RAHUL
Rahul leaned back in his padded velvet chair, a glass of bubbly in one hand that he was just holding for show. “And that’s when I said, ‘Martin, I think he said Bugatti, not Bogota.’ ”
There was a swell of laughter around the circular table, which was set with a cut-glass vase of taupe-colored roses. All of Caterina’s friends and their parents were drinking in his every word, their eyes sparkling with mirth. They glanced at one another as if to say, Where did she find this gem of a young man? He caught her eye and Caterina grinned—actually grinned—and then he felt her hand find his under the table and squeeze once before letting go.
Rahul’s breath stuttered for just a moment at this physical contact that was meant just for him, not for anyone else’s eyes, not as a performance. It was all his, to keep and cherish. Then he blinked, catching himself, and cleared his throat. “Did I tell you all about the time I got stranded at an overwater bungalow in Tahiti?” And all their faces turned eagerly toward him again, like flowers seeking the sun.
The Following Saturday Night: Outing Number 6
RAHUL
He barely had to look at himself in the mirror anymore when he got dressed; he knew precisely at what angle to lace his shoes, how much foundation to apply to that divot on his nose. Rahul opened up the hair gel—the last part of his dressing-up routine—and frowned. The gel was more than halfway down the small jar. He’d have to remind Caterina to go with him to get more from Oliver. As he smoothed it into his hair, he considered his reflection, thinking, Almost there. The gel would take him all the way. It was funny, but he couldn’t smell its distinct scent anymore. He was getting used to it.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed with a text from Leo.
come watch endgame in the movie room with us, it said. grey jaya and de are all here
Thinking for a moment, Rahul wrote back, Sorry, on my way out to a thing. Next time!
you’re a busy man, Leo wrote, and Rahul knew it was a question he was expected to answer.
It’s just tonight, he typed back, even though he really didn’t have the time to get into a discussion with Leo.
but it is not, came the response. you are busy all the time now
If only he could explain to Leo why he was busy. It would make things so much easier. But of course, that was completely out of the question. He’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it. Don’t know what to say, he typed. I have things I need to do.
we all have things we need to do. but we make time for our friends. or at least we should
He could tell Leo was getting mad. But to be honest, so was he. Why was Leo acting so self-righteous? Didn’t he know that Rahul had always, always made a point to hang out with him? Couldn’t he deduce that if Rahul was off doing other things now, they had to be important? Life-changingly important, even?
Don’t remember you being so righteous when you blew me off to chase Lila around at the spring ball last year, he typed back. On principle, Rahul made it a point to never bring up old hurts. There was no point. But Leo was annoying him with his condescending bullshit.
Before he could get an answer back, knowing it’d just be something that would irritate him even more, Rahul slipped his phone back into his pocket and went to find Caterina at the usual Denver hotel where they stayed when they had events to attend. He couldn’t afford to be in a bad mood tonight.
His phone rang with a different chime than the one used for his text messages. He pulled it out to see a Google alert he’d set up for the terms “Caterina LaValle and RC.” Yet another picture of him and Caterina, this one with his arm around her waist as they exited the Ritz after that celebrity auction event a few days ago. More speculation about their relationship, where they’d met, whether RC had dated Taylor Swift at one point and whether her latest breakup song was about him. Smiling, he put his phone away once again. It was all finally working.
CATERINA
“And this is an underground celebrity club?” Rahul asked as Pietro, her driver, pulled up into the side street and parallel parked seamlessly.
Pietro had been a racecar driver in Italy once upon a time; Papa had poached him to come work for him when he was close to retirement, and he spent his days now shuttling Caterina around wherever she wanted to go. In Italy, his nickname had been “El Furio” or “The Fury.” But he’d vowed to Caterina’s father that El Furio would never make an appearance when he was carting Caterina around, and he’d kept his word. In some ways, Pietro was like a nanny she actually liked.
“Yes,” Caterina explained patiently. Then, narrowing her eyes, she added, “But it’s not literally under the ground. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Um, yeah, of course I know that,” Rahul said after a suspiciously long pause, studiously adjusting the sleeve of the mint-colored cashmere sweater she’d bought him at Ralph Lauren when she was shopping for a dress.
Pietro caught Caterina’s eye in the mirror and she saw laughter there.
She sighed. Pietro was always judging her dates, although he said he was “Team RC” if the options were him or Alaric. Caterina turned back to Rahul. “It’s a club that regular people don’t know about. Celebrities frequent it a lot. It’s a place to hang where they aren’t going to be bothered for autographs or photographed.”
Rahul’s eyes lit up. “And it’s called Evanescence?”
He was incredibly attractive, she realized again. It couldn’t all be the hair gel, could it? There was something about the essence of him that was undergoing a metamorphosis, as if he were shifting and broadening and growing. Becoming something that was always inside him, coiled up and waiting for someone to come along with air and water and sunlight, to allow it to blossom.
“Correct. So just remember, no matter how famous the celebrity you see, don’t gawk. And don’t act nervous. Just be—” She’d almost said “just be yourself.” But that wouldn’t work at all.
“Just be RC,” Rahul said, meeting her eye. He understood.
Caterina nodded, feeling very slightly bad. Rahul was a good person. And he was changing who he was for her, to fit in with her social circle better. Pietro, who had an instinctual grasp of when conversations were over (or rather, when Caterina considered them to be over), was opening up her door to the icy night air.
“I’ll be back for you at one,” he said quietly in Italian, and she nodded. It was one of the things she liked best about having an Italian driver—those touches of home, of her language.
Once Pietro had gone, she walked forward, toward a little alley between two squat brick buildings that were overcome with dead ivy.
“Where are we going?” Rahul looked around, his hands curled into fists as if he might need to suddenly jump at a mugger and defend Caterina. Caterina smiled inwardly; she appreciated the display of chivalry even if she knew she had a better chance of fighting off a mugger using just her words than Rahul did using any weapon at his disposal.
“It’s down this alley.” She walked quickly forward, looking for the battered wooden door that would never cause a raised eyebrow unless you knew what you were looking for. About ten yards into the alley, she stopped. There it was, peeling blue paint and all, just as she remembered it. She’d only been here once before, after Oliver at CdT had told her about it. He was terrifically adept at keeping his finger on the pulse of high society, and Caterina appreciated it. Good help, when you could find it, was truly invaluable. “This is it.”
“Are you sure?” Rahul sounded nervous. A brisk wind picked up, kicking brittle leaves and a glass bottle down the alley, a sonorous nighttime melody.
Caterina knocked on the door, three sharp raps. A moment later it opened a crack, and a tall, pale man dressed in a black suit appeared. She could hear the music in the distance, thumping and moving against her eardrums like a living thing.
The man waited, not saying a thing. Rahul glanced at Caterina, obviously confused.
“It’s a fine night for stargazing,” Caterina said, and
the man nodded and stepped aside.
“Wait.” Rahul walked behind her down a dark hallway with deep burgundy carpeting and paintings of people vanishing into smoke on the walls. “Was that a code phrase? Like in Kingsman?”
Caterina eyed him. “I never watched that movie. I don’t like Colin Firth.”
“You don’t? I thought all girls liked him. Mr. Darcy and stuff.”
They came to a heavy wooden door with an elaborate brass handle, and Caterina grasped it. “The one time we spoke, he had bad breath,” she said, and then pushed the door open.
Rahul’s—RC’s—eyes went wide.
“Don’t gawk.” Caterina spoke sharply but quietly, and his eyes returned to their normal width.
She tried to see the club from RC’s perspective. She’d taken him to a few upper-class events these past couple of weeks, but this was different. Here, they were in the league of their peers, rather than their peers’ parents. There was no stuffiness here, no gaudiness or display of old wealth. Perhaps that made it slightly more intimidating. RC would have to fit in with people who were more his age, something, she knew, Rahul had historically found impossible.
“It’ll be all right,” she said as they looked around at the low-slung tables that were shaped like hammered copper drums and old weathered wood barrels. The seating was all floor cushions and low divans studded with sequins and bright threads of color. From the ceiling hung mismatched crystal and gold chandeliers in jewel tones. At the far corner was an enormous bar, its countertop made of an uncut natural gray stone that sparkled with embedded fibers of gold and copper. There were five bartenders of different genders and ethnicities, all of them supermodel-level beautiful.
“Seven,” RC breathed into her ear, and Caterina felt goose bumps rise on her arms, her pulse picking up. That hadn’t happened since the beginning of her and Alaric’s relationship. Interesting. Perhaps she’d missed male company more than she’d realized. “I see seven different A-list celebrities, and I haven’t even scanned the entire room yet.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, eager not to show him the effect he had on her. “Act naturally,” she said, emphasizing each syllable. “That’s the key.” She gestured to an empty divan. “Let’s sit here and catch our breath for a moment.”
They sat, RC hesitating a moment before remembering her lessons on how to sit on a low chair and still look poised. He got it in one try, though, and Caterina was pleased.
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “This is… I had no idea places like this even existed.” A slow smile spread across his face as his eyes darted from chandelier to bar counter to the cluster of trust-fund celebrities’ kids who’d be making their way over here in a few moments. Caterina knew nearly all the people in that group. “I like it.”
“That’s different,” Caterina remarked, taking in his well-coiffed hair that she didn’t even have to help him with anymore. “Do you remember how you felt about the Hindman Gala?”
RC waved an airy hand. “I was an amateur then. I still have a long way to go, but I’m getting used to this. And I’m really liking it.” He turned to her, his eyes glittering. “I’m good at it, aren’t I? Do you think I fit in well?”
“You know the answer to that.” Caterina raised her eyebrows. “You’ve read the same articles I have.”
He sat back against a peacock-blue cushion and smirked. “Yeah, I guess I have. You know, Rahul could never cut it in a place like this. But RC… he was made for this. No, scratch that. This place was made for him.” Raising a hand, he gestured to a waitress with a move as fluidly practiced as if he’d been doing it his whole life.
Caterina studied his profile as the waitress approached to take his order. His chiseled jaw, his long eyelashes, his thick, silky hair, the easy, confident manner with which he occupied his space. It was exactly what she’d wanted him to be; it was precisely what she needed to show Alaric up. Everything was working perfectly. It was like a flawless windup world she’d created from scratch. And yet… the way he’d said Rahul’s name so disparagingly, as if he were speaking of someone else entirely. The way he was so quick to want to discard Rahul, like an old skin he was molting off. Something about it felt wrong, somehow. Yes, she’d wanted RC to fit in here. But that didn’t mean she thought Rahul was bad. But was that what he was thinking? She opened her mouth to say something—what, she didn’t know—when she was interrupted.
“Caterina. So nice to see you again!”
CHAPTER 11
CATERINA
Caterina turned to see Mia Mazzanti, whom she’d met the night of the Hindman Gala, standing by her table. Tonight she wore an off-the-shoulder cream dress, probably from a department store, with a gold belt cinching in the waist. A small gold Coach purse hung off her shoulder.
“Mia.” Caterina smiled, surprised to see the other girl again, and gestured to an unoccupied floor pillow next to her. “Will you join us?”
“I think I have a better idea.” Turning to RC, Mia said, “Do you know Everett McCabe?” She gestured to a Black boy in the group she’d left, the same group Caterina had noted before. “He’s David McCabe’s son, and he was pretty interested in meeting you.” She turned to Caterina. “We can all go over there if you want? I know a bunch of them wanted to say hi to you, too, Caterina.”
RC’s eyes widened. “Wait. David McCabe? As in the director of the Firestar movies?” His voice squeaked on the word “Firestar.”
Caterina gave him a warning look. The Firestar movies grossed hundreds of millions of dollars every time they came out, but that was information that should be marveled at only internally, if at all.
Rearranging his face, RC adjusted his sweater. “Sure,” he said much more calmly. “We could go say hi. If you guys want, I mean.”
“Oh, if we want. Of course.” Caterina tried to keep the smile out of her voice but wasn’t sure she completely succeeded. “Well, I certainly do want.” She turned to Mia. “Shall we?”
She stood and was followed by Mia. The three of them made their way to the group, where immediately there was happy shrieking.
“Cat!” Harper Ingall broke off from the group and gathered her in a hug. She was wearing her red curly hair pinned to one side, and her pink chiffon dress made her look like a chic cupcake, in the best way. Her eyes were shining with genuine joy. “I’m so happy you’re here! It’s turning into this big impromptu reunion of the Riviera crowd!” She giggled. “Remember that vacation?”
A waitress came by, handing Caterina her usual honey lavender gin cocktail and Rahul the lemonade he’d ordered. Mia ordered a ginger beer.
“Oh, I remember.” Caterina smiled once the waitress was gone. She glanced at Mia, remembering her manners. “About two years ago, all of our social circle ended up at the Italian Riviera over the summer. It wasn’t planned that way; it was like all our parents had the same idea and wanted us out of their hair at the same time.”
Harper laughed. “All I remember is drinking my weight in strawberry juice. Those villas were to die for too. The views!”
Mia’s eyes sparkled. “It sounds exciting.”
“All I remember is that I lost my bracelet at that restaurant, remember? We looked everywhere and it had just… vanished. I was so sure Papa would kill me—it had been a sixteenth birthday present—but he was so sweet about it.” It was something that surprised her constantly about her father; he was endlessly forgiving of her mistakes.
“Oh, I do remember that!” Harper said. “We all felt so bad for you. And the manager helped you look for such a long time, poor man.” Then, realizing at the same time as Caterina that Mia wasn’t part of the conversation anymore, she turned to her. “Have you been to the Riviera?” Harper asked her kindly. “It’s one of my favorite places in the world.”
“A time or two,” Mia replied. They waited, but she didn’t supply any more information. Perhaps she was shy about talking about herself—or even intimidated. Her attire seemed to suggest she wasn’t at all at the
level of most of Caterina’s social circle.
“How do you two know each other?” Caterina gestured between Harper and Mia, hoping to draw Mia out a bit more.
“Oh, we don’t!” Harper chirped as the waitress returned and handed Mia a copper mug of ginger beer. “We just met tonight, but I can tell Mia’s going to fit into the group so well. She was an absolute lifesaver when I lost my phone earlier. Apparently, I dropped it and didn’t even realize it. She brought it over to me!”
“Really? That’s so nice of you, Mia.” Caterina took a slow sip of her honey lavender cocktail, studying the girl over her glass. “So, are you taking a gap year from college now?”
“Oh yes. I’m not ready to dive back into school just yet,” Mia replied, waving a free hand. The other was cupped loosely around her drink. “I moved so much for my dad’s career that I want to call the shots for a little while.”
There was a tap at Caterina’s shoulder, and she turned to see a short Indian woman in a cream silk shirt, black pants, and square spectacles smiling at her.
“Roubeeni.” Caterina bent to air-kiss the reporter. “How wonderful to see you.”
“And you!” Roubeeni beamed at the three of them. “Harper, I’m so excited to be able to talk to you at your Aspen home soon. I’m sure it’s going to be fun.”
“Me too,” Harper replied, a bright smile on her face. “I can’t wait. Grace says she’ll have a sneak peek of her new collection there if you want to look at it.” Grace Ingall, the famous photographer, was Harper’s mother. Time had called her this generation’s Ansel Adams, though according to Harper, Grace had managed to take that as an insult.
“That would be fabulous,” Roubeeni said, raising her hand, which had a buzzing cell phone in it. “Well, I’m off the clock now, as I know you all are, so I’ll leave you to it. Talk soon!”
Harper turned to Caterina when she was gone and pulled an apologetic face. “I’m sorry. I know the party was supposed to be just us all hanging out, but Grace really wants as much publicity as she can get.” Lowering her voice, she added, “There’s a rumor going around that her Paris showing isn’t even going to sell out this year. She’s freaking out.”
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