by Bethany-Kris
Either way, she figured it worked out to the same thing in the end. Cross was jealous. Unsurprisingly, that look fit him just as well as any other he wore.
She didn’t quite understand why she liked the way it made her feel.
Catherine went back to her phone. No Derik ever.
Let him make of that what he wanted.
After thirty seconds of waiting for a response, Catherine looked up to find Cross had closed the space between them, and then he leaned a shoulder against the wall. Staring down at her, he folded his arms over his chest, reminding Catherine all over again just how well a bit of time had treated Cross.
“Heard you got into a fight with Derik,” she said.
“Oh, did you?”
“Something about me, apparently.”
“Something like that,” he agreed.
Catherine eyed Cross from the side. “What did he say that pissed you off so much?”
“Nothing worth repeating.”
“But something.”
“Something worth getting his mouth busted for.”
“As sweet as it is to think you might have been defending my honor or something, you didn’t need to do that, Cross.”
“That is a sweet thought. Keep thinking it.”
Catherine shook her head. “You do realize the whole school is on your girlfriend’s side in whatever happened, and hate me.”
“Not my girlfriend, and worry less about what people think, Catherine.”
“Easier said than done.”
A comfortable silence filled the small bit of space between them. Catherine didn’t mind, and with Cross’s gaze surveying the people, she had all the time in the world to appreciate the lines on his handsome face.
Then again, looking at Cross for too long seemed to be bad for her insides. It did all kind of strange and terrible things—things she liked far too much.
“Let’s get out of here,” Cross murmured.
Catherine sighed. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”
Because the more he talked, the harder the invisible butterflies beat inside her stomach.
“Besides, where in the hell are we going to go?”
“I’ve got a new Range Rover and a nice set of keys to match,” Cross said.
She frowned. “You have your license already?”
Cross shrugged. “I’m almost finished with my hours and can take my road test, but for now … I’ve got a license that looks real enough to get me by.”
Jesus.
Catherine could only laugh. “That’s … wow.”
“The Range Rover was supposed to entice me to get in my driving hours. It certainly enticed me to do something.”
“How are you not locked in your room, grounded for life?” she asked.
Cross grinned wickedly. “Mostly, I do what I want, but sometimes, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
She could relate to that.
Far too well.
“So, you coming?” he asked.
Catherine drummed her fingers against the wall behind her. “There’s no reason for us to hang out, Cross.”
Except she wanted to.
Badly.
She just didn’t want to get herself mixed up in his brand of trouble, even if every part of her thought it would be all kinds of fun.
“I think there’s lots of reasons,” he replied, “starting with a conversation about why you broke my fucking heart.”
Catherine stiffened. “That was over a year ago.”
“So? Considering I kicked a guy’s ass for you, got a nice public shaming from Dina, and I still think it was worth it, you owe me a conversation. At the very least, Catherine.”
“A lot has changed. We’re not the same, Cross.”
Cross looked down at her, unflinching, gorgeous, and oh, so damn familiar. “I think a lot might have stayed the same, too.”
“You know, people are going to see us leaving together, and that’s only going to make things worse at school.”
“You’re under some kind of impression that I give a shit what people think—I don’t. Are you coming, or not?”
God.
Catherine quickly found she was not good at telling Cross no, mostly because she didn’t want to refuse him at all. She understood all too well what he meant about her breaking his heart, because in the process way back then, she’d broken her own heart, too. He probably didn’t know it, though.
“A Range Rover, you said?” she asked.
“All white,” he confirmed, “and black on black rims.”
“Let me find my brother first.”
Cross pointed to a large set of patio windows. “He’s dealing on the back deck.”
Well, that made things faster.
“And I’ll be outside,” Cross added.
Catherine quickly found her brother sitting on the railing. A lit cigarette dangled out of the corner of Michel’s mouth as he chatted with a guy Catherine didn’t recognize. He was too old to be in high school, she thought, yet he was at a party thrown by school-age kids.
Michel and the guy quieted as Catherine approached. “You better not want to leave yet because I’m still busy, Catherine.”
“Yeah, I can see how busy you are.”
“Everything good?”
Catherine nodded. “I guess.”
“What do you need, then?”
She peeked over her shoulder, but Cross was already gone out of sight. “Would you mind if I left for a bit? I’ll be back before you’re done, I promise.”
Michel landed to his feet on the deck. “Go where?”
“Not sure.”
“With who, exactly?”
“Cross Donati,” she said.
“Since when did you start dating him again?”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “I’m not.”
“Although, I bet your dad would like that,” the unknown guy said.
Michel waved a hand. “Shut up, Charlie.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“I told Ma and Dad I was bringing you here,” Michel said pointedly, “but not here for you to go somewhere else, Catherine. And you don’t have an enforcer to trail behind you tonight.”
“So don’t tell them. It’ll be fine—it’s just Cross, and they know him. I’ll be back before you’re done, like I said.”
Michel’s lips flattened into a grim line. “What if I said no?”
“Honestly, I’d probably go anyway. But you said check in, so I’m doing that before I do something else.”
“Yeah, I figured. Be back here before twelve,” Michel said. “Got it?”
It was only nine.
“Got it,” Catherine confirmed, already turning away.
“And tell the Donati principe to keep his fucking hands to himself,” Charlie called after her.
Catherine froze on the spot, unsure if she had heard the guy right. “What did you just say?”
Charlie smirked. “You heard me.”
Michel flipped his friend off, and then pointed down the deck. “Go somewhere for a bit, huh? Jesus, learn to shut your mouth.”
The guy stalked off, but Catherine didn’t move an inch.
Principe, he’d said.
Catherine heard it loud and clear, and she knew what that title meant. It meant the same thing when her very Italian, very criminal family called their children—her included—a principessa or principe.
Princess.
Prince.
A principe or principessa della mafia.
Catherine distinctly remembered when she first met Cross, his surname had been familiar to her. She recognized it as Italian, sure, but that didn’t automatically label someone like her. A surname didn’t make them affiliated—it didn’t mean they came from the same world and life she did.
“Michel?” Catherine asked.
“What?”
“Is the Donati family like ours? You know, like how we are?”
Michel raised a brow. “Damn near the same. Why?”
“Now you do, I guess. Does it make a difference?”
Not really.
A lot of things about Cross made much more sense, now. Catherine didn’t wonder why Cross had never told her, either. He was like she was—he would have been raised like she was. There were expectations and boundaries set out for her that outsiders would never experience for her family’s safety and privacy.
You didn’t talk about the family.
You didn’t talk about business.
Not to anyone.
It was a rule.
“Be back before twelve,” Michel reminded her.
Catherine was already walking away.
Cross shifted from second gear into third as he drove down familiar roads. Old buildings in need of repair passed them by, and the Range Rover’s headlights lit up the quiet streets of Brooklyn.
“This is not a great part of town,” Catherine said.
“No.”
“Do you spend a lot of time around here?”
“A bit,” he admitted. Catherine turned in the passenger seat to look at him, making Cross take his gaze off the road for a split second. A burning curiosity stared back at him. “What?”
“Did you know my brother was dealing drugs at school when he attended?”
“Catherine, I know which teachers will slip you a Xanax before an exam, and which ones will give you a grade to keep your spot on the team.”
She cocked a single brow. “Yeah, but that’s not what I asked.”
“My point just flew right over your head, didn’t it?”
“Don’t be an asshole, Cross.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I knew. I mean, everybody knows who to go to when you want to get something of a certain type. The Academy is full of rich kids with too much time and money on their hands, and parents that are too busy to pay attention. It’s not a big surprise.”
“That kids use drugs? No. That my brother was supplying? Kind of.”
“Like I said, to you, maybe.”
Though Cross was kind of shocked Catherine hadn’t known Michel Marcello had been supplying the Academy kids with whatever their poison of choice was for nearly as many years as he attended the place. Before him, it had been his cousin John, from what Cross understood. Since Michel was still around, and still had the time to deal, Academy kids still called on him when they wanted something to spike their fun.
Cross wasn’t sure who would pick up after Michel was done.
He also didn’t care.
“Is it not surprising to you because you know what my family is involved in?” Catherine asked quietly.
Cross made sure to keep his expression neutral as he replied, “I mean, that depends.”
“On what?”
“On how you want me to phrase what I know—do I know it because everyone knows the Marcello surname is attached with crime, or because so is mine?”
He didn’t miss the way Catherine nodded to herself and settled back into the passenger seat as though she had got her answer without asking it.
“But yeah,” he said, “that’s why I’m not surprised Michel deals.”
“Oh.”
Cross shrugged as he cut the wheel to turn off into an abandoned row of buildings that went on for a good block or two. Their destination was coming right up. “Somebody’s got to supply the demand, Catherine, and Michel happened to be the one with the right connections, and people knew where and who to go to. Just because Michel is brilliant in the book kind of way—or that’s what people say about him—doesn’t mean he’s dumb in other ways. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s probably got his own reasons for doing it. Who knows? Ask him.”
“I did. He said he likes money.”
“Shit, that’s a good reason, then.”
Catherine side-eyed him. “Do you?”
“Hmm?”
“Like money, I mean.”
Cross smirked. “I like it well enough.”
“Well enough to sell drugs?”
“Where is this conversation going?” Cross asked.
Catherine shrugged. “I’m curious—we come from the same world, don’t we? I know what that means to me. I’m privileged. I always have been. My family is respected, but not for reasons people talk about, and they’re feared, for those same reasons. It means sometimes my father’s face is on the news, or in the papers, and I have to pretend like it isn’t. I wonder what it means to you.”
“That’s not exactly the same question, Catherine. It is, in a way, but it isn’t at the same time. Do you get what I mean?”
“No.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because I’m a girl, and you’re very much not. I think you have a whole different perspective on everything just because of that, Cross.”
“Then yes,” he said in a murmur, “you know exactly what I mean. You want me to fill in details, that’s the difference.”
“Did you know who I was and who my family was before?”
“Yes.”
“And you never wanted to talk or ask about it at all?”
Cross waved a hand, and said, “We have rules, okay. We don’t talk—”
“About family or business, I know.”
“Then don’t ask.”
“I asked about you, so.”
Clearly, she was not going to drop the conversation.
“To me, it means my priorities are different at times,” Cross said quietly, “and not entirely the same as yours or an outsider’s might be. I have goals, but they won’t match yours. I have interests, but they’re not necessarily acceptable or appropriate. It means my morals are skewed sometimes, and I stretch boundaries a lot more than I should—usually until they snap all together. You’re right, it’s different because I’m a guy, but it’s not any less smothering, Catherine. Trust that.”
“I never said it was smothering.”
“But it can be.”
“Yeah, it can be,” she agreed.
“Do you really care?”
Catherine glanced over at him. “About what?”
“My last name. If I’m like you. Would it ever make a difference?”
“No.”
Cross grinned. “Oh?”
“But it might make it better, so yeah, maybe it would make a difference.”
He didn’t ask why. He didn’t really need to. It made things better because it was good to have someone who understood without needing to have everything explained.
“What is this place?” Catherine asked as he finally pulled the Rover to a stop.
Old, rusted train tracks started just twenty feet ahead of the Rover. The entire place was basically abandoned, with overgrowth piling up and buildings starting to fall down.
“Not really sure what it is,” Cross said, “but I learned how to drive stick back here a few months ago. Zeke got fucking hammered out here one night; I didn’t have a choice but to learn how to drive a stick shift real fast. Sometimes there’s parties out here, but not Academy kids—I only know a few of them, through Zeke. They drag race through here, too. Really just depends.”
“Nobody here tonight.”
“Nope. Too bad, though; these parties are way better than any Academy one I’ve been to.”
Catherine laughed. “You lie; you’re the king of the school, Cross. You’ve got more friends than—”
“I don’t like people all that much,” Cross interjected, “but they like me. I can’t help that.”
“You liked me,” she said.
Cross tipped his head to the side, catching Catherine in his line of vision. “Like, Catherine. And you’re not the same.”
Catherine stared out the windshield. “Do you bring other people here?”
“You mean people like—”
“Girlfriends.”
Cross barked out a laugh. “I don’t have girlfriends. Stop making me tell you that. And no, I don’t.”
“Would you bring me back? I mean, when there’s people and w
hatever?”
“Yeah,” Cross said without even thinking about it. He had the distinct feeling Catherine would enjoy it, for a whole bunch of reasons. “You only have to ask, you know.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
Catherine sighed. “I have to head back soon.”
“Don’t worry about it. And hey, stay away from pricks like Derik.”
“Pardon?”
Cross shrugged. “He’s not looking out for you in any way that doesn’t benefit him. He only wants what he can get from you because that’s what he sees as your worth, not what you’re willing to give. There’s a difference, Catherine. Just stay away from guys like him.”
“And what, be with guys like you?”
“I didn’t say that, either,” Cross murmured.
Catherine’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “Yeah, but you didn’t have to. Also, I kind of already figured that out. About him, I mean.”
“It’s more than just him.”
“I know,” she said simply.
Cross sat straighter in the seat, noting the time. Without a word, he put the Rover into first gear and pulled a U-turn on the old road.
“Would you teach me?” Catherine asked.
“To what?”
“Drive stick.”
Cross pumped the brake pedal just enough to slow the vehicle to a crawl. “Have you ever driven anything?”
“A side-by-side on vacation. Is it different?”
“A bit.”
A lot.
“It’ll take more than a five minute drive to learn,” Cross added, “but I can help, and you can get a feel for it, if you want.”
“Help how?”
He bent over the seat and unbuckled her belt. Not bothering to explain his motives, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his seat, and onto his lap.
“Gas, brake,” Cross said, nudging her foot to the pedals in question. “This is the clutch, and I’m going to handle that for tonight.” He put Catherine’s hand on the shifting lever, and his overtop hers. “This is where we shift from one gear to the next, up or down depending on the speed you want; you’re not going over second, so keep a light foot.”
“Wait, I need to shift, steer, watch the road, and—”
“Not wreck,” he said, chuckling, “and yeah, all at the same time. That’s not even all of it, it’s just what you’re going to do tonight, with me helping out. Also, you actually need to have at least one hand on the steering wheel to keep the car on the road, so maybe do that, babe.”