Contemporary Milan, Italy.
In the dazzling world of Vincitore Academy, Margherita, a half-Korean firebrand from humble beginnings, ignites a clash of wills with the P2, the city's elite quartet of dazzling and entitled boys.
Yet, privilege holds no...
Paintings by Klee, Klimt, and Matisse adorned the spacious living room, above a plush carpet and leather cream couches. No way were they originals...but the Tristantes would most definitely not hang copies.
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Well, damn.
A bit on edge, Margherita asked, "Do you live alone? No staff?"
"I don't need much. Miss Magliani lives here and takes care of cooking, a couple more people clean while I'm at school."
Lorenzo could have legally lived by himself since he'd turned eighteen in January, but he wasn't eager to.
Indeed a maid walked in from the kitchen. "Welcome back, Signor Lorenzo—Oh?"
Her double-take was unmistakable. Guests were unusual. Lorenzo introduced Margherita to Miss Magliani, who promptly bowed and retreated back to the kitchen, trying—and miserably failing—to hide a happy grin.
Lorenzo was slightly flushed. "Would you like to watch a movie?" In his introverted mind, this was code for getting cozy and making out.
Margherita shrugged. "Sure."
Hopeful, he led her to his bedroom, knotting her nerves further.
Margherita was at a loss. The date had pushed them farther apart, rather than closer; why were they here? However, curiosity pushed her gaze around the room.
Lorenzo's bedroom was a mix of simple designs in soft grays. Several violins and guitars hung on a wall. A music stand in a corner held music sheets scribbled with pencil notations on the margins. His writing was small and scrawny, leaning heavily to the left. Several pictures of the P2 as kids lined the shelves.
Margherita seized a framed portrait of the four of them. "Even at the mansion, it's either toddlers or recent shots. Where is proof of the ugly, prepubescent P2?"
Lorenzo shook his head. "No such luck. We went from adorable toddlers to hunks. It's amazing what money can do."
She chuckled at his clearly evasive joke; more thorough investigations would have to wait. Several portraits of Lollo and Ludovica littered his desk, which was piled with books, mostly about music. The breakup had been final, but it would take a long time for Lorenzo to process it and truly move on. A glass wall faced an internal, private courtyard with a burbling plunge pool, elegant flowering shrubs, a bench, and a small table with chairs.
Wow.
Margherita, who shared a bedroom with her little brother, could not imagine living in such a beautiful, huge space.
"Make yourself comfortable," Lollo said, more at ease in his element, gesturing to his king bed. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the chair by the desk.
The giant TV was conveniently mounted on the wall. Margherita took off her boots and sat with her feet tucked underneath her, hugging a throw pillow.
Lorenzo was not stupid; Margherita was nervous, but was it excitement, or was she ill-at-ease? He lay beside her and put an arm, loosely, around her shoulders. Unfortunately, she stiffened at his touch, scooting slightly away.
