Love & Gelato(30)

“Hey, you guys made me do it, and that was just last year,” Olivier protested. “Also, it was November. I froze my balls off.”

“Yes, she must do it,” another girl chimed in. “It is tradition.”

“She is wearing jeans,” Elena said. “è troppo mean.”

“Doesn’t matter! Rules are rules!”

Thomas sidled up next to me. “If you jump, I’ll jump too.”

Cut to mental image of Thomas soaking wet.

I turned to Ren. “How much will you hate me if you have to drive me home drenched?”

“Not as much as you’ll hate yourself.”

I kicked off my sandals and headed for the diving board.

“New girl’s going for it!” Marco whooped.

The whole party broke out in wild applause as I climbed up on the diving board, then bowed. Is this me? Too late to wonder. I sprinted down the board, bouncing high and tucking into the world’s most perfect cannonball.

I felt the most alive I had in more than a year. Maybe ever.





Chapter 10




SO MAYBE SOGGY SCOOTER RIDING wasn’t my most brilliant idea. By the time we pulled up to the house I was shaking like crazy. Also, the pool had reactivated my hair’s natural crazy, and when I took off my helmet, my hair fluffed around my head like a cloud.

“Are you shivering because you’re cold or because you’re terrified?”

“Cold. Ren, come on. We’re an hour late. What’s he going to do?”

The front door burst open and Howard stepped into the doorway, his enormous silhouette illuminated against the light.

Now we were both shivering.

“Want me to come in with you?” Ren whispered.

I shook my head. “Thanks for the ride. I really had a lot of fun.”

“Me too. See you tomorrow. Good luck.”

I waddled up to the door, my jeans sticking to my legs. “Sorry I’m late. We lost track of time.”

He squinted at me. “Is your hair wet?”

“They made me walk the plank.”

“The plank?”

“It’s their initiation ritual. I jumped into the pool.”

A faint smile glimmered under his stern look. “So tonight was a success.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He looked over my head. “Good night, Ren.”

“Good night, Mr. . . . Carolina’s dad.” He spun his scooter around and took off in a spray of gravel.

“Hello, hello,” a woman said as I followed Howard into the house.

Sonia and four other people were sitting on the couches, wineglasses in hand. Jazz music was playing in the background and everyone looked a little tipsy. Apparently Howard was having a party too. Cemetery-style. Maybe later they’d all dive into the little pools in front of the memorial.

“Everyone, this is Lina,” Sonia said. “Lina, everyone.”

“Hi.”

“Che bella. You are a beauty,” an older woman in cat-eyed-glasses purred.

Howard grinned. “Isn’t she?”

“We are old friends of your dad’s,” one of the men said in deliberate English. “We’ve known him since his wild stallion days. Oh, the stories we could tell.”

“Yeah,” the guy next to him chimed in. “He wasn’t giving you a hard time about being late, was he? Because maybe I should tell you about the time we went backpacking through Hungary and he—”

“That’s enough,” Howard said quickly. “Lina went for a little swim, so I’m sure she wants to go upstairs and get changed.”

“Pity,” Cat Eyes said.

“Good night,” I said.

“Good night,” they all chorused back.

I clambered up the stairs. I was freezing.

“She’s the photographer’s daughter?” It was Cat Eyes. I froze.

“Yes. She’s Hadley’s.”

Silence.

And . . . yours, too, right? I waited for him to clarify, but someone just changed the subject.

What was that about?



I FaceTimed Addie as soon as I was in dry clothes. “You ready to say ‘I told you so’?”

“I am always ready to say ‘I told you so.’ Oh my gosh! How was it? Amazing?” She started bouncing up and down on her bed.

I turned down the volume on my computer. “Yes. Amazing.”

“Please tell me you met the hottest of hot Italian guys.”

“I did. But he’s not Italian. He’s British.”

She squealed. “Even better! Is he online? I have to stalk him.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“I’ll look him up. What’s his name?”

“Thomas Heath.”

“Even his name is attractive.” She was quiet for a minute as she typed in his name. “Thomas . . . Heath . . . Florence . . .” She inhaled sharply. “HOLY MOTHER OF HOTNESS. That is the best hair I have ever seen. He looks like a model. Maybe an underwear model.”

“Right?”

“Have you seen him without his shirt on? You have to get online and see these pictures. Great. Now you’ll never come back to Seattle. Why would you when Thomas Heath is—”