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1
When the bell rang announcing the end of the last period, all my classmates jumped out of their seats, despite Mrs. Morrison trying to say something about next week’s assignment. I felt bad seeing her ignored by twenty-five bratty adolescents with their noses up in the air, but she had to know what she signed up for when she decided to teach here. I liked the AP History class, but the mouse-like creature that was teaching it was not cut out for this. St. Joseph Academy was the most exclusive prep school in the state of New York – mostly because there weren’t a lot of people who could afford the tuition – but so were the students. Snobs, pompous, pretentious, you name it, and it could be found here. Predictable, of course, considering they were kids of officials, powerful business men and public figures. But not me, I wasn’t connected with any of that, but since half their daddies were on my brother’s payroll, I was fitting in just fine.
When people think about private school, they imagine classical music in the halls and a bunch of over achieving kids who will all secure a spot in an Ivy League college, and for the most part that was true, but it was also a no man’s land. You couldn’t send a student to detention for missing class or speaking during a course when they paid thousands of dollars to be there in the first place. I’ve always taken school seriously – I was valedictorian of my class since middle school – but this was my senior year, and I was planning to make the most of it before graduation because this pompous school was my window to the real world, a world outside mi famiglia.
I was walking down the tall hall, watching the sculpted gothic columns with my notebooks in my arms and the Prada bag my mom gifted to me a few weeks ago hanging on my shoulder when Miriam Wilson, the heiress of the luxury chain Wilson’s Resort and Spa, came next to me and bumped me with her shoulder. She and I, we weren’t enemies, but we weren’t friends either. We would sit together at lunch and sometimes grab a coffee afterschool to talk boys and magazines; we bumped into each other a couple of times at New York Fashion Week where both of us were present for the past couple of years, but that was it.
These people, they didn’t mean that much to me. I would not miss high school or my class mates after graduation, but I would miss the moments of running wild, sneaking away from class to catch a movie with no guards, or going to some party I wasn’t supposed to.
“Ugh, girl, I’m so jealous of your hair. I wish I could pull crazy colors like you do.”
The icy blond hair that was cut in a stylish way a little over my shoulders and cotton candy pink that was covering my tips had attracted compliments ever since I got it. It was chic, and I had Julio Gomez, from my cousin’s hair salon, to thank for it. He always made me look so pretty.
“Shut up, Miriam, you look perfect. What’s up?”
“Jason used his dad’s connection to get us into the Romano Sky Bar tonight. A terrace on the thirtieth floor in the middle of Manhattan, view over Bryant Park and the Empire State, and, most important, no ID check. You and me will drink our body weight in martinis tonight.” She was so excited, but I bit my tongue rather than tell her there was no drinking age in my family. Jason was the son of the president of New York City’s Chamber of Commerce, so it wasn’t surprising that he could get by with a few things here and there. “Just make sure you don’t dress like a child, ok? We need to look like sophisticated ladies.”
“Babe, I don’t know. I have to read The Color Purple for my lit class.”
“Cat, I swear to God, you’re the most boring rich girl I know.” Ah, if only she knew what living my life meant. “Just so you know, Nate will be there.”
Miriam elbowed me and smiled like a feline.
Nate McGregor, the star quarterback and boytoy millionaire. His parents owned some big transatlantic commerce company with their headquarters in Dublin, and because they were always out of the country, Nate was the ‘guy with the crib’. His house was always empty, so he threw all the good after parties. He was a pretty boy with dirty blonde hair that just discovered the gym a year ago and hadn’t left it ever since. I was not crazy about him, but I couldn’t deny that I liked the attention of the most popular guy in school. He fit right into my plan.
“I’m not making any promises, Mir, but I’ll call you later, ok?”
“Do me a favor and dodge that bodyguard of yours, ok? He’s hot and all, but he intimidates Jason, and that’s not good for his ego.”
I looked to the parking lot where Hugo was waiting in his brand new 4.6 HSE armored Range Rover and laughed under my breath. Undoubtedly, he was intimidating Jason. He could eat Jason for breakfast, bones and all.
“I’ll see what I can do about it.”
I wasn’t crazy enough to go through that much trouble for Miriam; she wasn’t all that fun to be around, and I’d seen her drunk before. Alcohol made her bitchy and inquisitive. The last time she started bombing me with questions about my family and what exactly it was that they were doing. I hated when that happened. They knew; the whole city knew, but sometimes my ‘friends’ felt the need to get specific.
“At least try, Catherinelle.”
“I will.”
With that, I left Miriam behind and walked to the car, throwing my bag in the back seat and jumping in the front next to Hugo, who was listening to some heavy west coast hip hop with his eyes closed and his head leaning back on the headrest. He completely ignored my presence, and I just sat there looking at him. I had gotten used to all the weird things he did.
Hugo Mustafa was a six-foot three mountain man. He had been around my family since before I was born, and I had never seen his parents, but I imagined his father to be the leader of a motorcycle club and his mother a sasquatch; that was the only combination that could justify him.
Hugo was a shredded man – I was surrounded by fit, good looking people, but he was the only one I knew with defined muscles on his neck. All the weight lifting was paying off for Hugo and so did the six-mile run he did every day. Those thighs? That ass? If he wasn’t my brother’s best friend and a known assassin, maybe I’d look twice. Ok, I admit it, maybe I did look once in a while. He was the sole essence of the word man: tall, dark, and rugged to the core in the most literal sense. He’d had one scar across his nose since he was sixteen and someone broke it with the buttstock of an AK-47 and one that crossed his lower lip that appeared the last time he was released from Ryker’s. All of that was reflected on his trashed soul.
The grey sweatpants and black tank top left his muscular arms and big chest to view, and I traced his tattoos with my eyes. They always intrigued me. Both his sleeves were made out of words, names, and passages from prayers, and on his chest, he had the words Sanctus Dominus written in a large font with dramatic letters. There was something thundering behind them, but I never had the guts to ask.
After a couple minutes, I got bored of watching and punched his shoulder, knowing very well it wouldn’t hurt him.
“Hey, big guy, are we going to stay here all afternoon?”
His stormy grey eyes snapped open, and he swallowed me whole with his enkindled gaze. I had gotten used to having Hugo around, even if I didn’t like it. There was no point in trying to reason with Gino about it so I learned to accept it, but no matter how much time we spent together, there were moments like this when I would look into his eyes and get dizzy. There was an intensity in his eyes, like he was holding thunderstorms captive behind his lids, that would make me catch my breath every time.
“Hello, princess. How was your day?”
He turned the car key in the dashboard, and the engine roared as he backed out of the parking lot. The car matched Hugo: fast, dangerous and massive.
“Do you ask because you care?”
