Page 39 of No One But Us

“James hasn’t told me I look nice since my first communion, so I’m not holding my breath,” I reply. “Is everything allset?”

“Everything aside from the fact that you’re missing half a dress,” grumbles James as he turns toward thetable.

He takes charge of the seating, placing Ginny at the head of the table, flanked by Allison and Max. In the center are friends from The Pink Pelican, and by some unbelievable stroke of luck—one Allison must be enraged by—I am at the other end next to him. This makes tonight the best thing that’s happened in weeks, even if he’s going to spend the whole time bitching about mydress.

“I have a jacket in my car,” hesuggests.

“Enoughabout the damn dress,” I tell him sternly. “Seriously.”

“Fine,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “I need a fucking drink then.” He grabs the wine list and sighs. “I know nothing about Italianwines.”

I slide it toward me. “If you want red I’d go with the Super Tuscan—Vitticio is good. If you want white, go with the Alto Adigepinot.”

“Maybe you should let thegrownupstake care of this one, Elle,” calls Allison from her end of the table. “You’re not even old enough todrink.”

I picture sending my knife whistling down the table into her eye. I don’t even think I’d feelguilty.

“Not old enough to drinkhere,” Iamend.

They’re not so worried about it in Italy. And I also have Ryan’s 23-year-old cousin’s driver’s license if that argument doesn’t work with thestaff.

When the waiter returns, James nods at me. “The blonde here has spent more time in Italy than the rest of us combined, and she says that the Vitticio isgood.”

The waiter glances over. “You don’t lookItalian.”

I shake my head. “I just spent a lot of time there as akid.”

He grins. “And did you learn any Italianthere?”

“Unpocito.”

He asks, in Italian, where I stayed and why I was there, and I reply in Italian. It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken it, but I like the feel of it tripping off my tongue. Though I eventually wound up with some bad memories of Italy, I had many amazing onesfirst.

When he finally leaves the table, everyone is staring atme.

“What the fuck was that?” asks Max. “You speakItalian?”

I shrug. “Some, Iguess.”

“That wasn’tsome,” he says. “You’re fluent. How much time did you spendthere?”

I shrug. “My father covered the Vatican for awhile.”

“You’re conveniently forgetting how you summered on that dude’s yacht there too,” says Ginny. “With your mom’s friendFlavio.”

I stiffen a little. I go out of my way not to think about some of the things that happened on that yacht, and I don’t really care for her tone. She makes it sound like my mother was some yacht bunny sleeping with whatever wealthy man would give us a room. Or perhaps I’m just feeling sensitive about it because I secretly wonder if it’strue.

The wine is decanted. I expect James to make some snide crack about my age when the waiter pours it into my glass, but he does not. I sip and it rests in my stomach, heavy andwarm.

“Any other hidden skills I need to know?” he asks. “Did you also climb Everest and go through sommeliertraining?”

“You mean youhaven’t?”

His low laugh sends a trill of delight rocketing through mystomach.

“So are you going to order for me too, Elle?” he asks, his mouth close to my ear, his voice quiet. It sounds dirtysomehow.

“Do youwantme to order for you,James?”

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