Page 43 of Vicious Intentions
The party fills the large living room with music echoing off the high ceilings as guests crowd together, drinks in hand. Conversations overlap, laughter rising and falling in waves, and no one pays attention to anything beyond the following greeting or toast.
“I drift toward the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors, keeping my movements casual as I slip between clusters of people. Beyond the glass, the backyard is washed in color, shades of pink, lavender, and orange bleeding across the sky.”
When I slide open one of the doors and step outside, the noise behind me instantly dulls. The cold greets me right away, sharp enough to bite, a reminder that March still belongs to winter more than spring. Patches of old snow linger along the edges of the yard, their surfaces dark and slick as the ice beneath them slowly melts.
I move carefully across the damp grass, my breath fogging in front of me as I pull my arms closer to my body. The sky deepens as the sun sinks lower, the colors growing richer by the second. The same colors that tell me what I already know. That it’s time. It’s time to see my friend.
However, as I stare at the woods behind the old Salvatore mansion, knowing that somewhere within them Raffaele is waiting for me, a sudden feeling of dread roots me to the spot.
Why won’t my feet move? Why am I hesitating? Raffaele’s my friend. My best friend. I should want to see him. It’s been three years since I last laid eyes on him. Surely seeing each other again should be cause for joy, not trepidation.
Yet fear still has its grip on me, holding me exactly where I stand. What if he sees me and I disappoint him somehow? What if he realizes he’s wasted three years on a friendship with a dud? Or worse, what if someone sees us?
If someone sees us, then he’s as good as dead.
Damn you, Rafe. What were you thinking?
“Anna?” I hear Marcelo’s girlfriend, Isobel, call out from behind me, snapping me from my spiraling thoughts.
“Izzie, hi,” I say, turning toward her, discreetly wiping the silent tears streaming down my face.
“Are you alright?” she asks, hurrying over to me.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I offer a meek smile.
“Are you sure? You don’t look like it.” She frowns, placing her hand on my back and rubbing it gently.
“It’s nothing really. I’m just… I don’t know. A little sad, I guess.”
Sad that I’m too much of a coward to do what I want. Sad that everyone has found their person, while I refuse to even go and see mine.
“Is it because it’s your birthday?” Isobel asks, mistaking the reason behind my sadness for something else. “Most girls would be excited about turning sixteen.”
“Is it only sixteen? I feel older than that.” Her frown deepens with my unsettling answer.
Damn it. Why did I have to go and say that for? It’s not like Isobel knows how I’ve grown up. I doubt Marcello has hadthe talkwith her about our family’s business yet. Not until he’s absolutely sure that she’s trustworthy. As far as she’s aware, I’m just your everyday sixteen-year-old girl. A girl who was raised with the kind of privilege only immense wealth provides. What baggage could I possibly have?
“I would have thought you’d be more excited,” she says, trying to cheer me up. “Most teenagers get cars at this age.”
“Not me. I get chauffeurs and bodyguards to drive me around,” I counter sullenly.
Damn it. There I go again being too damn transparent and truthful with my answers. But I can’t help it. All my nerves are shot. My usual composure weakened. All because of Raffaele and his unexpected visit.
“Yes, I heard that your parents are a little overprotective,” Isobel replies with a compassionate smile.
“That’s a generous way of saying it,” I sigh. “But I’m used to it. Besides, that’s not the reason why I’m a bit… off today.”
“What is it then? Why are you sad, Anna? Is it because of the party? Did your parents not let you invite your friends from school?”
What friends from school? I don’t even have bullies anymore.
After Stella and Marcello dealt with Alec and Tim last year, the rumor mill at Sacred Heart ran wild. People started saying my family must have killed them just for looking at me. Even Blaire’s clique—the ones who used to invent new ways to torture me—stay far away now, afraid they’ll be next on my family’s kill list.
No.
The only friend I have is somewhere in those woods waiting for me. Raffaele risked his life to come see me on my birthday, and here I am, going over all the reasons why I shouldn’t go to him.
My gaze drifts back to the woods, their darkening edge pulling at me more than Isobel’s attempt at conversation ever could.
