Each insult and insinuation is barbed with contempt. They flay old wounds wide open.
“You jerk,” I spit and lean forward so I can look him in the eye when I tell him to fuck off.
They’re cold, dark, and shuttered. He looks like a completely different person than the one I met on the elevator. I wonder who put that look in his eye. I know it’s not me. The disillusionment I see is deep-seated. Despite the warm May sea breeze passing through the tent, goose bumps replace my tingles.
“Do better research on your next target. Approaching me at an event like this was a dead giveaway about your motives. You should have bumped into me at the airport or something less obvious.” His voice is devoid of any emotion, his gaze moves to the dance floor. His gaze is observant but detached. “Hmm … it’s a shame, I think we would’ve had a great time together,” he says while he looks at me like I’m a car he’s thinking about buying.
I wonder for a minute if I’m being punked. I glance around the room. The music, the tinkle of silverware scraping plates, people shouting to be heard over the noise are still there. No camera crew is rolling in to surprise me.
Nothing changed. No one’s watching us. I look back at him.
“Are you serious?” I ask him. I look closely at him for a sign that maybe he’s kidding.
Nope, that disdain is real. He frowns and adjusts the cuffs of his jacket before he leans forward. “Let me spell it out.” His eyes skim over me again. “Based on your lack of … polish,” his eyes roam my body, from head to toe and a flush burns over my skin in their wake. “I’m assuming you’re new to this scene. All the regulars know better than to try a trick like this. This place is littered with rich men. I’m sure you’ll find one. You can thank me by calling out my name when you pretend he made you come,” he says without a hint of humor and adjusts his cuff links.
I clasp my purse to my chest in shock.
He looks back at me with complete disinterest.
“You’re the one who claimed to be the expert at landing rich men. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t look like a fool in front of your friends.” He leans his head in close like he’s sharing a secret. “Just a heads-up, they don’t seem to really like you very much,” he says.
My heart plummets to my toes.
“Were you listening to us?” I gasp in horror. We thought we heard a phone ring, but one of Cass’s debutante friends said it came from the terrace.
“It was hard not to when you were speaking at the top of your lungs,” he says.
I stare unseeingly at the room full of revelers who have no clue that this man is taking a pickaxe to my pride. I shake my head. He’s taken my words, spoken in a moment of pure self-preservation, out of context. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to explain myself to him.
“Don’t look so down in the mouth. You’ve been spared a night of pretending that you’re turned on by anything more than the diamonds in my watch.”
And just like that, he turns away and faces the front of the room again.
I don’t know whether to be angry, offended, sad, or ashamed. I settle on all of the above and they move through me like lava pushes its way past the earth’s crust. I stand up, step right in front of his face, and let them spill.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I snarl.
He has the nerve to look surprised that I’m still there.
“What?” I widen my eyes in an exaggeration of his own expression. “Did you think I was just going to slink away in shame?” I glare down at him. “I’m not the one who should feel ashamed. You are a pig.” I spit the word at him. He looks back at the dance floor.
“You don’t get to accuse me of being some sort of gold digger and then turn back to your entertainment like it’s not a completely unwarranted insult,” I say and nudge his shoulder with one of my fingers when he doesn’t look up. He glances up at me and sighs as if I’m tedious.
“Actually, I do get to do that. I just did. And, seriously,” his eyes flit over me from head to toe again. “Think about investing in your look. At least if you want to be someone to take out in public,” he says and turns his stony expression back to the dance floor. Those words spoken so casually, hit their target with the precision of fast flying bullets.
I imagine what it would feel like to slap that smug look off his face. But imagining is as close to satisfaction as I’ll ever get. I have enough problems without adding an arrest in Italy to it.
“And you should invest in fixing your terrible personality,” I snap, completely enraged by him.
“Sure. I’ll take your advice if you’ll take mine,” he says.
I bend down so I can put my face in his. I see a flare of heat in his eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s ire or desire. Because even as I face off with him and burn with real dislike, I can feel a tug between us. His mouth is inches from mine and I can’t keep my eyes off it. Before he shutters his expression again, he looks at my mouth the same way.
That bored, blank expression is back, and I pull back from him. “I don’t know what kind of upbringing you had that you feel like you can talk to someone the way you just talked to me. Your money doesn’t make you better than me or anyone,” I say.
“Hmm,” he says and stands up and takes a step toward me. The heated expression in his eyes makes me take a reflexive step backward.
“Hmm, what?” I ask
His hand darts out and he grips my hip before I can take a second step.
He trails a finger down my arm and wraps his fingers around my wrist. He presses the pads of his fingers to my pulse point.
“It’s a shame … you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and I can hear real regret in his voice. It offends me at the same time as it thrills me.
Damn him for being an asshole while looking the way he does.
“Let go of me,” I say, but I make no effort to free myself.
“I don’t want to,” he says quietly. “You don’t want me to, either.” His thumb strokes my pulse point and I shudder. I tug my arm free. No way will l give him the satisfaction of knowing that his touch is the most exciting thing I’ve felt in a long time.
“Tesoro dolce,” he murmurs.
“I don’t know what that means, but you better cut it out,” I warn him.
Because when he does, I want to stop and listen, even though I have no idea what he’s saying.
“Why? Don’t you like it?” he asks silkily.
“No, that’s probably the word for streetwalker or cum dumpster or something,” I grumble.
His hand skims my hip and the rest of my body quivers, throbs, tingles, and yearns for the same treatment.
“I can teach you. While I fuck you. I think you’d still let me,” he says and that wakes me up. I pull out of his grasp.
I cross my arms over my chest and glower down at him. “Right, you called me cheap, and now, you’re calling me easy? ” I say in my best offended Southern woman voice.
“I wasn’t calling you easy, but if you are …” He raises he eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll overlook the cheap and even take you back to my room,” he drawls with an amused smirk on his face.
I have never itched to slap someone more than I do right now.
“Fuck you!” I spit.
“See? We want the same thing,” he quips with a grin that’s cold as ice.
“You must be in a world of pain to act like that. You’re a total asshole and you should be ashamed that you take joy in trying to make people feel small. You failed, by the way. Goodnight.” I spin on my stupid heels and walk with as much ass shaking as I can back to my table.
“Ugh, who cares?” I mumble as I arrive back at my table full of strangers and no Cass.
“No luck?” my doggedly gossipy neighbor asks when I sit down. “Don’t worry, he looks like he would break you in half,” she says with a conspiratorial wink.
That’s exactly what I’d been hoping.
I drop down in my seat and grab one of the sesame rolls from the breadbasket
and slather it with the fancy butter that’s served with every meal here. I’m about to take another huge bite when I remember the little joint I dropped in my purse, and I decide that I’ll just do another one of the things on the Confidence Gone Wild list.
I grab my purse and head toward the back of the tent. When I get to his table near the rear exit, I give him as wide a berth as I can when I walk past him and push the flap of the tent open.
“Where are you going?” His hand is around my wrist and it brings me to a jerking halt that nearly sends me tumbling into his lap. I brace myself with a hand on his shoulder.
“None of your business, you rude man. And if you’re thinking about apologizing, you can save it. I’ll never forgive you.” I yank hard.
He doesn’t let go.
“It’s not safe out there. The path is uneven and the steps are slick,” he says.
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll make sure to break my neck,” I say with as much asperity as I can muster, and he has the grace to wince.
“What? I thought you’d like the thought of that,” I grit out and pull my arm again—in vain. “Let go. You can’t manhandle me like this,” I say when his grip only gets tighter.
“I’m not manhandling you,” he says, but his grip on my arm loosens, “and I’m not letting you go until you turn around and head back into the party. Think of all the potential benefactors you’ll miss out on if you plunge to your death,” he says sarcastically.
“Are you actually making fun of me?” My anger is reaching a boiling point. I need to get out of here. I narrow my eyes at him. “If you don’t let me go, I’m going to scream,” I threaten.
He lets go immediately, and I see a flash of worry in his eyes. I recall my gossipy table-mate’s comments about him and his wife and immediately feel guilty.
“I wasn’t really going to scream. I just wanted you to let go,” I say quickly. Then I Square my shoulders and look down my nose at him. “Enjoy being miserable. Sorry I ever met you. Goodbye,” I say and turn to leave.
“If you insist on going, I’ll go with you,” he says and starts to stand up.
“No, you will not,” I say and rush out of the tent before he’s fully on his feet.
I slip my nude sling backs off my feet and fumble until I have a good grip on the railing of the staircase. It’s dark and the moon is the only source of light, but the path is completely canopied in trees so in the places where the leaves are dense, it’s pitch black. The sound of the sea is very close; the breeze whips up the skirt of my salmon-colored dress. I love this dress. I can’t believe he insulted the way I’m dressed.
“For God’s sake, wait. This is actually completely crazy,” he calls after me.
“Then why don’t you go back to where you were actually being a jerk?” I call back over my shoulder.
I pull my phone out of my purse and fumble to find the flashlight button. The light is comforting, and I take one more step before I look back.
“Confidence, come back before you get yourself killed,” he shouts, and he actually sounds concerned.
He’s good.
“Just one less evil gold digger in the world, right? Leave me alone.” I grip the rail and take another step. My heart and foot plunge simultaneously. There’s nothing but air under my foot.
“Woaah!” I find my balance quickly. I glance down to see the gently lapping waves of a small inlet. I sigh in relief and sag against the rail.
“No, Confidence!” is the last thing I hear before the awful crack that seems to split the night in half. The entire rail collapses underneath my weight, and I fall backward off the side of the cliff. My scream is swept up by the wind and carried off in a soundless current.
I close my eyes and imagine the sea rushing up to meet me. The last thought before my world goes black is that I wish he’d at least kissed me before he opened his mouth and ruined it.
THE LEDGE
HAYES
I break into a sprint when I hear the crack of the wooden railing. My stomach sinks like a twenty-pound stone in water. I slow down just in time to stop myself from following her over the ledge. I stand in the spot where I’d seen the flutter of pink fabric before she disappeared. One shoe and her small gold handbag are scattered on the ground close to where she had been standing. I close my eyes, count to three, and prepare myself for whatever I might find.
It happened so fast. I know that it’s a long drop from there to the shallow pool of water that’s been formed by erosion.
Trepidation and horror make my heartbeat slow down even while it thuds hard against the cavity of my chest. I hold my breath and look down.
Relief floods me, fast and wild, and it makes me dizzy. Her fall was broken by a ledge jutting out of the side of the stone face of the cliff. This cliff has dozens of them. It’s an elite rock climber haven, and every fall, just when the weather starts to clear and cool, they descend to risk their lives climbing cliffs like this all over Tuscany.
The sound of the sea roaring is gone, and I realize that it hadn’t been the sea I’d been hearing. It was the rush of my own blood as I imagined the worst. It’s actually very quiet here. The water laps gently on the rocky shore, the waves break in the distance. Behind me, the strains of music from the tent create a strange dichotomy. They have no idea what’s happening out here. And, I’d like to keep it that way as long as I can.
I pull my phone out of my breast pocket before lying on my stomach. I slide forward until my head dangles off the ledge, and I can see her clearly. She’s a little less than ten feet down. Not too far, but not close enough that I could reach her by extending my arms.
She’s moved since I first spotted her. She’d been lying on her back, legs splayed. Now, she’s curled up in a fetal position. That she’s been able to move herself is a very good sign.
“Confidence,” I call down. She doesn’t speak, but whimpers loudly and nods.
I assess the ledge. The thick coating of moss covering it is a blessing and a curse. It saved her from landing on hard concrete, but it’s also slick and will make moving around on it treacherous. The piece of rock she landed on looks to be about ten feet long and eight feet wide. It’s not small, but there are only about five feet between her and its ledge.
If she rolls over a full body turn, she’ll fall off. I glance up at the sky. It’s dark, but the moon is very bright. The cloudless sky is good news. But even that comes with the caveat of the unexpected showers that are very commonplace in Tuscany during the summer.
I need to get help in a hurry.
I dial the preprogrammed number for the villa’s security and explain to Marco, as succinctly as I can, what happened. Just as I hang up, she moves her foot, and a loud, gut-wrenching moan floats up to me on the wind. I drop my phone next to me and clear my throat before I speak.
“Confidence, can you hear me?” I shout down.
She nods, and puts a hand on her head and starts to roll her shoulders.
“Don’t move, please!” I shout. She freezes immediately.
“The ledge is five feet from your left. Don’t go in that direction. Can you roll backward until you touch the cliff wall?” I ask. “In fact, if you could just not move at all, it would be best. Does anything hurt?” I ask her.
“Oh my God!” she shouts tearfully. “Everything hurts. So much.” She cries, but she does what I ask. When she reaches the cliff wall, she scrambles up to sitting and looks up and over her shoulder at me.
I can only see the shadow of her profile in the inky moonlit dark. “I’m really scared,” she says softly, and the vulnerability in her voice twists my gut.
“I know,” I breathe and then realize I whispered it. “Help will be here soon, okay?” I say in a louder voice.
“You’re rich, right?” she calls up to me.
“What?” I call back in surprise.
“You said so,” she presses impatiently. “It had better be true. Sending a dead body overseas is expensive. My mother doesn’t have the money.” She�
��s talking quickly, but her voice is thick with emotion and pain. “Since it’s your fault this happened, you have to promise to pay to send me home, so I can be buried next to my grandparents and as far away from my father as possible,” she says.
“You’re not going to die. It’s lucky I’m here,” I call down.
“Yeah, in the same way it’s lucky to be mauled by a bear,” she yells. The bark of laughter that springs straight from my gut, surprises me. And she has a sense of humor.
“I don’t know how that’s lucky, but we’ve already learned that you and I don’t share a lot of common perspectives,” I joke back.
“I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I’m about to die!” she screams, and the pitch of terror in her voice is enough to squelch my little burst of levity.
“You’re not going to die,” I tell her.
“I will never forgive you. Not for what you said and not for killing me. I will haunt you from the grave,” she shouts. I remember about Gigi’s threat earlier and almost laugh. Almost, but I don’t dare. Not yet.
“I haven’t asked forgiveness. I gave you an honest assessment. And for the final time, you’re not going to die,” I tell her.
“What do you mean for the final time?” she cries up to me. “You mean you’ll stop reassuring me? You’d just let me sit here and panic about dying and not try to make me feel better?” She’s nearly screaming and her words are punctuated by sobs.
“You’re making yourself hysterical,” I call down in a voice that I hope doesn’t betray my unease.
“You’d be hysterical if you were the one down here facing impending death,” she cries angrily.
“I promise you’re not going to die,” I repeat.
“Don’t say that. You can’t promise that. Everyone dies. I had a feeling something significant would happen while I was here,” she says mournfully. “Twenty minutes ago, I thought it was that I would get to have a fun little fling with a sexy stranger. Hahaha, what a joke,” she cries.
The Rivals Page 6