To which Gio replied:I’ll remember this foul play the next time we make a deal.
Stefano returned:The same deal you were trying to break today?
And Gio fired back:Fuck you.
Hours later, Stefano sent another picture, one of me asleep in his bed, curled up against his chest.This one accompanied with one word:Mine.
First of all, I had no idea there was an actual pissing contest happening over me.
Second, are these grown-ass men?Is this grade school?
Third, when the helldid Stefano take these pictures?
Curious, I swipe into the media library, and…holy wow.Yeah, he tooka lotof photos over the weekend.All without me knowing.Candid snaps of me sneak-snacking in the kitchen.Me in the shower.Me drying my hair.Me getting dressed.Me doing stretches.Me out in the backyard.Me working.Me asleep…
All that time I thought he was neck-deep in business calls, he was lurking and snapping pictures of me like a damn stalker with a camera roll addiction.And here I thoughtIwas the creep for watching him sleep, while he was creeping way harder.
Why does my heart suddenly feel like a helium balloon and my belly all fluttery and light?
I’m so soft right now.Toosoft.And that...
That’s bad.
Very, very bad.
This isnotwhat I came here for.
~
A LOUD BANGINGjerks me from sleep’s grasp.
“Raya!Are you in there?Raya!”
I roll over and squint at the clock on my nightstand.5:42 AM.
The pounding doesn’t stop.“RAYA!”
That’s Louisa’s voice.For Pete’s sake.What now?
Yawning, I rub my eyes, then pause at the unmistakable sounds of rapid-fire gunshots.
“Raya, please!Let me in!I’m s-scared!”
Ugh.And I was havingsucha good dream about a scrumptious peach cobbler Cora made me.Annoyed, I throw the covers back, swipe my phone from the nightstand, and shuffle to the door.The second I swing it open, all the girls from this side of the house bustle past me in a panicked herd, eyes wide and terrified.
“What the hell is going on?”I ask.
Right on cue, a fresh fusillade of gunfire cracks through the air.
“The v-villa is under a-attack,” Louisa answers shakily, eyes wet with tears.“Bullets are flying through our windows.”
I rub two fingers behind my ear.“Okay, so…what am I missing?Does my room have a secret portal to Narnia or something?”
“We j-just…we thought y-you would know what to do,” one of them says.“Because you always know…stuff.About…things.”
For crying out loud.“Well, for starters—not that it’s rocket science—if bullets are flying through windows, the first thing you should do isget on the ground.Not run around like headless, featherless hens.Thatis how you get shot.”
An inharmonious chorus of gasps and a squawk.A beat of silence.And then they all drop to the ground.
