Page 21 of Burn for You

Luca snorts from beside her and she cuts him a deadly glare, making him shut up and drink his own prosecco.

“You two invented the word competitive. And cheating.”

Vanessa gasps, and everyone at the table–including me–picks up their drinks and takes a sip, staying out of what is about to become a very dangerous conversation.

I jolt as someone kicks my shin under the table—the same shin that just got bashed by a kitchen cupboard—and my drink crests the edge of my glass, a few drops spilling just over the top.

I send a glare to my right where a little she-devil is sitting next to me. “Do something,” she whispers.

I send my foot her way under the table, and she flinches, her face screwing up. “Fuckingow.”

“You do something,” I send back. It’s immature, but it’s all I got.

“He’syourfriend.” I feel the whoosh of air as her foot comes towards my leg again, but I slide my feet under my chair, trying to save my shins from further abuse.

“You chose a very convenient time to decide he’s not yours as well.” Our arguing is nothing more than angry whispers as Leo and Vanessa fire words back at each other across the table. Vanessa’s defending her and Nora from Leo’s accusations, but he’s not letting up. We all know Vanessa and Nora are sly, but no one has ever said anything to them. The fact Leo is saying something, on Ferragosto, at Vanessa’s house, says enough in itself. The boy isn’t in his right state of mind.

“We need to give them a distraction,” May whispers, her voice laced with mischief. I can almost hear her scheming in her head.

“What?”

“Quit being an asshole,” she says, her voice suddenly at normal volume.

“What?” I whisper shout. This time I truly haven’t done anything to her.

“I said,” she stands up, grabs her wineglass, and her voice grows even louder, “quit being an asshole.” And then she throws her wine in my face, and the whole table goes silent.

She quickly turns on her heel and storms into the house, a sway in her hips as she does, as if she’s proud of herself for that little performance. Thatdistraction.

After a breath, the table moves into action again, and Vanessa walks over to me. “What did you do?” she asks. I just shake my head. Meanwhile Isla and Marina scurry into the house after her, clearly eager to hear whatever story she conjures up to explain that little outburst.

I bet she enjoyed the hell out of that, and as I grab a napkin from the table to wipe the sticky liquid from my face, I start plotting how I’m going to get her back.

chapter nine

MAY

“Are you sure you’re okay?”I pull my phone away from my ear, Marina’s voice sounding too loud all of a sudden. “And this has nothing to do with you and Rafael’s argument on the weekend?”

I internally wince as she mentions the ‘argument’ that ended in me throwing my drink in Rafael’s face. It took me along timeto get Marina and Isla off my back, asking what he did or said that had me splashing his linen shirt with wine. I was supposed to be toning it down when it came to Rafael, but we needed a distraction, and I can’t say it wasn’t slightly cathartic throwing my drink in his face.

“No, Marina,” I cough as I place the kettle on the stove. “It’s not that. I’m fine, I just need a good night’s rest is all, I promise. I can barely get off the couch.”

Marina’s is supposed to open again today, having been closed since Ferragosto while Marina took a few weeks off to visit her friends in Sorrento. I’m supposed to open the bar, but I’ve been feeling less than splendid over the last few days, and feeling under the weather transformed into a full-blown sickness this morning. I haven’t even managed to do more than make my way from my bed to the couch since I woke up.

“Okay, well, have you eaten anything today?”

“Not really.” When I woke up, I felt like I’d been hit by a ton of bricks. Snot has been pouring out of my nose since the early hours, and my throat feels like I’ve been smoking for the better part of my life. So I haven’t really had the effort to make myself anything to eat. Not that I have much of an appetite, anyway.

“Okay, well, I’ll send someone round with some dinner for you later, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you,” I say, sitting back down on the couch.

“You’re welcome. Get better soon,” she says before hanging up the phone.

I toss my phone down to the other end of the couch and snuggle back up under my blanket. I tried to read before—I picked up the latest smutty romance novel I’ve been reading over the last few days—but my eyes couldn’t focus on it, and I fell asleep.

I don’t get sick very often, but when I do, it’s always bad, and it sucks.

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