“Pretty sure that’s against the school’s dress code policy.”
Catherine’s head popped up at the new, unexpected voice to her left. There, she found Cross Donati grinning down at her. Dark eyes. Black hair. Cunning smile. His three-day suspension was apparently up. She got a much better look at his face and features when he was this close, and not rolling on the ground and beating his fists into someone else’s face. Jesus.
Pretty was not the kind of word used to describe boys, but if it was the right one Catherine would give it to Cross. His face was all strong lines, tan skin, and the dimple in his right cheek peeking out when his lips quirked up just enough at the corner. Her heart picked up speed a bit. He, like all the other students at the Academy, wore the standard navy and white uniform, tie included. Although, his navy blazer seemed to have been replaced by a leather jacket. Girls got the option of skirts or pants, but Catherine hated them both.
It was all ugly. Well …
She couldn’t help but think Cross wore the uniform a hell of a lot better than the other boys did.
Cross tipped his head to the side when Catherine couldn’t form words. “You don’t speak?”
“Um.”
He pointed at the open chair at the table. “This open, or …?”
“Is anyone sitting there?”
“Nope.”
“Is there stuff there to say someone might come back?”
“Nope.”
Catherine smiled sweetly. “Then I guess it’s open, Cross.”
“Cute.” Cross slid into the chair with the grace of what Catherine might consider to be a predator. He was at least a half of a foot taller than her five foot, four inches. “I see you learned my name.”
“Seems a lot of people know your name.”
“Do you often hide in the library at lunch time?”
“I do when my cousin is in detention,” Catherine replied.
“Liliana.”
Catherine caught Cross’s stare, and held it. Despite the way his eyes—a dark brown that almost seemed soul-black under the library lights—made her want to freeze like an idiot, she didn’t shrink away from his gaze. “Yeah, Liliana.”
“Your brother is Michel, right?” Cross asked.
“According to my mother and father, and the family photos they make us smile for every year. I think they picked him up in a fucking ditch somewhere, but whatever. Why?”
Cross’s laughter burst from his lax, lazy smile so fast, it shocked Catherine. Not because he laughed, but because of how he looked doing it. “Yeah, I’ve got one of those, too.”
Her confused look made his grin deepen.
“A sibling that makes me want to burn the house down on a regular basis,” Cross added quickly. “Camilla, my sister; she’s eleven. Drives me—”
“Crazy,” Catherine interrupted.
Cross shrugged. “I mean, that works, too.”
Catherine surveyed her nails; the almond-shaped pink and sparkle manicure needed a touch-up, and soon. “Do you know my brother?”
“Sort of,” Cross answered.
“Why ask about him?”
“Making conversation.” Cross winked when Catherine looked up at him. “I didn’t know what to say to you other than the dress code thing, and you completely ignored that.”
“I didn’t ignore it.” Catherine pulled the fake daisy flower crown from her hair, as that was the only thing she was currently wearing that was against the dress code of the school. It was stretchy, with daisies all around the band, and could be worn like a headband, or a crown. Obviously, she preferred the crown style. “They make us wear ugly uniforms, and the only thing I can control is my shoes. You know, as long as they’re not higher than four inches. They can deal with this.”
Cross reached out and snagged the daisy hair band. “Nobody pointed it out yet?”
“Got written up twice before lunch, actually.”
His husky laughter surprised her again.
“Just ignore it; they’ll eventually let it go. One less thing to fight about.”
Catherine nodded at his leather jacket. “Is that why you wear that and not your blazer?”
“I wear the blazer … occasionally.”
“Not what I asked.”
Cross leaned across the table, and set Catherine’s daisy accessory back in place on her head. His fingers were careful not to catch or pull her hair, she noticed, but his fingertips were damn warm against her temples. Then, he pulled away, but her skin still felt warm.
Yep.
She missed a whole breath there.
“There, perfect,” he murmured.
Catherine eyed her new companion. “You still didn’t tell me why you don’t wear the blazer.”
“It’s shit material. My jacket costs more than ten of these stupid uniforms. I wear the rest of it; that’s the best I can do.”
Yeah. Catherine liked Cross, and his fuck-you-attitude. A lot.
“You don’t actually have to hide in the library, Catherine,” Cross said.
It was the first time he used her name.
“How do you know—”
“Asked around,” Cross interjected, smirking. “I figured, I broke someone’s face for you, the least I could do was learn your name.”
“And find me hiding out in the library, apparently.”
“What good is learning your name if I can’t use it?”
Catherine laughed. “All right, you win.”
“I usually do.”
She ignored his arrogance, but only because she was used to arrogant men. Her whole family was full of them.
“But I do,” Catherine said, “like to be in here, rather than out there with … them.”
Cross cocked a brow. “Them?”
“I don’t know anyone here. I didn’t want to come here at all.”
He didn’t look all that surprised at her admission. “All my friends are in upper grades. I don’t care to know anyone here, either.” Then, he shot her a smile. “Or, I didn’t.”
“Oh?”
Cross leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms over his chest. “What are you doing after school?”
“Me?”
“You’re the only one sitting here, Catherine.”
“I’m supposed to meet up with my brother—our cousin picks us up on Fridays. At least until Michel gets his license in a couple of months.”
Well, that’s what she was going to tell Cross, anyway. Really, John—who was her cousin—also acted as their enforcer. A guard, of sorts. Catherine sometimes liked to call him a babysitter too, just to piss him off. He drove them around, looked after them when they were out, and kept an eye on the house when her parents were out or gone somewhere.
Cross seemed far too relaxed across from her, as though they were old friends. “Think they might miss you?”
“Uh …”
“You did say you didn’t know anybody, right?”
Sure, but did she want to know him? That was the question.
“Make a friend,” Cross said before Catherine could speak up. “Or a couple.”
“A couple? As in, more than one.”
Because she was pretty sure he was the only one there.
“That’s what I said.”
Catherine readjusted the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder as she took the entrance steps two at a time. One thing the upper and lower Academies shared? A parking lot. Everything else, besides the football field, was entirely separated.
She quickly found her brother across the lot, sitting on the steps leading into the upper Academy’s wings.
She found someone else quickly, too. Cross Donati. He sat on the hood of a cherry red Camaro. His attention snagged by an older boy with a pair of keys in his hands.
Catherine still hadn’t decided to take him up on his offer of making friends. Mostly because she didn’t do things like that—skip out, blow off already made plans, or blatantly break the rules her parents made. Not going home with her brother and cousin, with a guy her parents didn’t know or hadn’t met, without an enforcer definitely fell into the category of breaking rules.
Several rules, really.
She was already halfway across the lot, heading in her brother’s direction, before she could think better of it.
“Johnathan is going to be late,” Michel said without even looking up at his sister’s approach.
“How late?”
“Thirty minutes, or so.”
She peeked over her shoulder, only to find that the black-haired, dark-eyed boy was still engaged in conversation with his friend, and hadn’t noticed her at all.
Cross didn’t notice her staring. Michel did.
“Made a friend, did you?” her brother asked.
“I guess.”
His brow lifted. “Not sure Dad would like that, Catherine.”
“Why not? He keeps telling me to make friends, and then I’ll like it here.”
“Cross Donati is a fucking troublemaker. I don’t think that’s the kind of friend Dad meant.”
“He doesn’t seem like trouble to me.”
That was a lie. Cross seemed like all sorts of trouble. He also seemed like fun.
It was that thought alone that cemented Catherine’s next choice. “Ma and Dad aren’t going to be home until later, right?”
“Around seven,” Michel said, going back to his phone.
“So I could just … call to get a ride home, if I wanted to stay here for a bit.”
Her brother did look up at that statement. “And what are you going to do while you’re here?”
Well, she didn’t know yet. And who the hell knew if she would be staying?
“I don’t know,” Catherine said honestly.
Michel looked across the lot. Catherine followed his gaze.
The pretty boy sitting on the cherry red Camaro wasn’t distracted anymore because he was staring straight at her. He flashed a smile, then tipped his head to the side as if to silently call her over.
“You’re going to get yourself in a world of shit,” Michel warned.
“So that’s a yes, right?”
Michel frowned. “You’re not listening, Catherine.”
“I am, but who’s going to tell? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“If you won’t go home and tell Ma or Dad, it’s wrong.”
“Do you tell them everything you do?”
Michel quickly shut his mouth at that question. “Fine, go. But be back here in three hours, at the most. If you get back earlier, shoot me a text. I’ll say you’re staying at school with friends, and then Dad won’t get pissed off at John for not staying behind to look after you. He’ll come back and pick you up. Don’t get John in shit because you want to have fun, Catherine. He’s got to do his job, too, as our enforcer, but I’ll make an excuse this time.”
“Thanks, I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” Catherine said in a rush.
“Sure, sure.”
She was already spinning on her heel and heading the other way.
Toward trouble and fun.
Cross pushed off the hood of the Camaro at the sight of Catherine’s approach. His smile deepened to a grin, and he took her bag without even asking for it.
“Nice car,” Catherine said.
The older guy Cross had been talking to poked his head out the driver’s window. “Thanks. And hi.”
She waved. “Hi.”
Cross used his free hand to gesture between his friend and Catherine as he tossed her bag into the back of the car. “Zeke, Catherine. Catherine, Zeke.”
“You up for a drive to the Odessa Pier?” Zeke asked.
“Like, way down in Brighton Beach?”
The guy nodded. “That’s the one.”
Her father would kill her.
Brighton was off-limits unless she had an enforcer with her. Dante never said why, just that it was. Catherine didn’t think to ask because her father probably wouldn’t explain. He made rules; she was expected to follow them. It was that simple. For the most part she did just that. Or tried.
Catherine figured she could afford to take the risk.
Especially with Cross still waiting for her to answer.
Catherine scrolled through the last message on her phone from her brother.
You good?
Fine, she texted back. Michel didn’t respond.
In the backseat of the Camaro, Cross chatted away with Zeke about a race of some sort—Catherine didn’t know for sure. She had thought they were going straight to Brighton Beach, but apparently Zeke had other plans. He pulled into a public school parking lot, yanked the car into park, and leaned over to open the door for a pretty blonde that jumped in the front seat. The girl looked closer to Zeke’s age, Catherine thought. Seventeen, maybe.
The girl leaned over and pressed a kiss to Zeke’s mouth, grinning.
“Hey.”
Zeke smiled back. “Hey.” Then, he nodded to the back. “Cross found a friend.”
“Vaffanculo,” Cross swore.
His friend only laughed.
The girl, however, smiled back at Catherine with kind eyes. “Hi. I’m Amanda.”
“Catherine.”
“Are you even old enough to be hanging around with an idiot like this?” she asked, jerking her thumb in Zeke’s direction.
Zeke scoffed. “Be nice, babe.”
Amanda’s lips quirked up at the edges. “I’m just saying.”
“I came for the other one, actually,” Catherine said.
“That might be just as bad.”
Unlike Zeke’s reaction, Cross agreed.With a damn smirk.
Amanda turned back around in the front seat, put her sandal-clad feet to the dash, and asked, “Where are we headed?”
“The Pier,” Zeke said, putting the car in drive, “unless you’ve got somewhere else to be, babe.”
“Nope. The Pier is good.”
Since Catherine already had her phone out, she turned on the camera, and pointed the device in Cross’s direction. “Smile.”
He cocked a brow instead. She took the picture, anyway. It still looked good.
The constant stream of giggles from up above made Catherine look up. Amanda sat on the railing of the pier, tipped her head back, and let out a steady stream of gray smoke. Zeke stood between Amanda’s legs; his chin rested on her shoulder while he looked out at the water.
Even from down below, Catherine could smell the very distinct aroma of weed.
The giggling made a lot more sense.
For the first thirty minutes after they arrived, Catherine walked the pier with Cross, watching the water down below. Mostly, though, she watched unknown people approach Zeke where he had been sitting with Amanda on a bench. His hand would disappear into his bag, come out with something Catherine couldn’t see, and then money would get shoved inside before it was zipped back up again.
Over and over and over.
Then, the unknown people slowed. Zeke and Amanda moved to another part of the pier. Catherine and Cross moved down to the wet sand where the tide hadn’t come in yet.
“Is that what he was selling?” Catherine dared to ask.
Cross stopped walking, and so did she. “Who, Zeke?”
“Yeah, earlier. Weed, I mean. Is that—”
“Pick your poison or need, and Zeke probably has it,” Cross said, “but if he doesn’t, he can get his hands on it. He doesn’t deal at school. Someone’s already laid claim there. It’s the respect of the matter, or so he says.”
“Huh.”
Cross shrugged off his leather jacket, and tossed it over his arm. “Don’t worry. Zeke doesn’t use at all. He won’t be driving back high.”
Catherine looked up again. “But his girlfriend does.”
“He looks out for her, or whatever.”
Cross walked further under the pier. Catherine followed.
“Besides, Wolf or Cal would cut his nuts off if they thought he was driving me around while stoned out of his mind.”
“Who?” she asked.
Cross tossed his leather jacket to the sand. “Wolf is his dad. Calisto—but I just call him Cal—is my step-dad. Sit.”
She did, tucked tight into Cross’s side on the leather jacket. The sound of the water echoed under the pier, and it made a soothing sound. Cross rested his arms over his knees, while Catherine stared at him from the side.
“I thought I was supposed to be making friends,” she teased.
Cross grinned. “You did. Three of them.”
“But mostly just one.”
His gaze met hers. “So?”
“So … thanks for punching Hugh and getting suspended for me, I guess?”
Cross chuckled, and went back to staring out at the water. “It was worth it. I kind of hate him, anyway.”
Catherine bit her lower lip to hold back the laughter. “That’s kind of terrible.”
“Terrible is my thing.”
She wiped her sandy hands off on the pleated skirt of her school uniform, but it did no good. The sand still stuck to her skin, scratchy and bothersome. Silently, Cross’s larger hands captured hers inside his. Without a word, he took his time to brush all the sand off her hands and fingers until there was nothing left. His careful hands and serious expression, focused in on his task of making her clean and comfortable, made Catherine smile.
And her chest got tight, too.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Cross shrugged. “No worries.”
Catherine thought he’d drop her hands when he was done. He only dropped the one, and then he quickly grabbed something at his side before he was holding her hand with both of his again in a firm grip.
She felt him slide something into her palm.
“A gift,” he said quietly.
Catherine raised a single eyebrow, and flipped her hand over to see what it was when he let her go. A small conch shell, maybe an inch and a half long, and pale pink in color.
When had he even seen it?
“It’s pretty,” Catherine said, turning the little conch shell over in her hand. “Thank you.”
Cross plucked the conch from her palm, and gave her one of his winks. He began unwinding the thin leather cord that had circled his wrist like a triple-wrapped bracelet of sorts until it was fully undone. Quickly, he wrapped the conch shell securely in the cord, and it hung like a pendant.
“Give me your wrist,” Cross said.
Catherine held her arm out, not hesitating a bit.
Cross wrapped the cord two times more around her wrist than he needed to for his, even with the conch tied into it. Once it was secured, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, and held her wrist still while he burned the leather knot.
“It’s not going to slip off now,” he told her.
She flipped her wrist around, admiring her new accessory. She loved it.
Catherine loved anything different and unique.
Like daisy crowns or conch shells on leather bracelets.
She looked up to thank Cross—again—but the words didn’t quite form when she found his dark gaze already locking onto hers.
Maybe it was giggling laughter from up above, or the sound of water coming in under the pier. Maybe it was the memory of a bloody smile and busted up knuckles. Maybe it was just him seeking her out for no reason at all.
Or shit … Maybe it was just Cross.
Catherine really liked the way he looked at her.
She didn’t know what it was, but it was something. So, she leaned over and kissed him. Quick and fleeting, a fast press of her lips to his—silky, soft and over before she blinked or thought about it for too long.
Her first kiss. Ever.
For a split second, Catherine’s mind went stupid. She thought maybe she shouldn’t have done that at all, and maybe he hadn’t wanted her to. Besides a dumb crush, she didn’t have a lot of experience with boys, and she didn’t know how to act or what to do.
She stopped thinking all together when she looked at Cross again. His grin grew a little wider.
Catherine looked down.
“Are you going to do that again?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Are you going to do it soon?”
Catherine’s cheeks heated. “Maybe.”
“Do you mind if I do it?”
Her head popped up again, and her gaze darting to his. “No, I don’t mind.”
It seemed like that was all Cross was waiting for.
Her okay. Her permission.
Cross didn’t just lean over like she had done—no, his whole body moved toward her. His hands found her cheeks, and he pulled her into him before he kissed her. His kiss was not like hers had been. It wasn’t fast or fleeting; he didn’t pull away a quick second later, or barely kiss her at all. Where she had been hesitant, he was not.
No, she found his kiss was almost rough, but in a good way. A hard press of his soft lips to hers, and then another. His thumbs stroked the line of her cheekbones as his tongue darted in between her parted lips. She realized then that he tasted sweet and warm at the same time. Her worries and embarrassment slipped away as she found that she liked this a whole lot, too.
It wasn’t so hard to do.
And it all felt wonderful.
Catherine hadn’t realized how much she needed air to breathe until Cross pulled away. His dark eyes watched her for a moment, pulling her into a silent hurricane of feelings and wonder.
“I’ll probably do that again,” he told her, his voice low and promising. “Soon.”
Catherine shrugged. Nonchalant seemed the way to go.
There was no reason to say she couldn’t speak.
Catrina Marcello dominated rooms when she walked into one.
Catherine thought—if anything—that was what intimidated people the most about her mother. Then, people got a good look at Catrina. They saw her beautiful clothes, perfectly done makeup and dark red hair, her manicured nails sharpened into points at every perfect tip, and were caught off guard by her beauty. Even in her forties, her mother turned heads when all she was doing was walking down the street.
But to Catherine? Catrina was just her mom.
They butted heads a lot. Her father liked to say that’s because they were too much alike for their own good. Catherine didn’t know how true that was.
She knew she looked a lot like her mother, much more than she took after her father. Her sharp cheekbones, full lips with a dainty cupid’s bow, olive complexion, and even her smile … it all came from her mother. Her green eyes and dark hair came from her father.
Catherine sometimes thought it would have been nice if her mother could have passed on more than just her looks to her daughter. Like her confidence and natural aura of superiority. As though the world was hers, and she owed it fucking nothing.
Maybe those were learned traits, though. Catherine hadn’t quite learned them, yet.
Catrina bent over her daughter at the kitchen table, surveying the textbooks Catherine had laid out. “How was school?”
“Boring.”
Her mother laughed a tinkling sound. “Come on, now, dolcezza. Make an effort, and you might like it there.”
“It’s not so bad, really.”
Now, Catherine thought silently.
“Did you make friends?”
Catherine flipped to the next page in her book. “Sort of.”
“Johnathan said he went back to pick you up a bit later because you were hanging out with some friends.”
At that same time, Catherine’s brother strolled through the kitchen, following behind their father and muttering on about something or other. She caught Michel’s eye as he passed her by, but he didn’t speak up or say a word about who she had gone with that day.
“I made friends,” Catherine admitted.
Sort of.
Catrina smiled, pleased, and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “See, I told you.”
“Yeah, I know, Ma.”
“Did Michel order you some pizza?”
“When I got home,” she said.
Catrina patted Catherine’s cheek in her motherly way, saying, “Tomorrow, I’ll make your favorites. It’s been a busy week. You know your father’s trial is coming up, and all.”
Yeah, it wasn’t like Catherine could forget the night almost a year earlier when FBI agents raided their home in the middle of the night. Her father was facing weapons charges, amongst other things. The trial was a few weeks away, as far as she understood.
“I don’t want you worrying about it,” Catrina said, bringing Catherine from her thoughts. “We haven’t talked a lot about it, or what to expect, but that’s just because we’re not sure right now on some of the details. Okay?”
Catherine frowned, still trying to focus on her homework. “It’s all right, Ma.”
“Well, it will be.” Catrina pressed another kiss to her daughter’s head. “Just remember, we don’t talk about the family with anyone, Catherine. That’s our rule, dolcezza.”
“Got it, Ma.”
“And stop feeling so put out about that school and the people there,” her mother added with a smirk. “You’re a Marcello, Catherine. Act like it. Own it.”