Gina
The door closes with a soft, final click. Through the tinted window, I catch a glimpse of Adrien standing frozen on the sidewalk, his figure growing smaller as Vittorio slides in beside me and the car pulls away from the curb.
Vittorio climbs in telling the driver where to go, and I peer out the window, furious that my father would agree and also wondering what it is Vittorio Pressutti has offered this time. As far as I remember, Anatoly won, and I was to marry him after graduation. Not that I was planning to; he is just as bad as this man.
We drive to a restaurant that screams old money, and Vittorio leads me inside—crystal chandeliers hanging like frozen waterfalls, velvet banquettes in deep burgundy, waiters gliding between tables silently. I sit across from Vittorio, the white
