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“Okay, that is so not cool.” I stepped carefully around the leopard and took a seat on a beige loveseat facing my aunt. She was looking relaxed in a flowing dressing gown, tiny slippers, and only a few rings. “Were you taking a nap?”
“A nap? Goodness no, boy, naps are for infants and the elderly. I am resting before attending a dinner party this evening. One that you will escort me to.”
“Oh, I don’t think I can do that. I was hoping we could go to La Festa dei Leoni to see Donvino at work and—”
“Arlo, that can be done another time if you so desire. Tonight is a birthday fete for the wife of Lorenzo Ercolano, who is the president of the Ercolano Steel Works. People attending will be those who you need to meet and impress. Please make sure you are ready by eight and dress accordingly.”
That pissed me off instantly. “I would much rather—”
“It is far past time for you to understand that what you wish is not always what you get.”
Her voice cracked like a whip. “Now, stop this silliness, wipe that pout from your face, and act like the man that this family needs you to be.”
“Fuck that leopard,” I snarled, shot to my feet, and stormed from the salon. Like hell was I going to some snotty ass birthday party for some old bitch and her old bastardly steel magnate husband. Ginerva could glower and dictate all she wanted. I was going into Florence tonight to see Donvino in his waiter garb and there was nothing my aunt could do about it.
***
Right. Seemed reminding me that my trust fund hung in the balance was enough to have me ready by eight and in a suit that arrived at the villa at six p.m. via messenger. When I first heard the motorbike I flew down the stairs, leaving my sulk and IG posts behind, only to see that the biker was not Donvino, just some poor dude bringing me a package from Cavelli.
Sighing at my lack of backbone when money was mentioned, I carried the box to my room, opened it, and scowled. The suit was beautiful. Stylish, Italian-cut, black slacks and jacket, with a gorgeous red corset. I ran a finger over the satiny corset, then cussed out my aunt for plying me with clothes. I was such a designer strumpet.
At eight, I was escorting my aunt out the front door, sulking prettily but looking like a few million bucks. She, as well, was the picture of sophistication in a black draped silk-chiffon gown with a deep orange shawl, slim Gucci belt, and tiny flats. Black pearls rode on her wrists, fingers, and earlobes, glowing in the lamplight as we slid into the rear of a Bentley.
“You look quite presentable this evening, Arlo,” Ginerva mentioned as she struggled with the seatbelt. I buckled her in, got a nod from the grand dame, and returned to my snit. I was a snit expert for all the good they did me.
“Thank you,” I replied, nose in the air.
“Your father will be quite pleased when I relay that you have made the acquaintance of Signor Ercolano. His family and ours have been close for several generations.”
I glanced her way to see her seated straight as a sprig, cane resting in her hands, her glasses nowhere to be found.
“I’d much rather be spending the night in Florence eating out and visiting clubs,” I icily replied. Her exhalation spoke volumes.
“As one matures, one finds that one cannot do what one wishes all the time. Life is not lived on whims and escapades. Life is work, responsibility, attrition, and devotion to the church as well as one’s family. You are no longer a small boy, Arlo, you are a man who is next in line to—”
“I have no interest in taking over this damn company! And as for my father being proud, who gives a shit?!” I snarled, trying my best to ignore the gasp from Alessio in the front seat. My aunt leveled her chin at me, her eyes snapping.
“You should care greatly about what your father thinks. He is your sire. He has done his best to give you all the advantages he could, and you have done nothing but bring shame to him and the Bonetti name. That needs to change. You must learn respect for your elders.”
“Yeah, no, don’t pull that old ‘you have to forgive family for everything because they’re family’ crap because no one buys that anymore. My father is a toxic icicle person who cares about nothing. He is a cold-hearted ass who ignored me for years as he buried himself in work and travel, leaving me to fend for myself with a nanny who was just as heartless as he is. I could not care less if he’s proud of me or if he hates my guts. All I want is to get through this miserable year in this overly hot country, get my money, and move as far away from olives and la famiglia as one can get.”
The car grew as silent as a tomb. My great-aunt stared at me as if she was on the verge of either hugging the poor woeful child or cracking me with her cane. I wanted neither, to be honest.
“This is not the time or place to show your insolence. We will pretend that outburst of temper did not occur.”
“Suits me,” I snapped, crossed my arms over my chest, and stared out the window as we climbed winding roads. Alessio turned on some music, the words in Italian, operatic voices. Ginerva and I rode the rest of the way to the Ercolano estate in crippling silence.
I might have been impressed with the multi-million dollar home sitting on a sidehill with a stunning view of Florence at night. Not tonight. I was too mad to admire the home of one of the wealthiest men in Italy. One expansive villa with gardens, pools, and limos was the same as the other if you asked me.
“Arlo, please act respectfully tonight,” Ginerva whispered as we crept to the front doors, the line of elegant cars moving torpidly. “I realize that your generation and mine have different views of things, but one thing that never changes is to be respectful to people.”
I threw her a look, and she met my glance.
“I’ll do what I do best,” I told her, opening the door as soon as Alessio was near the front of the mansion and then exiting the Bentley. I moved around the car, opened the door, and helped my aged great-aunt out of the back. She nodded at me, just once, as I steadied her and led the way to the man and woman greeting guests. I smiled at the hosts. Older couple, her dripping in diamonds and Chantilly perfume, he bald as a cue ball but sporting a ridiculous black mustache.
Hands were shaken, smiles exchanged. As we walked into the foyer, the crystal chandelier above us lit the entryway with subtle light. A man in a tuxedo took our coats. A maid arrived with a tray of bubbly. My aunt declined. I didn’t. I knocked the flute back, squared my shoulders, and escorted Ginerva into a packed ballroom. At least a hundred people were here, most in designer suits and gowns, the air filled with tunes from a string quartet in the corner by a set of doors opened to a garden.
“If you would like to mingle, please be mindful of our name at all times. I wish to sit over on the bench with Señorina Cappello for now.” Ginerva tugged on my arm. My sight went to my tutor, who was sitting in a small cluster of padded benches filled with elderly women. They all spied us at the same time, their dark eyes flaring as I delivered my aunt to the old hennies club.
