hot, if you don't mind the scars," she said.
"I don't." My heart was racing, and my hands clenched into fists.
She flicked ash off of the end of her cigarette.
"Hey, whatever suits you. You're not the first kid he's screwed around with, though." She looked up at me, a sly smile on her face.
The adrenaline rushing through my body made me tremble with rage. I wanted to hit her, to punch her face through the wall. I tilted my chin up.
"I'm not exactly a kid."
"She was, though." Csilla picked up the newspaper she had put aside and held it out to me. "Can you read Hungarian?"
"What's that?" I asked. I didn't reach out to take the paper. I wasn't sure I wanted to read it.
"You're not curious? There's a whole spread today on your sweetheart, Eliot Herceg. How he fucked an underage escort and got away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist."
"Nice rumors," I said, trying to keep my calm. "You should stop reading so many tabloids."
"It's not a rumor," Csilla said. She stood up from the stoop and took a step toward me. "I remember when he confessed. Ten years ago. Every newspaper covered it. You can look it up." She looked me up and down. "He likes them young, I guess."
"Shut up," I said. It came out a whisper.
"There's a picture of you in the news today, too, in a bikini." She held the paper in front of my face, taunting me. "You know, if you want to workout at a gym, I know a fantastic place downtown. They'll really help you take some of those extra pounds off."
I grabbed the newspaper from her and crumpled it in my hand. She waited, tense, as if she was waiting for me to hit her.
I bit my lip and fought back tears. My ears were still buzzing. It couldn't be true. I turned away.
"Bye," Csilla said. "I'll tell Mark you said hi."
I turned back to her. She leaned against the stoop, the cigarette in her fingers down to its final ashes. Smiling sweetly, she took one final drag and ground the butt under her heel.
"I'm sorry," I said. "About your parents. My mom was wonderful."
Her smile faltered for a second, and I turned my back, walking away before she could respond. When I reached the other side of the street and looked back, she was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Eliot
Marta picked Eliot up in a white Ferrari. She leaned over the center console to kiss him hello on the cheek.
"This is new," he said, buckling his seatbelt. "Was the Lamborghini too slow for you?"
"That one was black," Marta said, waving her hand in the air. "Summertime is no time for a black car."
He looked at the dash. "Does the speedometer really go up to 200?"
"Don't worry," Marta said. "I'll drive slowly." She glanced over at him.
"You really don't have to do this," Eliot said.
Marta laughed.
"If I didn't drag you to a salon, you'd probably cut your own hair," she said.
"Clare used to cut it," Eliot said. He cursed himself for bringing her up, but Marta's comment about driving had made him remember her. So many things here made him remember her.
"My stylist is wonderful," Marta said, changing the subject quickly as she pulled out of the driveway. "You'll look fantastic."
"I had better," Eliot said. "I'm taking Brynn out for dinner tonight."
"Oh, is that so?" Marta asked. "That must be why she asked me to go shopping."
"She did what?" Eliot frowned. It was unlike Brynn to volunteer to buy new clothes. She made a fuss about not even being able to wear all of the new clothes she had.
"We must have bought her ten new outfits," Marta said brightly. "It was so much fun! I hope she wears the blue dress tonight. It sets off her eyes so well."
"I'll make sure to ask her to wear it," Eliot said. He didn't want to press the issue. He could always ask Brynn later.
They chatted the whole way down into the city. Marta complained about how reporters had been covering the National Assembly's budgetary spending, and Otto was one of the Assembly members under the spotlight.
"It's terrible, how these people love to carp over such trivialities," Marta
"I don't." My heart was racing, and my hands clenched into fists.
She flicked ash off of the end of her cigarette.
"Hey, whatever suits you. You're not the first kid he's screwed around with, though." She looked up at me, a sly smile on her face.
The adrenaline rushing through my body made me tremble with rage. I wanted to hit her, to punch her face through the wall. I tilted my chin up.
"I'm not exactly a kid."
"She was, though." Csilla picked up the newspaper she had put aside and held it out to me. "Can you read Hungarian?"
"What's that?" I asked. I didn't reach out to take the paper. I wasn't sure I wanted to read it.
"You're not curious? There's a whole spread today on your sweetheart, Eliot Herceg. How he fucked an underage escort and got away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist."
"Nice rumors," I said, trying to keep my calm. "You should stop reading so many tabloids."
"It's not a rumor," Csilla said. She stood up from the stoop and took a step toward me. "I remember when he confessed. Ten years ago. Every newspaper covered it. You can look it up." She looked me up and down. "He likes them young, I guess."
"Shut up," I said. It came out a whisper.
"There's a picture of you in the news today, too, in a bikini." She held the paper in front of my face, taunting me. "You know, if you want to workout at a gym, I know a fantastic place downtown. They'll really help you take some of those extra pounds off."
I grabbed the newspaper from her and crumpled it in my hand. She waited, tense, as if she was waiting for me to hit her.
I bit my lip and fought back tears. My ears were still buzzing. It couldn't be true. I turned away.
"Bye," Csilla said. "I'll tell Mark you said hi."
I turned back to her. She leaned against the stoop, the cigarette in her fingers down to its final ashes. Smiling sweetly, she took one final drag and ground the butt under her heel.
"I'm sorry," I said. "About your parents. My mom was wonderful."
Her smile faltered for a second, and I turned my back, walking away before she could respond. When I reached the other side of the street and looked back, she was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Eliot
Marta picked Eliot up in a white Ferrari. She leaned over the center console to kiss him hello on the cheek.
"This is new," he said, buckling his seatbelt. "Was the Lamborghini too slow for you?"
"That one was black," Marta said, waving her hand in the air. "Summertime is no time for a black car."
He looked at the dash. "Does the speedometer really go up to 200?"
"Don't worry," Marta said. "I'll drive slowly." She glanced over at him.
"You really don't have to do this," Eliot said.
Marta laughed.
"If I didn't drag you to a salon, you'd probably cut your own hair," she said.
"Clare used to cut it," Eliot said. He cursed himself for bringing her up, but Marta's comment about driving had made him remember her. So many things here made him remember her.
"My stylist is wonderful," Marta said, changing the subject quickly as she pulled out of the driveway. "You'll look fantastic."
"I had better," Eliot said. "I'm taking Brynn out for dinner tonight."
"Oh, is that so?" Marta asked. "That must be why she asked me to go shopping."
"She did what?" Eliot frowned. It was unlike Brynn to volunteer to buy new clothes. She made a fuss about not even being able to wear all of the new clothes she had.
"We must have bought her ten new outfits," Marta said brightly. "It was so much fun! I hope she wears the blue dress tonight. It sets off her eyes so well."
"I'll make sure to ask her to wear it," Eliot said. He didn't want to press the issue. He could always ask Brynn later.
They chatted the whole way down into the city. Marta complained about how reporters had been covering the National Assembly's budgetary spending, and Otto was one of the Assembly members under the spotlight.
"It's terrible, how these people love to carp over such trivialities," Marta
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