A Passion for Theater
Ottavia
The sleek black car glided to a smooth stop, its engine a soft purr. The vibrant lights of the Grand Royale flickered outside my back seat window, casting a kaleidoscope of neon that danced through the interior of the car.
With a spark of mischief, I swung the door open and let myself out a split-second ahead of my driver, Florin.
“YouknowI always insist on opening the door for you, Miss Ottavia,” he protested. His slight Romanian accent always came on a little thicker when he was irritated. “Your comfort and security are my job.”
Little did poor Florin know, it was actually these small acts of rebellion that gave me comfort.
“You haven’t missed me at all, have you, Florin?” I teased.
He sighed and a fondness softened his face. “Things are a lot less lively since you’ve been gone, I have to admit.”
“I’ll take it.”
I bade Florin farewell and passed through the grand entrance of the casino hotel, my heels clicking on the polished marble floors. I stepped into the waiting elevator and watched thenumbers on the panel climb higher, my pulse quickening with each passing floor.
With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened. I headed for the double doors of the Grand Royale ballroom, the din of conversation and forced laughter,ha ha ha,growing louder with each step. An electrical charge crackled in the air, intensifying as I approached and making my heart flutter. I knewexactlywhat that energy was composed of—power, ambition, and influence. That was the world I was born into; the only world I’d known for most my life.
An attendant posted just outside the doors to the event intercepted my path. “Can I help you?” he asked curtly.
“Yes, I’m here for the fundraiser.”
He sighed and consulted his list. “Name?”
“Ottavia Capuano.”
With a small cough, he swiftly cast the list aside, and a warmth suddenly infused his voice. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Miss Capuano. Please, right this way.”
“It’s totally fine,” I assured him.
A banner proclaiming“William Lancaster for President”was draped across the twin marble pillars, catching the attention of all who entered the opulent ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, bathing the ballroom in golden light. The room teemed with distinguished guests, who mingled and chatted in clusters, filling the air with a palpable buzz. Every breath I drew carried the scent of expensive and competing perfumes, a sensory overload that made me nearly gag.
I shimmied through the sea of bodies. The impeccably-dressed guests sipped cocktails, their eyes discreetly curious as they caught sight of me.
“Who’s she?”
Whispers followed me as I slipped through the crowd.
“That’s Sal’s daughter.”
“Isn’t she dating Lancaster’s boy?”
I shrugged off the rumors swirling around me and scanned the room for my dad. I have a foolproof method for finding him: just look for the biggest crowd of suits, all laughing uproariously. Dad, towering over the rest, will be found in the center of it.
Sure enough, I spotted his commanding presence among a crowd of influential men who hung on his every word. I approached him hesitantly, not wanting to disrupt whatever yarn he was spinning. But when Dad’s eyes locked onto mine, he stopped his story and excitedly waved me to join his side.
“Ciao, Ottavia! Bellissima!”he bellowed, hands gesticulating as he spoke the extent of the Italian he knew. He took me by the hand, twirled me around, and proudly showcased me to the crowd. “The princess! Isn’t she gorgeous?”
I smiled graciously, but the stares of countless strangers had me eager to escape the spotlight. Thankfully, Dad sensed my discomfort and excused us so we could talk in private.
“My God. Look at you. You’re more and more beautiful every time I see you.” He gently cupped my cheek, but the look of discontent on my face didn’t change. “What’s wrong, princess?”
“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” I groused. “Ijustgot home.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Chuckling, he held up his hands in surrender. “What’s this about? Spend a few years up at Stanford, and suddenly you’re too good for the family business?”
