by Bethany-Kris
“Catherine, could you shut down the desktop, please?”
“But—”
“Shut it down,” her father said, not posing it as an offer the second time.
With a sigh, Catherine shut down the forty-two inch, touchscreen desktop that Dante had bought last Christmas. He got it for her because she liked to doodle, and design things. With the added stylus, the desktop acted as an art canvas that could never be destroyed and didn’t need to be replaced for every new project. She could stand and work.
“Thank you,” Dante said. “Find a seat.”
Crap.
“Am I in trouble?” Catherine asked.
Her father shrugged. “We’ll see how this conversation goes, and take it from there, reginella.”
Catherine let her father take the office chair, and she sat on the chaise near the window. “I was just doing a project for art class.”
“You can get back to it in a minute.” Dante held a hand out, his palm up. “Give me your phone, Catherine.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Because I pay for it, and I would like to see it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“This is not a discussion or debate. This house is not a democracy, Catherine. There is no vote for you when I or your mother speaks. I’ve told you what to do, now do it.”
Catherine, more confused than ever, dug her phone out of her pocket. She handed it over to her father without a fight. “Here.”
“What’s the four-digit key to get in it?”
She rattled the four numbers off.
Not a second later, she heard the telltale click the device made when it was unlocked. Her father said nothing as he looked through her phone. He didn’t even look at her. After what seemed like forever, he glanced up from the screen.
“Question,” Dante said, “and be honest, because I will not hesitate to have the phone checked, and I can do that.”
“Okay.”
“Have you deleted anything from this—messages, calls, photos, or whatever?”
Catherine’s brow furrowed. “Crappy pictures of me.”
Her father glanced up at the ceiling, and then his stony expression cracked with an amused smile.
“What? They were awful,” Catherine insisted.
Dante nodded. “According to you, maybe. But nothing else?”
“No.”
He handed the phone back. Catherine quickly stuffed it inside her pocket.
“Do you have anything you want to tell me? Anything at all, dolcezza. New friends, changes at school—anything.”
Catherine was starting to get an idea what her father was probing for, but she wasn’t quite sure how he would know. Cross. She hadn’t hit her ten write-ups at school, and she doubted Michel had said anything to their parents.
She picked at her new silver glittered manicure and said, “So, I have a friend—Cross.”
“Keep going.”
“And I like him.”
Dante scratched at the underside of his jaw, and rested back in the chair. “Is he just a friend, or a little bit more than a friend, Catherine?”
“More,” she admitted.
Her father nodded like that was what he’d been waiting to hear. “You’ve been messaging him since the beginning of the school year.”
“Took me a while to make friends.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Dante blew out a slow breath. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t tell your mother or me about him, that’s all. I worried something was not right because you felt the need to hide it.”
Catherine frowned. “No, I didn’t. There wasn’t anything to tell.”
“We haven’t put rules on dating or boys, reginella, but the least you could do is tell us when there is a boy, okay? You tell us so that we know—you tell us so we can set boundaries, or make sure you’re safe. You tell us so that should something happen, you’re not afraid to tell us then, either.”
“Like what?”
Dante shook his head. “Anything, Catherine. It doesn’t have to be something bad, it can be anything. That’s why we’re here; to listen, to talk, or whatever.”
“I’m sorry.”
She hated disappointing her parents, but especially her father.
Dante smiled as he stood from the chair, and patted his daughter’s head on the way by. “As for this … Cross …”
“Yeah?”
“Invite him over to dinner next week. I’ll let your mother know.”
“So, I’m not in trouble?” she asked.
Dante turned slightly, waving her concern off. “Never lie to me, mia reginella. Never hide things from me. I may not always approve, but I would rather be disappointed than lied to.”
Yeah, but disappointment was just as bad.
Catherine hated that.
“Are we still going to dinner at Grandmamma and Grandpapa’s later?”
“Sure are.”
“But your sentencing is tomorrow, right?”
Dante’s shoulders tensed. “It is.”
“Shouldn’t we stay home? You told us before to stay quiet.”
“I want to have dinner with my family, Catherine, like I always do.”
Her father’s trial had extended a couple of more weeks beyond what her parents expected it to. They continued to tell their children not to worry, that things were being handled. It was hard for Catherine to listen and do that, even if she had been able to pretend like nothing was wrong when she was outside of her home. She had overheard her mother mentioning a bribe of some sort that her Uncle Giovanni—her father’s lawyer and brother—had tried to offer, but there was little to no news on whether it would be taken.
She didn’t talk about her family, even if her father was on the news a lot lately. Her friends from school had asked if it was true that her father was a mob boss, or if her whole family was somehow involved with organized crime.
Catherine said nothing.
Not about family.
Not about the business.
Not even to Cross, though he never asked.
It was a rule.
“You’re not going to go to jail, right, Daddy?”
Dante didn’t turn around when he spoke. “I’m trying really hard not to, sweetheart.”
“Cross, take a walk with me,” Catherine’s father said.
Cross shot Catherine a smirk before he disappeared out of the kitchen, following behind Dante. As soon as he was out of the entryway, Catherine stood from her chair, ready to follow behind and eavesdrop.
“Nope,” Catrina said from her position at the stove.
She hadn’t even turned around.
“But—”
“Don’t move from that chair, Catherine. Sit back down.”
“What’s he going to say to Cross, then?” she asked.
Catrina shrugged, still prepping her dishes on the stove. “I assume whatever the hell comes to his mind, but who knows?”
Catherine’s heart sped up a bit, and her stomach dropped. “Why?”
“Stop worrying. This is a happy week, Catherine.”
Well, it was supposed to be. Her father’s sentencing for his trial had ended with probation, not jail time. Their family was in celebration mode all over the city. Cross had agreed to come for dinner.
“Trust me, that boy knew exactly what he was in for when he was dropped off for dinner.” Catrina smiled sweetly over her shoulder. “Why don’t you go to the library and read a bit?”
“Fine, whatever.”
“And don’t go eavesdropping, Catherine!” her mother shouted at her back.
Dammit.
Catherine opted to go to her bedroom instead of their private library. She grabbed her tablet and fell lengthways on the bed, scrolling through social media pages of her friends from her old school, and the new one. Mostly, that was how she kept in touch with people from her old school. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that until a shadow fell over her from up above.
She tilted her head
back on the edge of the bed to find Cross looking down at her.
“Hey,” he said.
Catherine smiled. “Hey.”
“I didn’t think I would see the inside of a house that is bigger than my family’s.”
“Yeah, it’s not really a house, more like a hotel.”
It was massive with an indoor pool, private library, three acres of land, and a small guest house overtop the four-car garage.
Catherine never asked much about Cross’s parents or his home, or if he had money. She just assumed he did because he went to the same school she did—a private establishment that cost more than what most people made a year in tuition. Plus, Cross didn’t exactly go without when it came to phones, clothes, or whatever the hell he seemed to want.
Kind of like her.
“Your father doesn’t like me,” Cross said with a smirk.
Catherine frowned. “What, why?”
“Because I have something between my legs that you don’t.”
Her cheeks heated instantly. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, no. It’s very true. He made it clear.” Cross shrugged like it didn’t make a difference. “Who gives a shit, though?”
“Thank you for coming over today.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Catherine rolled over to her stomach. “Better things to do, maybe.”
Cross didn’t look away when he said, “You’re the better things I’m doing, Catherine.”
Well, then …
“But hey,” he added quickly, “I did get an okay for something else, which was mostly why I came today anyway. My step-father decided to punish me in a new way because he’s an asshole.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “What?”
“Winter Formal. I had to ask your dad if I could take you. He looked like he wanted to kill me while he said yes.”
Catherine grinned.
All she heard was Winter Formal.
The rest didn’t matter.
The way she knew Cross, dances and school functions, proms or whatever else, they just didn’t seem like his thing. He’d much rather hang out with his older friends, or drive around the city on a day he skipped school. He didn’t do a lot of the things people their age did—he got bored with it, and couldn’t be bothered.
But apparently, he was doing this.
Likely for her.
Only for her.
“Really?” Catherine asked quietly.
“I mean, if you want to go.”
She bit her bottom lip, peering up at him. “With you.”
Cross cocked a brow. “Who the hell else would you go with?”
No one.
Just him.
Catherine pushed up to her knees, leaned forward, and caught Cross’s mouth with her own. He laughed at her surprise move, and then pulled her closer. She only heard the quiet rap of knuckles against her bedroom door before it was pushed open. Cross took a quick step back, putting a good foot of space between them just in time.
Dante peeked in the bedroom. “Door stays open.”
Catherine glared at her father.
“Yeah, it was open,” Cross said. “I mean, technically. It wasn’t latched.”
Dante stared hard at Cross, then sighed and turned away. Catherine was sure she heard her father mutter, “He is worse than his father says; that kid is going to fucking kill me.”
Guessing by the way Cross was grinning—all his arrogance and pride shining through—he had heard it, too.
“All the way open,” Dante called from the hallway.
“He should have said that before, that’s all.”
Catherine fell back on the bed. “Maybe your smartass comments are why you think he doesn’t like you.”
Cross scoffed. “Trust me, that’s not it. I told you why.”
Cross in his leather jacket was one thing.
He could make the damn school uniforms look good.
But Cross in a tux?
Full tux, with a vest and tie …
Cross in a tux was something else entirely.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Cross asked.
Catherine used the entrance to the hall and all the winter themed decorations as a distraction to stare at. That way, she didn’t sound quite so stupid when she said, “You just look nice, that’s all.”
“Shouldn’t I tell you that?”
“You did.”
And he had.
Although, he hadn’t been nearly as quiet or embarrassed as she seemed to be handing over a compliment.
It seemed like Catherine had blinked, Christmas was over, and January was there. That also meant Winter Formal was there, too. For as excited as she had been when Cross first asked, Catherine didn’t realize how nervous she would be leading up to it.
For no good reason, apparently.
Cross’s hand slid around Catherine’s back, and held tight to the curve in her trim waist as they walked further into the hall. The delicate, pink rose corsage on her wrist matched the smaller one attached to Cross’s lapel. It also matched the shimmering pink of her formal gown that fell to the floor. The dress was modest enough in the front with a high neckline and capped sleeves, but it sported crisscrossed open panels down her back.
“Come here,” Cross said, catching Catherine by the wrist and spinning her toward him. From there, he was able to get his hand on her lower back, while he held her other in his own. “You do know how to slow dance, don’t you?”
“I know how to dance, Cross.”
“I didn’t say dance. I said slow dance.”
“I’m doing okay,” she joked.
It wasn’t so bad as long as she followed his lead.
Truthfully, the only men she had ever danced with had been her father, her uncles, and her grandfather once at a wedding. Technically, this was her first dance with someone not from her immediate family.
Catherine didn’t feel like telling Cross, though.
“My mother taught me how to dance,” Cross said, “and how to play the piano. She said I would thank her someday for making me learn to dance.”
Catherine hid her smile against Cross’s cheek. “Oh?”
“I guess I’ll have to do that, now.”
By his tone alone, Catherine thought Cross loved his mother a great deal, though he didn’t talk a lot about her.
“What’s your mom’s name?”
“Emma,” he said.
“And your dad is Calisto.”
“Step-dad, but yeah.” Cross kept them moving slowly among the other dancing students even when the song changed to something faster. “Cal’s the only dad I’ve ever known, anyway. On paper, he’s my dad since he adopted me.”
“Your real dad—”
“Affonso fucked off somewhere when I was a baby,” he interrupted. His voice edged a bit sharper.
“Sorry,” Catherine whispered quickly.
Cross shook his head. His hands tightened on her waist and around her fingers. “No worries. It’s good, as long as he stays gone.”
He sounded like he meant it.
Catherine chose to drop it.
Unfortunately, Cross quieted after that. It wasn’t unusual for him to be quiet, but Catherine felt like maybe she had made him sad by asking about his real father.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she said.
“You didn’t.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I don’t say things just to say them, Catherine.”
That much was true.
“It’s snowing,” he said after a second.
Catherine looked over Cross’s shoulder, seeing the heavy flakes of snow falling down outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hall. Even though it was winter, they hadn’t gotten a lot of snow that year so far. What snow they had gotten quickly turned to slush and made a mess.
Lit up by the lights inside the hall, the windows reflected against the snowflakes, making them colorful as they danced down.
“You think?” Cross asked.
“Yeah.”
“Come on, then.”
“What?”
Cross didn’t answer, simply pulled away from Catherine, while keeping a grip on her wrist at the same time. He tugged her along as he weaved in and out of the other students, careful not to go too fast and making sure she wasn’t tripping over her heels or gown.
Catherine saw where they were headed as a familiar sign blinked up ahead. “We’re not supposed to open the exit doors, Cross.”
“Oh, well.”
That was all he said before they pushed out the exit doors on the left side of the hall. They came out onto the cobblestone walkway that separated the two wings of the school, where students liked to gather during breaks.
Catherine was not expecting the cobblestone to be as wet as it was, even with the falling snow. She slipped on her heels, but Cross caught her at the last second. Her laughter filled the empty space, mixing in with Cross’s as he pulled her up.
“You were right,” he said.
“About what?”
“The snow. It is nice.”
Not pretty.
No, nice.
Cross only ever called her pretty.
His hand found hers. Their fingers wove tightly together. When she shivered, Cross brought her closer and hugged an arm around her neck, letting her hide her face under his chin.
“It’s too cold to be out here. Let’s go back in.”
“In a second,” Catherine mumbled against his tux jacket. “I know I already told you, but thanks for coming with me. I know it’s not your thing.”
“Anything you want to do is my thing. You should know that by now, Catherine.”
Well, she was learning.
“Yeah, but why?”
Cross shrugged. “I told you a while back—I’m yours.”
She still wasn’t sure what that meant, though.
Was it late night phone calls and text messages first thing in the morning?
Was it skipping classes or him waiting by her locker?
Was it everything?
Or nothing at all?
Catherine didn’t know.
But she liked it.
She shivered again.
“Okay, that’s enough, back inside,” Cross said.
Catherine tipped her head back and sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
The heavy snowflakes continued to fall, blurring the sky and getting caught in Cross’s black hair. Even with heels on, she still managed to be shorter than him. That never seemed to matter to him.