Page 133 of Be With Me
A cold, slimy feeling settled in my stomach. “You’re joking.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re very handsome. You know that, don’t you?”
Yeah, I knew that. Girls at school had always said yes when I asked them out. I never struggled for attention. But right now, I wished I could disappear. Fade into the background. Become invisible.
“She’ll be at the party tonight,” Mom said matter-of-factly. “Her other weakness—besides younger men—is her love of climbing the social ladder. I met her a few months ago, and we’ve become…fast friends.”
I blinked. “Doesn’t she know who you are? I wouldn’t think the police chief would want his wife spending time with our family.”
“I told her it’s all unsubstantiated claims. That people judge based on old history, not the truth. That seemed to resonate with her—for reasons we can probably imagine.”
I looked back down at the photo still clenched in my clammy hands, the edges curling under the pressure of my grip. “And what do you want me to do?”
“When she arrives, I’ll introduce you,” Mom said. “Talk to her. Be charming. Offer to show her the art gallery. And when you’re alone in there, I want you to kiss her.”
“What if she doesn’t want me to?” A million tiny worms crawled under my skin.
Mom took the photo from me and slid it back into the drawer. “She will.”
* * *
The party started at seven, and by eight, the penthouse was packed with guests. Overlapping voices, laughter, and the clinking of glasses filtered through the air.
Dad wasn’t around—he had been called away to Italy on business—and my brothers were nowhere to be found either. I hovered near the bar nursing a beer, too nervous to mingle with anyone. My eyes scanned the room, watching for the woman Mom had shown me earlier.
At around 8:15, she arrived.
“This is my youngest son, Romolo,” Mom said, gently guiding me toward her.
The woman looked a little younger than she had in the photo, though still like someone’s mom—a friend’s mom. Her gaze swept over me, from my head to my shoes, before settling on my face. Her eyes shone with something I couldn’t quite read, and her lips curved into a smile.
“Romolo,” she said, her voice soft. “That’s a beautiful name. So nice to meet you.”
She slid her hand into mine, and her fingers were cool against my palm. If she noticed how clammy it was, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she seemed fascinated by my face, staring at me so intently it was like she was committing me to memory.
Self-consciously, I wiped my free hand over my freshly shaved jaw. I was still unable to grow a decent beard, so I always made sure to get rid of the wispy patches that cropped up every few days.
“Is this your summer between high school and college?” Alana asked.
“Yeah, I just graduated last month,” I said, “but I’m not going to college.”
“Excuse me,” Mom interrupted with a polite smile. “I have to greet a few other guests.”
“Of course.” Alana barely acknowledged Mom's departure. Her gaze never left mine. “How come?”
I shrugged, shifting my weight. “I think I’ll just help my dad with some of his businesses. He owns a lot of companies, and he likes having family he can trust running them.”
She laughed. “Well, you must be a very smart young man if he trusts you to jump right in. Graduated with good grades?”
I gave a modest nod. “I did all right.”
“I used to be a teacher, you know,” she said, turning her wineglass in her hands. “I taught math and accounting to twelfth graders.”
“You don’t teach anymore?”
Her smile didn’t waver, but something in her eyes cooled. “No, I don’t.”
“Do you miss it?”
