“Particularly when Dante is around,” Reece interjects.
“But this will blow over,” Dante adds. “It always does. By this time next week, the gossip sites will be on to something else.”
“You’d think that with all the real news with the earthquake, they’d report about that,” Quinn mutters. “Not some teenagers at a party.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dante answers. “But these websites are toxic and gossipy. They don’t care about the real news. They just want things that will make people’s tongues wag.”
“Like Mia standing in the sea topless,” Quinn rolls his eyes and I cringe at his words.
“Please tell me that they didn’t get a shot of my girls,” I plead. And by girls, of course I mean my boobs. Reece looks pained.
“Well, your girls are blurred out. But yes. It’s clear that you’re topless.”
I cringe again. But there’s nothing to be done. The damage is already done.
I square my shoulders.
“Okay. I’m putting it out of my mind,” I announce. “So what if half of Caberra has seen my girls now—I’ve got to think about other things. Are you guys going to the benefit tonight at the Old Palace?”
They all nod. I turn to Reece. “I’ve got to go get a dress. Are you up for a short shopping excursion?”
“Of course,” she answers. “I have to get a dress, too.”
“Perfect,” I smile. Dante is already handing over his car keys, the ever-perfect, ever-dutiful boyfriend. He pulls Reece to him and kisses her on the forehead, warning her to be careful on the curves. She smiles sweetly and tells him she will. And then she takes the curves too fast, anyway.
Twenty minutes later, we’re shopping. Which is apparently one thing that hasn’t changed about me. I will always love to shop.
* * * * * * * *
At 5:45 p.m., I’m standing in front of the mirror in my room. I look pretty hot, I have to admit. My hair is pulled into a chignon and I like the way the pink streaks show. My dress is black and soft and clings to my curves, falling just above my knee. My shoes are kick-ass three inch heels with cute straps that criss-cross part-way up my calves. I’m even wearing a strand of my mom’s pearls. She was incredibly and amazingly happy about that. I wonder if I used to realize how little it would take to make her happy?
When it’s time to go, Dante, Reece, Quinn and I pile into Dante’s Maserati. Quinn and I are crammed into the backseat, which seems even smaller than it normally would because Quinn is so enormous. He takes up way more than half of the space. He just sprawled out and then laughed at me because he had pinned me against the seat. But if I’m honest, I will admit that I enjoy being crushed up against him.
He grins down at me, almost as if he can read my mind.
And I can see that he’s enjoying the cramped quarters too. He stretches his arm out behind me and I curve into his shoulder.
And I like it.
I’m not gonna lie.
Dante drives quickly into town. Like, bat-out-of-hell quickly. And that is too quickly because I’m enjoying the heat from Quinn’s body. Reece cringes as we cruise smoothly through the curves, but I don’t blame her. It’s where Dante had his car accident last summer.
I pause.
Did someone tell me that? Or was that a memory? I sigh. It’s confusing sometimes. This amnesia thing really, really sucks. But it does seem like my memory is coming back in bits and pieces.
When we arrive, I can see Dante’s security detail following us. They’ve been really good about trying to be inconspicuous. But in light of the assassination attempt last year, they are being very careful now. Particularly tonight, with all of these people swarming about. They aren’t letting Dante out of their sight.
“I’m going to find my father,” Dante says. “I’ll meet up with you later?” I nod and Reece leaves with Dante. The security detail follows. Quinn and I are left alone.
Again.
I look at him.
Then I look at the lines waiting to get into the Old Palace’s ballroom.
“I know a short cut,” I tell him. And then we both stare at each other.
“You do?” Quinn asks, one eye-brow raised. “And you remember it?”
“I do,” I confirm in a whisper. “I remember it.”
The weird thing is that the memory just sort of appeared. It didn’t spring out of nowhere with a big announcement. It’s like it was just there, waiting for me to realize that I remember it.
So.
Strange.
I turn to Quinn. “Yes. I do remember,” I repeat. “Follow me.”
And we duck behind the lines and through the back hallways. Security lets us pass because they recognize me.
“Have a good evening, Miss Giannis,” one of them says. He nods at me and I smile back. Quinn and I weave through the empty halls of the Old Palace.
“This building is amazing,” Quinn tells me as we walk through a corridor with a gilded gold ceiling. The artwork hanging on the walls is authentic and expensive and there is exquisite art in every nook and cranny.
“It is,” I agree. “It really is.”
I wonder if I used to be blasé about it. After all, I was born and raised around this stuff. But I enjoy seeing the wonderment on Quinn’s face as he takes it all in. I hope that I remain like he is right now—appreciative of the beautiful things in life, no matter how many times I see them.
Even if my memories come back.
The ballroom is decorated to the nines in silver and black decorations. I see Dante and Reece standing with Dimitri Giliberti toward the front of the room. He is in a military uniform with a sash, his typical formal dress.
And again, that is something that I suddenly remember as though it has been there all along.
Which it has.
I just didn’t remember it until now.
I gulp.
My memories returning sporadically and without warning is a total mind bender. Seriously, I can barely wrap my mind around it.
So instead, I choose to ignore it.
“Would you like to dance?” I ask Quinn.