had a fucking prenup in place.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and sure enough, it’s my lawyer calling. I send the call to voice mail. I don’t want to talk to him either. I tried my best to keep things out of court, but Nadine is asking for it. She thinks my need for privacy will make me do anything to keep the sordid details of our divorce from reaching the press.
I snort loudly. That boat sailed a long time ago when I made the mistake of marrying her, a B-movie actress.
It doesn’t matter anyway. Word on the street is she’s looking for someone to sell her sappy story to. I can’t think of anyone who would be interested in such garbage, but stranger things have happened, and this is Hollywood, after all.
It’s my damn fault anyway. I should have left this dreadful town when I had the chance.
Grumbling, I get into my truck and text Lance, one of my oldest buddies from college, hoping he can meet me at the gym today. I need a good workout to get rid of the tension.
ME: Want to hit the tatami in twenty?
A minute later, he fires back.
LANCE: Fuck yeah. Just got out of a board meeting. I’m ready to punch something.
ME: Good. See you in a few.
I toss the phone aside, and with the click of a button, the engine comes to life and Breaking Benjamin blares through the speakers. I increase the volume, feel
ing the sound of bass and drums reverberate through my chest. As I tap the steering wheel in sync with the song, I wonder if Chiara would like this type of music.
Shit. Here I go again thinking about her. To be honest, there hasn’t been a day since I returned from Italy that her image hasn’t invaded my mind. I haven’t been able to hook up with any other woman since either. I’m one of the few people who doesn’t do social media, and it’s the only reason I haven’t searched for her yet. It’s a good thing. She snuck out of that hotel room in Florence without a word or note for a reason. I have to respect that.
By the time I arrive at Ginga, a gym and martial arts center owned by another good friend of mine, I’m ready to do some damage. I have to get back to work on Monday, and if I don’t get rid of this pent-up aggression, I don’t know how I’ll be able to do my job without ripping someone’s head off.
It’s close to lunchtime, so the gym is already packed. Most of the weight lifting machines are in use, and there’s already a group of guys waiting to take their turn in the boxing ring. I veer toward the back of the gym, where the martial arts practice room is. When there isn’t a class in session, this becomes a private room for Caio—the owner of this place—and his closest friends.
The door is wide open, and before venturing in, I can already hear the grunts and the muffled sound of flesh pounding against a punching bag. Lance is there, covered in sweat.
“How the hell did you beat me here?”
“I was on my way when you texted,” he answers without stopping his routine of kicks and punches.
“Is Caio joining us?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t seen him today.”
Shrugging, I head to the locker room to change. When I return, Lance has already moved on to solo exercises. I need to warm up first before I can engage him in hand-to-hand combat. Lance is a fucking beast on the tatami, fast as a cobra. The only person he can’t beat is Caio, but the Brazilian is a legend.
It doesn’t matter that most likely I’ll have my ass handed to me today. As long as I can get some punches in, I’ll be happy.
I take my frustration out on the punching bag, hitting that motherfucker as hard as I can. My muscles protest at first, but as I get into the zone, I don’t even feel the pain. Time ceases to exist. I keep picturing myself from seven years ago, when I was dumb enough to fall for Nadine’s bullshit. By the time exertion slows me down, I notice Caio has joined us.
The distraction costs me, and I’m hit in the face by the punching bag when I fail to stop its swinging motion. Pain explodes in my nose. With a grunt, I take a few steps back, woozy from the hit.
“Are you okay there, man?” Caio asks.
“Peachy.”
I take a seat on the nearest bench, hanging my head between my shoulders. Blood drips from my nose. Fucking fantastic. I hope it’s not broken.
“Let me guess. The meeting with the mediator went as bad as I said it would?” Lance chimes in.
Without raising my head, I flip him off. Lance did warn me that the meeting would be a waste of time, but I’m really not in the mood to listen to his I-told-you-so speech.
“Thank fuck I’m single,” Caio adds.
“I really didn’t come here to talk about relationships.” I look up to glare at my friends.
Caio narrows his eyes before his lips curl into a grin.
Ah fuck. I know that expression.
He waves me over. “Come on, Ali-boy. Let’s see whatcha got.”
Lance chuckles, something I rarely see him do. “Oh, this will be good.”
I’m taller than Caio by a couple of inches, packing more pounds of muscle too. But that doesn’t mean shit on the tatami. He’s way more agile and precise than I am, which means in the next half hour, I spend more time flat on my back than landing blows.
“What’s the matter with you, Alistair? It’s like you’re not even trying.” Caio circles me with as much energy as when we started, I’m already winded. Fuck, I need to do more cardio.
Letting out a roar, I aim for the side of his head. Caio easily sidesteps me, sticking out his right leg to trip me. I don’t fall this time, pivoting on the spot and, by some miracle, managing to keep my balance.
Lance chuckles from the bench, and I turn to him, missing the roundhouse kick aimed in my direction. The blow hits me directly in the face, knocking me down.
“Goddamn it, Alistair. Pay attention,” Caio yells somewhere nearby, but with the ringing in my ears, I can’t pinpoint his exact location.
Rolling on my back, I focus on my breathing as I stare at the ceiling. Dark spots fill my line of vision, and then Caio’s face appears.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’ll live.”
He offers me his hand and drags my sorry ass back up.
“I’m gonna have a massive bruise in a few hours, won’t I?” I continue.
“Yep, sorry, man. You should never lose your focus during a fight.”
The way the jiujitsu master keeps staring at me with a deep frown tells me he’s more annoyed than sorry.
“Maybe your friend will finally decide to fire your ass,” Lance says.
I groan before answering. “Unlikely.”
“I don’t get why you don’t quit if you hate it so much.” Caio shakes his head.
“I don’t hate it, but I’m not as invested in teaching as I was before. I made a promise to Forrester that I’d stay another year, and I never back down on my word.”
Both Caio and Lance watch me through narrowed eyes, probably not buying my story. It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the complete truth either.
John Forrester, DuBose’s principal, was there for me in my darkest hour. His friendship saved me from going down a path that probably would have destroyed me in the end. I won’t turn my back on him now.
13
Chiara
I take a deep breath as I stand in front of the DuBose building, one of the most prestigious high schools in LA. It’s a dream come true for anyone who wants a career in show business. The list of alumni includes top celebrities in Hollywood, from actors, directors, to movie studios’ VIPs. I’m tempted to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Pietro came through after my little chat with him. He fessed up to my father that he was responsible for me running away. Dad was furious, wanted to punch the prick’s face, but I was able to convince him to let things go. All that mattered to me was being allowed to study in LA, which he agreed would be for the best, much to my mother’s chagrin.
I head in, not minding one bit that I don’t know anyone here. That means they don’t know me either. I receive curious glances as I go, but they aren’t followed by malicious comments.
The email I received from administration told me a student would show me around before class starts. I’m supposed to meet him at the principal’s office. I follow the signs until I turn a corner and find not only the office but also a tall ginger leaning next to the door with his eyes glued to his phone.
He glances up when I walk over. “Are you Chiara Moretti?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
He offers me his hand. “Robert Donovan. You can call me Robbie.”
“Nice to meet you, Robbie.”
He drops his eyes to my shoes and smiles. “Ah, you didn’t disappoint me. Prada?”
It takes me a moment to grasp what he’s asking me. I look at my shoes too, and then it hits me. “Yeah. How did you know?”
“I’m obsessed with fashion. Project Runway? Life. I want to be a designer for A-listers.”
“That’s cool.”
“What about you? Why did you come to DuBose?”
“I want to work in the filmmaking business, though in what capacity I don’t know yet.”
“Not an actress?”
I twist my face into a scowl. “God no. I’d be a horrible actress.”
He shrugs. “You have the face though. You look like a fresh Scarlett Johansson but way prettier.”
His compliment makes me blush. “Thanks.”
“All right. First, let me see what classes you have.”
I pull my cell phone out, and after a few clicks, I show him my schedule.
“Oh, we have creative writing together, yay. And AP math. Meh. Those are back to back, by the way, and first and second periods. I don’t need to show you their location right now, as you’ll come with me.” He pauses for a second and then continues. “We also have the same lunch period. Awesome. I’ll introduce you to everyone who’s worth knowing in this school.”
“Uh, thanks?”
He lifts his gaze from my phone. “God, am I being awful by saying that? My mothers always tell me I’m too blunt. I guess it’s a Gemini thing. What’s your sign?”
I’m still caught on the plural mother thing, so it takes me a moment to reply, “Aries. I’m an Aries. My birthday is April 14.”
His lips widen into a bright smile. “Perfect. Aries and Gemini get along fabulously.”
“I trust you. I don’t really follow the horoscope.”
“Girl, you should.” He returns his attention to my phone, and after a moment, he says, “Okay, so we have four classes together and lunch. Are you good in math, physics, and biology, by any chance?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
He presses his hand to his chest in a dramatic fashion and glances up. “Thank you, Lord. I’ll be forever grateful.”
His antics make me laugh. “What was that?”
He returns my phone. “One thing to know about me. I’m the shit when it comes to fashion, arts, and such. Exact sciences? Not so much. We’re in math, physics, and biology together, which means you got yourself a side of rice.”
“A what?”
“A side of rice.” He shakes his head. “It’s a Brazilian thing. Basically, I’ll be stuck to you like glue, but I’ll never be more than a side of rice to your steak because I only drink one type of wine and you’re not it.”
Blurry: A Student Teacher, Age Gap Romance Page 7