Page 115 of Fake Dark Vows

Then, strong arms pick grab me. “Easy there, tesoro,” I hear a deep voice rumble.

“Oh god, seriously Caterina? You fall on your own feet? I swear man, she’d lose her head if it wasn’t attached to her shoulders.”

“I’ll catch her. No problem.”

The light Italian accent is a dead giveaway.

I look up and blink.

Elio Rossi has his hand on my arm and smiles at me.

And my world tilts on its axis.

“Come. Let’s go to our party.”

In a daze, I take his hand, and I follow him.

I start to fade out by the third hour. I’ve shaken so many hands. Nodded. Smiled. Accepted so many well-wishes.

The party is outdoors, which is unusual, but the spring night is light and easy. Lights have been strung up in the trees around us, and there’s huge, long tables filled with food. My mom called it ‘rustic’ and said it would make all the Italians more comfortable because of the casual elegance.

I don’t know who any of these people are, but they seem to be having a good time.

“Caterina. Walk with me?”

I look into Elio’s handsome face.

He’s been perfect this entire time. Gracious. Kind. Thoughtful. He fetches me water and kisses people’s babies and gives the old women flattering compliments that have them blushing and sighing.

I blink. “But our guests…”

“Can wait. Let’s take a walk.”

I could never say no to that face.

Elio takes me away from the party. We walk a ways into the woods. My dad told me that the Rossi estate extends for miles on either side, the woods on either side thick and quiet.

Finally, he pauses next to a small pond, and gestures for me to stand next to him.

“Hi,” he says with a smile that makes my heart beat faster in my chest.

“Hi,” I respond shyly.

“So. That was a lot,” his eyes twinkle in the moonlight, and I smile in response.

“Yeah. Was that your zia who decided to dance on the table?”

“After having way too many glasses of red? You bet. Zia Lucia was the best stripper in Naples for many years.”

I laugh. “Really?”

“Really. When Zio Andreas married her, it was the talk of the town for about six months.”

I tilt my head at him. His accent is light, but definitely there. “How much time do you spend in Italy?”

“Most of it, until I started high school. My parents thought it was important to go to an American school in order to get access to American colleges.”

“Oh. How does that work? Did you get like a passport?” I’m just asking questions, but mostly I’m staring into his beautiful face.