by Bethany-Kris
Calisto chuckled under his breath. “Well, then …”
“I don’t randomly go around breaking faces just to break faces.”
“That you don’t.”
“So why is this an issue?” Cross asked.
“Because your mother and I didn’t know the rest of the story,” Calisto replied, “though to be fair, I don’t think you told the school the other bit, either.”
“Doesn’t matter. The girl didn’t do anything wrong except be a girl that Hugh noticed.”
“Make these next few years easier on us, Cross. I’m not asking for a miracle here, just that you be … more careful. I’m not prepared, nor do I have the patience, for a battle of the wills with you until you turn eighteen. I let you have your freedom. I let you do what you want to save me a headache, but you have to give me something back.”
“Like what?”
“Like being careful,” Calisto repeated. “I don’t know, but get smarter or something about your shit. Your mother frets, and you know how she gets. Stop worrying her, I can’t take the state she gets in about your nonsense.”
“Again, it’s—”
“Yeah, yeah. Not nonsense. Just do what I said. Got it?”
Cross meh’ed under his breath.
“I mean,” Calisto continued, “unless you want to have a feud with your mother. It won’t be me the next time, it’ll be her. So either clean your shit up, get smarter about it all, or deal with whatever it is she will do.”
He stiffened on the bench.
Calisto laughed. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound fun at all, does it?”
Cross didn’t reply.
His step-father didn’t need him to, apparently.
“Also, your mother is in the library. Make an effort to apologize for today and mean it, Cross.”
He could do that.
“Sure, Papa.”
Calisto sighed. “Who was the girl, anyway?”
“Catherine Marcello.” That time, it was his father’s turn to go stiff. Cross laughed as he got up from the bench, and headed for the house. “It was worth it, too.”
Calisto’s groan echoed over the silent backyard. “Cross, don’t go getting yourself mixed up in that kind of mess, I swear to God. I won’t kill you for your nonsense, but another man surely might.”
He heard the warning loud and clear.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t go making a spectacle of that girl, Cross!”
He wouldn’t.
Calisto thought Cross didn’t hear him when he spoke, but he did. More than his step-father knew.
Earn a good woman by being a good man.
Yeah, Cross listened … when it was important.
“Pretty sure that’s against the school’s dress code policy.”
Catherine’s head popped up at the new, unexpected voice to her left. There, she found Cross Donati grinning down at her. Dark eyes. Black hair. Cunning smile. His three-day suspension was apparently up. She got a much better look at his face and features when he was this close, and not rolling on the ground and beating his fists into someone else’s face.
Jesus.
Pretty was not the kind of word used to describe boys, but if it was the right one Catherine would give it to Cross. His face was all strong lines, tan skin, and the dimple in his right cheek peeking out when his lips quirked up just enough at the corner. Her heart picked up speed a bit. He, like all the other students at the Academy, wore the standard navy and white uniform, tie included. Although, his navy blazer seemed to have been replaced by a leather jacket. Girls got the option of skirts or pants, but Catherine hated them both.
It was all ugly.
Well …
She couldn’t help but think Cross wore the uniform a hell of a lot better than the other boys did.
Cross tipped his head to the side when Catherine couldn’t form words. “You don’t speak?”
“Um.”
He pointed at the open chair at the table. “This open, or …?”
“Is anyone sitting there?”
“Nope.”
“Is there stuff there to say someone might come back?”
“Nope.”
Catherine smiled sweetly. “Then I guess it’s open, Cross.”
“Cute.” Cross slid into the chair with the grace of what Catherine might consider to be a predator. He was at least a half of a foot taller than her five foot, four inches. “I see you learned my name.”
“Seems a lot of people know your name.”
“Do you often hide in the library at lunch time?”
“I do when my cousin is in detention,” Catherine replied.
“Liliana.”
Catherine caught Cross’s stare, and held it. Despite the way his eyes—a dark brown that almost seemed soul-black under the library lights—made her want to freeze like an idiot, she didn’t shrink away from his gaze. “Yeah, Liliana.”
“Your brother is Michel, right?” Cross asked.
“According to my mother and father, and the family photos they make us smile for every year. I think they picked him up in a fucking ditch somewhere, but whatever. Why?”
Cross’s laughter burst from his lax, lazy smile so fast, it shocked Catherine. Not because he laughed, but because of how he looked doing it. “Yeah, I’ve got one of those, too.”
Her confused look made his grin deepen.
“A sibling that makes me want to burn the house down on a regular basis,” Cross added quickly. “Camilla, my sister; she’s eleven. Drives me—”
“Crazy,” Catherine interrupted.
Cross shrugged. “I mean, that works, too.”
Catherine surveyed her nails; the almond-shaped pink and sparkle manicure needed a touch-up, and soon. “Do you know my brother?”
“Sort of,” Cross answered.
“Why ask about him?”
“Making conversation.” Cross winked when Catherine looked up at him. “I didn’t know what to say to you other than the dress code thing, and you completely ignored that.”
“I didn’t ignore it.” Catherine pulled the fake daisy flower crown from her hair, as that was the only thing she was currently wearing that was against the dress code of the school. It was stretchy, with daisies all around the band, and could be worn like a headband, or a crown. Obviously, she preferred the crown style. “They make us wear ugly uniforms, and the only thing I can control is my shoes. You know, as long as they’re not higher than four inches. They can deal with this.”
Cross reached out and snagged the daisy hair band. “Nobody pointed it out yet?”
“Got written up twice before lunch, actually.”
His husky laughter surprised her again.
“Just ignore it; they’ll eventually let it go. One less thing to fight about.”
Catherine nodded at his leather jacket. “Is that why you wear that and not your blazer?”
“I wear the blazer … occasionally.”
“Not what I asked.”
Cross leaned across the table, and set Catherine’s daisy accessory back in place on her head. His fingers were careful not to catch or pull her hair, she noticed, but his fingertips were damn warm against her temples. Then, he pulled away, but her skin still felt warm.
Yep.
She missed a whole breath there.
“There, perfect,” he murmured.
Catherine eyed her new companion. “You still didn’t tell me why you don’t wear the blazer.”
“It’s shit material. My jacket costs more than ten of these stupid uniforms. I wear the rest of it; that’s the best I can do.”
Yeah.
Catherine liked Cross, and his fuck-you-attitude.
A lot.
“You don’t actually have to hide in the library, Catherine,” Cross said.
It was the first time he used her name.
“How do you know—”
“Asked around,” Cross interjected, smirking. “I figured, I broke someone’s face for you, the least I could do was learn yo
ur name.”
“And find me hiding out in the library, apparently.”
“What good is learning your name if I can’t use it?”
Catherine laughed. “All right, you win.”
“I usually do.”
She ignored his arrogance, but only because she was used to arrogant men. Her whole family was full of them.
“But I do,” Catherine said, “like to be in here, rather than out there with … them.”
Cross cocked a brow. “Them?”
“I don’t know anyone here. I didn’t want to come here at all.”
He didn’t look all that surprised at her admission. “All my friends are in upper grades. I don’t care to know anyone here, either.” Then, he shot her a smile. “Or, I didn’t.”
“Oh?”
Cross leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms over his chest. “What are you doing after school?”
“Me?”
“You’re the only one sitting here, Catherine.”
“I’m supposed to meet up with my brother—our cousin picks us up on Fridays. At least until Michel gets his license in a couple of months.”
Well, that’s what she was going to tell Cross, anyway. Really, John—who was her cousin—also acted as their enforcer. A guard, of sorts. Catherine sometimes liked to call him a babysitter too, just to piss him off. He drove them around, looked after them when they were out, and kept an eye on the house when her parents were out or gone somewhere.
Cross seemed far too relaxed across from her, as though they were old friends. “Think they might miss you?”
“Uh …”
“You did say you didn’t know anybody, right?”
Sure, but did she want to know him?
That was the question.
“Make a friend,” Cross said before Catherine could speak up. “Or a couple.”
“A couple? As in, more than one.”
Because she was pretty sure he was the only one there.
“That’s what I said.”
Catherine readjusted the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder as she took the entrance steps two at a time. One thing the upper and lower Academies shared? A parking lot. Everything else, besides the football field, was entirely separated.
She quickly found her brother across the lot, sitting on the steps leading into the upper Academy’s wings.
She found someone else quickly, too. Cross Donati. He sat on the hood of a cherry red Camaro. His attention snagged by an older boy with a pair of keys in his hands.
Catherine still hadn’t decided to take him up on his offer of making friends. Mostly because she didn’t do things like that—skip out, blow off already made plans, or blatantly break the rules her parents made. Not going home with her brother and cousin, with a guy her parents didn’t know or hadn’t met, without an enforcer definitely fell into the category of breaking rules.
Several rules, really.
She was already halfway across the lot, heading in her brother’s direction, before she could think better of it.
“Johnathan is going to be late,” Michel said without even looking up at his sister’s approach.
“How late?”
“Thirty minutes, or so.”
She peeked over her shoulder, only to find that the black-haired, dark-eyed boy was still engaged in conversation with his friend, and hadn’t noticed her at all.
Cross didn’t notice her staring.
Michel did.
“Made a friend, did you?” her brother asked.
“I guess.”
His brow lifted. “Not sure Dad would like that, Catherine.”
“Why not? He keeps telling me to make friends, and then I’ll like it here.”
“Cross Donati is a fucking troublemaker. I don’t think that’s the kind of friend Dad meant.”
“He doesn’t seem like trouble to me.”
That was a lie.
Cross seemed like all sorts of trouble.
He also seemed like fun.
It was that thought alone that cemented Catherine’s next choice. “Ma and Dad aren’t going to be home until later, right?”
“Around seven,” Michel said, going back to his phone.
“So I could just … call to get a ride home, if I wanted to stay here for a bit.”
Her brother did look up at that statement. “And what are you going to do while you’re here?”
Well, she didn’t know yet. And who the hell knew if she would be staying?
“I don’t know,” Catherine said honestly.
Michel looked across the lot.
Catherine followed his gaze.
The pretty boy sitting on the cherry red Camaro wasn’t distracted anymore because he was staring straight at her. He flashed a smile, then tipped his head to the side as if to silently call her over.
“You’re going to get yourself in a world of shit,” Michel warned.
“So that’s a yes, right?”
Michel frowned. “You’re not listening, Catherine.”
“I am, but who’s going to tell? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“If you won’t go home and tell Ma or Dad, it’s wrong.”
“Do you tell them everything you do?”
Michel quickly shut his mouth at that question. “Fine, go. But be back here in three hours, at the most. If you get back earlier, shoot me a text. I’ll say you’re staying at school with friends, and then Dad won’t get pissed off at John for not staying behind to look after you. He’ll come back and pick you up. Don’t get John in shit because you want to have fun, Catherine. He’s got to do his job, too, as our enforcer, but I’ll make an excuse this time.”
“Thanks, I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” Catherine said in a rush.
“Sure, sure.”
She was already spinning on her heel and heading the other way.
Toward trouble and fun.
Cross pushed off the hood of the Camaro at the sight of Catherine’s approach. His smile deepened to a grin, and he took her bag without even asking for it.
“Nice car,” Catherine said.
The older guy Cross had been talking to poked his head out the driver’s window. “Thanks. And hi.”
She waved. “Hi.”
Cross used his free hand to gesture between his friend and Catherine as he tossed her bag into the back of the car. “Zeke, Catherine. Catherine, Zeke.”
“You up for a drive to the Odessa Pier?” Zeke asked.
“Like, way down in Brighton Beach?”
The guy nodded. “That’s the one.”
Her father would kill her.
Brighton was off-limits unless she had an enforcer with her. Dante never said why, just that it was. Catherine didn’t think to ask because her father probably wouldn’t explain. He made rules; she was expected to follow them. It was that simple. For the most part she did just that. Or tried.
Catherine figured she could afford to take the risk.
Especially with Cross still waiting for her to answer.
Catherine scrolled through the last message on her phone from her brother.
You good?
Fine, she texted back.
Michel didn’t respond.
In the backseat of the Camaro, Cross chatted away with Zeke about a race of some sort—Catherine didn’t know for sure. She had thought they were going straight to Brighton Beach, but apparently Zeke had other plans. He pulled into a public school parking lot, yanked the car into park, and leaned over to open the door for a pretty blonde that jumped in the front seat. The girl looked closer to Zeke’s age, Catherine thought. Seventeen, maybe.
The girl leaned over and pressed a kiss to Zeke’s mouth, grinning.
“Hey.”
Zeke smiled back. “Hey.” Then, he nodded to the back. “Cross found a friend.”
“Vaffanculo,” Cross swore.
His friend only laughed.
The girl, however, smiled back at Catherine with kind eyes. “Hi. I’m Amanda.�
��
“Catherine.”
“Are you even old enough to be hanging around with an idiot like this?” she asked, jerking her thumb in Zeke’s direction.
Zeke scoffed. “Be nice, babe.”
Amanda’s lips quirked up at the edges. “I’m just saying.”
“I came for the other one, actually,” Catherine said.
“That might be just as bad.”
Unlike Zeke’s reaction, Cross agreed.
With a damn smirk.
Amanda turned back around in the front seat, put her sandal-clad feet to the dash, and asked, “Where are we headed?”
“The Pier,” Zeke said, putting the car in drive, “unless you’ve got somewhere else to be, babe.”
“Nope. The Pier is good.”
Since Catherine already had her phone out, she turned on the camera, and pointed the device in Cross’s direction. “Smile.”
He cocked a brow instead.
She took the picture, anyway.
It still looked good.
The constant stream of giggles from up above made Catherine look up. Amanda sat on the railing of the pier, tipped her head back, and let out a steady stream of gray smoke. Zeke stood between Amanda’s legs; his chin rested on her shoulder while he looked out at the water.
Even from down below, Catherine could smell the very distinct aroma of weed.
The giggling made a lot more sense.
For the first thirty minutes after they arrived, Catherine walked the pier with Cross, watching the water down below. Mostly, though, she watched unknown people approach Zeke where he had been sitting with Amanda on a bench. His hand would disappear into his bag, come out with something Catherine couldn’t see, and then money would get shoved inside before it was zipped back up again.
Over and over and over.
Then, the unknown people slowed. Zeke and Amanda moved to another part of the pier. Catherine and Cross moved down to the wet sand where the tide hadn’t come in yet.
“Is that what he was selling?” Catherine dared to ask.
Cross stopped walking, and so did she. “Who, Zeke?”
“Yeah, earlier. Weed, I mean. Is that—”
“Pick your poison or need, and Zeke probably has it,” Cross said, “but if he doesn’t, he can get his hands on it. He doesn’t deal at school. Someone’s already laid claim there. It’s the respect of the matter, or so he says.”