Page 32 of The Bonventi Rise
Alina's eyes flick over to the harp for a moment, and a vulnerable smile crosses her face. "Well, it's not the most practical instrument, that's for sure," she says, looking down at her hands, still warm from where I held them moments ago.
The noise of the kids and reporters fades into the background as she takes a deep breath.
"That was actually the point," she says with a laugh. "My father… he had this habit of comparing me to other kids. You know, 'Why can't you be more like so-and-so?' That sort of thing."
The way she says it makes my jaw clench. I know that tone—it's the voice of a child who grew up trying to measure up to impossible standards.
I feel a flare of anger on her behalf, but I keep my expression neutral. "That must have been tough."
She nods. "Yeah, so I decided to pick an instrument that no one else played. There was literally no one he could compare me to. For once, I could just… be me. Anyway," she says with another humorless laugh. "Take that, Dad."
I watch her carefully, noting the tension in her shoulders again. "Smart move," I say softly.
"Yeah, well," she shrugs, some of her usual spark returning. "The downside is I can't exactly lug this thing around easily. Can you imagine trying to fit this in the overhead compartment?"
I laugh, picturing the absurd scene. "I'd pay good money to see you try."
She laughs. "I'm sure you would. It'd probably go viral. 'Crazy campaign manager attempts to smuggle harp onto plane.'"
"Hey," I say, reaching out to touch her arm without thinking. "No such thing as bad press, right?" I ask with a smile. "But, you're not crazy. You're…" I struggle to find the right words, ones that won't reveal too much of what I'm feeling. "You're incredibly talented. And resourceful. I bet you'd find a way."
Alina looks at me, surprise flickering across her face. For a moment, I think I see a softening in her eyes.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "That means a lot, actually."
We stand there for a moment, and I'm acutely aware of how close we are. Part of me wants to pull her closer, to hell with the consequences. But another part—the political, calculating part that's gotten me this far—holds back.
"So," I say, finally dropping my hand. "Any other hidden talents I should know about? Juggling? Lion taming?"
Alina smiles, and this time it's genuine. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I would, actually," I say, more seriously than I intended. "I think I'd like to know everything about you."
She smirks at me, squinting her eyes, as if trying to decide if I'm serious or just putting on my political persona.
"Maybe someday, Marco. Maybe someday."
A kid runs past us, laughing, and Alina turns to watch them.
I find myself wondering how many other sides of her I've missed while I was busy plotting my path to victory. How many layersof Alina Carter have I overlooked because I was too focused on what she could do for me rather than who she is?
I stand there, knowing something fundamental has shifted in me, but I'm not ready to acknowledge it. Damn it if I'm not falling for this woman.
19
ALINA
Itie off another gold balloon, my fingers aching from the countless others I've already done. The campaign office is transformed—streamers drape from every surface, balloons bob gently in the air conditioning, and a nervous energy runs through me as we finish the last-minute details.
"Is this centered?" Sarah asks, holding up a "Happy Birthday Marco" banner.
"A little higher on the left," I say, checking my watch. He'll be arriving soon.
The office is packed with a strategic mix of guests. Local reporters drink coffee and thumb through their notebooks. IG and TikTok influencers adjust their ring lights, prepping for the perfect shot. I fought hard for their invitations. Young voters scroll through social media, not newspapers, and young votes can swing an election.
I breathe in deeply, savoring the scent of fresh-baked cakes mingling with the crisp smell of new campaign posters, allwrapped up in that subtle latex balloon smell. Heck, there are enough of them in here to kill someone.
My phone buzzes. A text from Gio:
