Page 53 of The Vanishing
“He’s well connected.” Andrea shrugs. Cellina opens the cake box and grins. Castella.
“Huh. The cake has changed?” her father asks.
“What are you talking about?”
He smiles, playful. “Now I’m going to reveal more secrets—but since you two are getting along, maybe it’s okay? Do you remember when I was working on the Castiglione project?”
“Not really.”
“Darling, you were knee-deep in graduate school—maybe the first year?”
“Oh yes, yes. I remember that particular hell.”
“Right.” Her father grins. “You were having a rough time, so every Friday after my client meeting, a box of bakery-fresh tiramisu would magically appear on the kitchen counter?”
Cellina beams. That had been the one bright spot each week in a very dark and stressful time in her pursuit of higher education and a new career. “I remember. I would invite Mia over and we’d have it together with coffee. It was the highlight of my week back then.”
“Well, I hate to seem like a fraud… but Giovanni bought that for you. Every week. He always asked about you, and I told him you were having a difficult time. He is well aware of your sweet tooth, so he wanted to help. Of course, I was sworn to secrecy.”
“Oh give me a break—seriously?” Cellina sits back against the couch, her heart beating warm in her chest. But she’s also annoyed. “It’s too much.”
Andrea laughs. “He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, but he finds joy where he can?”
Cellina pouts, thinking about how upset she’d been with him. Fordecades. Anytime they’d crossed paths, she ignored him and treated him coldly, thinking he preferred things that way. Meanwhile, he was being unfair and buying her secret cakes. He was supposed to be mad at her, too. That’s how it works when two people fight. Does he not understand that?
He’d shut her out, gone on a rampage around town and drunk from and fornicated with any vampire he could find. All this when he was supposed to be feeding from and (ideally) fornicating with her.How much time have they wasted? She wishes they could have resolved this sooner. If he didn’t hate her, and if he regretted what he said… She understands that he’s in a difficult situation, but he should have said something.
“How’s Nino doing?” her father asks. “Is he all better after his accident?”
“Yes, he’s doing great.” Cellina smiles, shrinking a little on the inside. As a general rule, she tells her parents everything. But with this, she’s been sworn to secrecy. No need to cause alarm where it isn’t due.
When she’d left a month ago, the situation was somewhat under control (notwithstanding Haruka’s unrealistic resolve to handle everything on his own—a common thread among purebred males, apparently).
With any luck, they’ll never see or hear from Lajos again.
* * *
Later that evening,Cellina walks into a bicentennial event for a member of the Milan aristocracy. It’s a late-night garden party, with tiny white lights twinkling overhead and candles burning along the cobblestone paths to set aMidsummer Night’s Dreamkind of mood.
Before leaving the museum, she’d ditched her blouse underneath her suit jacket for a sexy lace bustier, which matches her black, high-waisted tuxedo pants to a tee. It’s humid tonight, so the hair is pulled up into a bun, as sleek as she could manage. Hopefully the oversized earrings distract from the unruly situation atop her head.
She sees her friend Matteo among the crowd, standing alone by a tall table. Cellina tips across the cobblestones in her high heels to reach him. When she’s there, he kisses both of her cheeks in a warm greeting.
“Queen.”
“Hey, handsome.”
He takes her hand and lifts it above her head, urging her to turn in a full circle. She complies and he shakes his head. “Honey, you look fuckin’hot. Those skinny model bitches I do makeup for don’t have anything on you. Gorgeous. And this cleave. Yas.”
“Thanks, dear. I like this blazer.” Cellina pinches his burgundy satin lapel. The rest of the fabric subtly glitters underneath the soft lighting like a sparkling red wine.
“Dolce, honey, don’t touch.” Matteo purses his lips and swats her hand away. “Is our drunken ballerina coming?”
“Oh man.” Cellina bites back a laugh. “Mia had practice all day today, so I doubt it. And she’s only drunk in the off-season.”
“You’re just naïve. That thing isalwaysdrunk. It’s her natural state of being now, like a damn fish swimming in the sea—Oh my.” Matteo grabs his chest in a dramatic gesture. “His highness has arrived.”
Cellina lifts to her toes, stretching her neck. She smelled him when she walked in, but she wasn’t sure if Giovanni was already in attendance or just arriving.
