Chapter 7-Seraphina.
1299 Words
The sun hasn’t even hit its peak, and I’m already sweating through my top. Columbia’s courtyard hums with its usual chaos—students rushing between buildings, iced coffees sloshing in hand, professors looking vaguely disappointed with the world.
I lean against one of the stone benches, sunglasses on, hair in a high ponytail, sipping my matcha like I haven’t just hosted a secret sleepover with a side of mild felony. Vera plops down next to me with her usual flair, flipping her hair off her shoulders and kicking one foot up onto the bench. “Alright,” she says, sipping from her oversized Starbucks. “Give me the tea.”
I grin. “You mean about how I had s*x in my childhood bedroom last night while my brothers slept two doors away?”
She gasps like I’ve just handed her front-row tickets to a scandal. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, but I did.”
“Was he quiet? Were you?”
“You think I know? I was kind of busy, you know.”
We both burst into giggles, and the business majors across from us scowl like we’re interrupting their stock-market fantasies.
“So?” she prompts. “The aftermath? Any witnesses?”
I lower my sunglasses. “Nico caught us.”
“Shut up.”
“Dead serious.”
Vera covers her mouth, eyes wide. “Did he tell?”
“No. Surprisingly. I think he likes Josh. Or he likes that he has blackmail material. Either way, the world didn’t end.”
“Yet.”
I tilt my head. “Right. Because the real threat? If Dante heard anything.”
Her brows lift. “Oof. Did he see the shirt?”
“Yup.”
Vera winces. “And?”
I sigh. “He didn’t say a word. Just made his coffee and sat in the corner looking like he wanted to kill someone. It was very much a silent, internal, mafia-Don existential crisis kind of vibe.”
Vera leans in. “You think he heard?”
I shake my head.“God, I hope not. If he did… Silvio would definitely know by now. And if Silvio knew, there’d be blood on the kitchen floor.”
She nods slowly, then perks up. “Sooo… what now? You gonna lay low for a few days?”
I smirk. “Actually, no.”
“Nina.”
“What? They said they’ll all be back late as usual. Something about meetings.”
“And?”
I pull out my phone, already dialing. “Which means the pool is free. The house is ours, and we need a spring pool party.”
Vera’s eyes light up. “Oh my god.”
“Kegs, cocktails, loud music, and people who know how to dance without asking about your GPA.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m bored. You in?”
She doesn’t even blink.“b***h, I’m already dressed.”
The lecture hall smells like old paper, fresh coffee, and ambition. It’s one of those big auditoriums that could swallow two hundred students and still echo with the click of a single pen. Wood-paneled walls, massive screens on either side of the podium, and that slightly sterile, over-air-conditioned Columbia chill that makes you regret wearing ripped jeans.
Vera and I slide into our usual seats near the middle—center enough to hear everything, but not so front-row we look like try-hards. Professor Wallace is already there, adjusting his mic and sipping his black coffee like he hates it with a passion. He’s tall, wiry, late fifties with silver-streaked hair and the general energy of a man who reads The Economist for fun and despises t****k with holy vengeance.
“Good morning, degenerates,” he says into the mic without looking up. “I trust you’ve all come prepared to discuss monopolistic competition and not just to scroll i********: like underpaid influencers.”
Vera leans over.“Is it just me, or do you think he used to do cocaine in the eighties?”
“Definitely,” I whisper back. “Like, hedge-fund blow and a Porsche 911.”
She smirks. “Adds up.”
Wallace launches into a lecture that’s supposed to be about market behavior and somehow devolves into an angry rant about Jeff Bezos, followed by a bizarre segue into lemonade stands and product differentiation. Half the room is asleep by the fifteen-minute mark, and the other half is sneakily texting. My phone is tucked under the desk, half-hidden behind my planner.
Nina: Pool party @ mine. Today. After 4. Come swim, drink, and forget about capitalism.
Kira: b***h I AM THERE.
Danny: On my way to flunk econ and then rage.
Luca: You're bringing the hot friend?
Vera: You mean me? I’m always hot.
I grin, sliding my phone to her and pointing.
She smirks. “You know that guy from ethics? The one with the jawline that could cut glass?”
“Tyler??”
“Yeah. I just texted him.”
“Good. We need men.”
“No, you need men. I need attention.”
We both laugh, earning a glare from the girl in front of us, who clearly wants to marry Wallace and name their children after economic theorists.
I sip my iced latte and lean back. The glow from this morning hasn’t faded yet. I still feel it in my limbs, in the curve of my mouth, in the way every smile comes easier than usual. Josh was… sweet, easy, fun, and honestly, that’s all I need right now. No drama, no blood on marble floors, no brothers hovering like shadows behind me. And most importantly, no Dante.
My stomach flips thinking about him in the kitchen, the way his eyes lingered on my neck, the tight line of his jaw, the cigarette that burned slower than usual in his hand. I tell myself it’s just guilt because if he heard anything last night… it wouldn’t be just his reaction I’d have to deal with. It would be the domino effect. Silvio, Massimo, Angelo, a whole house of cards. But then again, was it my fault the wall was thin?
Vera nudges me. “You drifting?”
“Just thinking.”
“About the party or about the mafia man upstairs who wants to bite you and break your neck at the same time?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
She gives me a look. “Girl. I’m not blind. I see the way Dante looks at you. Like he’s deciding between taking your pulse or taking your clothes off.”
I swallow; my face heats. “You’re imagining things.”
“Mmhmm. Sure, I am.”
Wallace snaps his fingers into the mic. “Miss Monticello. Care to explain how price elasticity impacts product perception in niche markets?”
I blink, pause, then smile sweetly. “Absolutely, Professor. But wouldn’t it depend entirely on consumer segmentation and the perceived value of differentiation within non-price competition?”
His mouth twitches slightly. “Touché.”
Vera stares at me. “You evil genius.”
“I pay attention. Sometimes.”
As Wallace rambles back into pricing theory, I lean closer and whisper, “After class, we'll go buy drinks. Especially tequila.”
“Always tequila,” she breathes.
The day is just beginning, but the spark is already there, and we’re going to set it all on fire. As we walk outside, we both crack up again, laughter spilling loud and unfiltered across the courtyard, and for the first time in a while, my chest feels light. No shadows, no guilt. Just sun, a plan, and maybe one afternoon where I can forget all the things I’m not supposed to want, especially the ones I know I can’t have.
- Writer
