"You should drive."
I blink. "Me? Don't you have to be eighteen?"
Mnisi waves me off. "It'll be fine. Noelise drives all the time, and she's only seventeen. Your dad tells me that you need to practise driving."
I look at Sparky. I don't know what possessed him to think this was a good idea. I know this was his doing. Sometimes, even I can't understand his scheming. "Yeah, because I'm bad at it," I answer. I hear Noelise cough in what might be her version of a laugh. She's warmed up considerably.
"Nonsense!"
"I don't want to crash your car ..."
"This old thing? I picked it up at a used car sale for two grand. Don't worry about it. I'm lending it to you two for the afternoon." Apparently, Sparky's car got towed because of his poor parking. Sparky's still trying to wrangle it back, so in the meantime, Mnisi made the generous offer to lend us his car. Besides, from what he's implied, he has several more all lined up at his Monaco estate.
I smile. Well, I'll freely take what's freely given. "I'll try to return it without damage."
Mnisi guffaws. "You do that."
Their chauffeured car—a sleek black limousine—arrives soon, and Sparky and I bid them farewell. Once they're gone, I move to get into the passenger seat, but Sparky stops me. "You should drive," he insists. "Good practice."
"If I drive, I'm going to be bad."
"Good. Drive."
I roll my eyes exasperated but comply, circling around to the driver's side. Almost as soon as I've sat down, I realise it's one of those old-timey kinds of cars—a stick shift. "I can't drive stick shifts," I report to Sparky.
"It's like a normal car, just with gears," Sparky says, unfazed. "The speed limit here is so low you don't even need to shift gears." Despite his blasé tone, I see him buckle his seatbelt securely. Normally, Sparky never wears his seatbelt.
Thanks for that vote of confidence. I sigh and buckle my seatbelt too. "You suck."
"Hurry up and drive. We gotta get back to the hotel."
Driving is slow and painful. I run up on curbs countless times, no doubt scraping the sides of the car. It's so scratched on the outside that I don't think Mnisi will notice anyway. I accidentally knock over some trash cans. I stop and start in awkward jolts so much so that Sparky looks green in the face. He doesn't say anything though, sticking stubbornly to his decision to let me drive.
"Turn left here," Sparky directs as I come to a four-way intersection.
I turn left. "Actually, U-turn."
I swerve sharply, frustrated. "Do you actually know where we're going?"
"The Monaco streets are confusing," Sparky defends. "Turn right."
We putter down a narrow street, buildings painted in bright oranges and yellows crowding our vision and leaving only a small river of blue sky above. "That's a nice car," Sparky says.
I cast a quick glance at where Sparky's looking. An old blue-and-white van which looks stunning but probably can't go over 50 KPH is rattling slowly to our right over the poorly paved streets. "Where do we go?" I ask, reminding Sparky.
"Turn right."
I turn right. Now we're going on a steep downhill slope, down towards a wider street near the docks. "Careful," Sparky mutters, almost imperceptible.
It's hard to control my speed when I'm going downhill. I keep pressing down on the brakes, to no avail. Despite my efforts to keep a safe distance away, we slowly creep up on the blue-and-white van. "Careful," Sparky repeats.
I accidentally press down a little too hard on the gas. We lurch forward sharply. With a sickening crunch of metal, we run straight into the van.
I'm thrown back, but I remember to turn the wheels and hurriedly stop the car completely. "I told you to be careful!" Sparky reprimands.
I lift my hands from the wheel, staring wide-eyed at the damage. We were going so slowly that it was like two snails hitting each other—but it's still done some damage. The back of the van is all crumpled and dented. I did a real fender-bender on that. The front of Mnisi's car isn't as damaged, with only a single large dent.
"Oh my god," I say.
The van halts suddenly too. I hear the passenger door slam open, someone stepping out. I unbuckle my seatbelt, opening the door.
When I look up, I nearly fall over.
It's Jasper.
My heart picks up pace. I just hit Jasper's car. I literally just hit his car. Sparky should've never let me drive.
Jasper seems just as shocked to see me, his eyes widening and his eyebrows creasing in confusion. Then he looks at the back of his car, assessing the damage. Then he looks back up at me. I can see the gears turning in his head. I'm frozen. "What the—" he begins.
"What's going on?" a voice cuts off, the driver's side door opening as well.
It's a middle-aged man. He must be Jasper's dad. Even if he has brunette hair, I can see the resemblance. His face is lined but friendly. He wears almost the exact same thing as Jasper—a dress shirt and khakis. Jasper's dress shirt, however, fits him much more loosely. It's not helped by the fact that he's unbuttoned it slightly again. My gaze strays to the small scar curiously before I remember what situation I'm in.
I glance at Sparky, but he's already gotten out of the car. "I'm really sorry," Sparky says, walking over to look at the damage. "My daughter just hit your car."
Jasper's dad whistles, examining the damage. "She sure did."
Sparky looks at Jasper's dad. "Hey, I feel like I know you from somewhere. We met at the parent coffee, didn't we?"
Recognition dawns on Jasper's dad's face. "Marco, was it?"
"Yes. It's good to see you again, John!" Sparky says. The two of them exchange a firm handshake. I blink, still stunned. That changed tones very quickly.
"How have you been? Are you here in Monaco for the yacht show?" John Rochester asks.
"Good, good! We are; I assume you're here for that too. I'm terribly sorry about my daughter hitting your car. Valentina just doesn't know how to drive. I tried to get her to practise, but, well, it's a stick shift and you know kids these days. Nobody drives stick shifts anymore."
John laughs heartily. "Oh, no, no, I do understand. Jasper was like that at first too. He's a great driver now though, so practice does make perfect! Jasper, have you met Valentina?"
Jasper looks at me with pure contempt. "In passing," he mutters.
Sparky slaps John on the back in a friendly manner. Unlike me and Jasper, they seem to be getting along just fine. "John, we should go catch up sometime. You coming to Anathi's party tonight?"
"Of course! Anathi's a good guy."
"That he is. Well, we're in a hurry to go get changed at our hotel, but let's talk at the party. You want me to send you something for the car?"
John waves him off. "You're good, you're good. Water under the bridge. We'll see you there."
And then the confrontation is over. John and Jasper get back into their van. Jasper seems to be holding back words. He settles for shooting me a dirty look. I meet his gaze steadily with my own. Then, they're gone.
"Good job, getting us into an accident like that," Sparky mutters darkly. "I'm driving now."
I huff but don't deny it. Back to being a passenger princess. With Sparky taking over the wheel, the ride back to the hotel is much smoother. I can even lean out the window and admire the pleasant streets and storefront displays. "I can't believe that was Jasper's car," I sigh, mostly talking to myself.
Sparky glances at me. "You know him?"
"Sure I know him. He hates my guts."
We screech to a stop in the middle of the street, the impact throwing me forward. "What was that for?!" I demand.
Sparky completely lets go of the steering wheel, turning fully around to look at me. There aren't any cars around, thankfully. "What do you mean, he hates your guts?"
"It's not my fault!" I protest. "He crashed into me during a football game and said I crashed into him. And he basically called me a whore, so yeah, I hate him too."
Sparky looks like he's suddenly on the edge of a mental breakdown. "Valentina, listen, that's John Rochester's kid. You just made an enemy of John Rochester's kid."
"So?"
"I've gotta be on good terms with John! Look, I sent you to Arbourne to make friends, not enemies. Listen to me now, loud and clear. John Rochester is important. His son is important. And I don't want you screwing up my connections because of petty football games. So you're gonna go and make up with Jasper, even if you have to lick his shoes. You got that?"
"I'm not licking anyone's shoes."
"The Rochesters aren't just anyone. You're gonna make friends with him," Sparky orders. When he gets like this, his accent slips out just a little bit. There's no arguing with him.
"I'll make friends," I snap, "but he's nothing special. I don't want to talk with him any more than I have to."
Sparky starts driving again, looking straight ahead. "I'll decide that," he says, and that's final.
꧁꧂
I look hot. I'm not exactly vain, but what can I say? It's true! The red dress is absolutely stunning and paired with a pair of chunky heels that I packed, it's perfect. Of course I can't forget my pearl earrings (again, trying to make them my thing) and makeup. I went for bold smoky eyeliner, a red lip to match my dress, and so much blush I seem like I'm drowning in champagne. I look like a high-end stripper or a mafia boss's wife or something suitably romantic like that. Point is, I look gorgeous.
Unfortunately, there's nobody I know here to appreciate it. I sip from a mocktail, looking out over the dark ocean. Mnisi's yacht is the loudest thing in the bay. The main deck has strobe lights and music so loud I think I've gone deaf from listening to it. Everywhere I look, there are drunk people and pretty girls hanging onto their arms. I was in the midst of it earlier, screaming my lungs out to a song, but I've retired to the other end of the ship to take a break.
There are precious few people here, only some couples chatting and laughing, and one guy trying to make advances on a stripper. You know, the usual.
I sigh, tired of the silence. I need some more excitement. "She's not interested," I snap at the guy as I leave, "you'd have better chances if you took a swan dive off the side of this boat."
The guy turns to look at me in shock or outrage. I don't see his expression because I'm already gone.
The bar is packed. I can't order anything alcoholic because I'm underage (and the bartenders here are surprisingly conscientious), so I settle for asking if they have any snacks.
Before the bartender can even respond, I feel a sharp pressure on my wrist. I'm yanked away. My first reaction is to smash the mocktail glass I'm holding and use it as a weapon, but then I realise who it is.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the angriest scowl I've ever seen.
"What the hell?" I ask, tugging my wrist away.
Jasper gives me a backwards glance and continues without me, climbing up a set of stairs that leads to an upper deck.
"Hey!" I say, following him. Up on this deck it's actually a little windy and cold. I shiver. "What the hell do you want?"
All of a sudden, he rounds on me and shoves me against the railing. I stumble, grabbing on for support, and he pins my wrist there in a precarious position. If I lean backwards a little more, I'd fall. "You," he growls, "hit my car. On purpose."
I stare at him. He's so close I can see the faint freckles on his nose. At that moment, the only thing I manage to say is, "I didn't."
"Don't lie," he says quietly, dangerously so. It's almost a whisper. "That's like what I said last time. That's too far."
"I really didn't," I snap. "I wouldn't stoop to that level. I had no fucking clue that was your car. My dad wanted me to practise driving, so I did. It was a shitty idea and I'm a shitty driver, but I sure as hell would never hit your car on purpose."
He studies me for a second, his gaze boring intently into me. "Don't give me that. You're a shit liar."
"I'm not lying."
"I know you're not lying. Not about the car." He pauses, shifting his grip on my wrist. For a moment, I feel like I'm going to fall.
"Then?" I prompt.
Jasper gives me a smile. It's the most insincere smile I've ever seen, the kind he likes to flash to pretty girls to make them swoon and fall at his knees. Toothy and sharp and beautiful at the same time. "Valentina Bianchi," he says. Something about the way he says my name makes me shiver. "Valentina Bianchi. You come here, you break into our group, and everyone loves you. They do, right? Don't deny it."
"Tell me something I don't know," I retort.
His smile fades. It's cold now. "Valentina Bianchi. That's your name. You act like you're old money, like you own the world. But Valentina Bianchi, I've never heard that name before. I don't know you, and I know everyone. Land development in China can buy you fancy clothes and cars, but it's not going to buy you history."
"So?"
"I know you don't know anyone," he says flatly. "You're just some upstart who got lucky in real estate. You're a fraud. Money can't buy class. Just look at Avril Jewel. You can try and pretend like you're one of us all you want, but I will always know what you really are."
I try to keep my voice steady. How can he say that? If he doesn't know shit about me or my family, my heritage, that's his fault. "And what is that?"
He leans closer. He's a little taller than me, but with me leaning over the railing, we're eye to eye now. "A liar."
That's enough. I yank my wrist out of his grasp, shouldering past him. He's crazy. Delusional. He hates me so much, he's gone mad. "I am not a liar."
Jasper watches me go. He seems amused, like he was toying with me. "Prove it," he says.
I round on him. "I could prove it better than you could, but I won't. I don't need to prove myself to you. I have just as much right as you do."
Jasper smiles wanly, thinly. "Then I'll prove you're a liar," he says, leaning casually against the railing like it's no big deal. In this dim lighting, he looks like a young devil in the night. They always did say that the devil is beautiful. "When you get back to school, Valentina Bianchi, watch your back."
It's not even a taunt anymore. It's a threat. A threat for all-out war.
If he wants war, I think grimly, stalking away, I'll give him war.
꧁꧂
spicy chapter! if you liked this, please vote <3 means a lot to me. jasper's a little delulu innit?