Page 5 of A Game So Reckless

I spy a pretty server about my age with a tray of sparkling wine balanced on her hand. Catching her eye, I smile and wave her over. She weaves through the other guests. When she reaches me and lowers the tray, her elbow bumps a stand of pastries, jostling the structure and sending a bright red strawberry tart toppling to the ground. Her cheeks go nearly as red as the strawberry that’s now smeared across the marble floor.

“Oh, Ms. Titone, I am so sorry!” she stammers. “I’ll clean this up right away, Ma’am.”

Ma’am? Ouch. I’m not even twenty yet. And I’m not married yet, either. Maybe it’s the dark makeup and new hair. Makes me look older.

Despite the fact that her calling me Ma’am just now shrivelled a little bit of my soul, I give her a kind smile.

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t apologize. It’s not like you spilled it on me.”

I kind of wish she had. She could have even spilled her whole tray of drinks on me. Then maybe I’d get to go home and forget this whole date with Dario.

But my words don’t seem to make her feel any better. She’s frantically casting her gaze around for a place to put down her tray of drinks so that she can… I don’t know. Lick the pastry off the floor? It’s not like she’s got a mop in her other hand or a roll of paper towels stuffed down her bra.

“Curse, have you got a handkerchief or something?”

Curse blinks at me.

“Fresh out of handkerchiefs.”

I sigh and roll my eyes.

“Your pocket square. Just give me something to help wipe this up.” There’s nothing in my stupidly tiny clutch but my phone and my maneater lipstick. And I don’t see any napkins at this end of the table.

“Fresh out of pocket squares, too.”

My eye falls to his chest and I realize he’s right. He’s wearing a crisp black suit with a black dress shirt beneath it, but there’s no tie or anything else to accessorize the look.

“You two,” I groan, speaking about him and Elio. “Either you’re not wearing a pocket square at all, or you’re using something as ridiculous as somebody’s used panties as one instead.”

Curse gives me a blank look.

“You didn’t notice that?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him. “Back at that gala in January? At the art gallery? Elio had that ridiculous white lacy fabric tucked in his pocket that didn’t go with his suit? Because it wasn’t a pocket square at all but rather Deirdre’s dirty – you know what? Never mind.”

I turn back to the frazzled server, who now looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She called me by name. She must know who I am. The poor thing looks like she thinks I’m about to shank her for having the audacity to make a clumsy little mistake in front of me.

“Seriously, it’s OK,” I tell her, smiling once more. Without thinking twice, I kick the tart behind the leg of the table where it’s now mostly out of view. I can feel moisture from the ruined dessert seep into the toe of my shoe, but I don’t worry about it. It’s not like I don’t have a closet full of expensive heels like these waiting for me at home.

Once the tart is somewhat disposed of, I scud my foot over the sticky spot, dispersing the remaining red smear as best I can.

But like blood on the floor of my father’s old office, it doesn’t quite come clean.

It seems to be enough to help the server calm down a bit, though. As she thanks me profusely and apologizes again, I take note of her nametag.

“Don’t worry about it, Percy. Cute name, by the way!”

She beams at me, and the expression transforms her from pretty to absolutely, jaw-droppingly, turn-your-head-in-the-street-to-stare stunning.

“Thank you! It’s short for Persephone. They couldn’t fit all the letters on the nametag.”

“Love that,” I say with a nod. “Very Greek chic. Well, Persephone, I won’t tell anyone about this whole tart business if you don’t. I’ll just take one of those glasses there, and-”

“Valentina.”

So close.

I sigh, letting my hand drop at the sound of my papà’s voice. I widen my eyes at Persephone, giving her my bestyou-might-as-well-run-nowlook, while cheerily announcing, “That’s alright, thanks. I don’t want a drink after all.”

Liar.

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