Page 20

Chapter 20

Ginny

T he restaurant hums with warmth and energy, a blend of clinking glasses, soft Italian ballads playing from hidden speakers, and the rich, mouthwatering scent of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh basil wafting through the air. Golden candlelight flickers across the white tablecloth, casting dancing shadows as I press my nails into the fabric, trying to keep my knee from bouncing under the table.

When I asked Dad to dinner, I never expected him to bring me to someplace as fancy as this. I was expecting something more like Louise’s, where I could get my fill of breadsticks and spaghetti, lasagna, and fettuccine. No, Dad went authentic tonight and brought me to La Tavola di Firenze. I had to use google translate to find out what the hell it meant. It roughly translated to English as The Table of Florence. That is, if I trust the reliability of it.

I turn my head to the side, glaring at Antony, who’s sitting way too comfortably between me and my dad, sipping at a glass of water like he hasn’t just completely derailed my night. This was supposed to be a simple, strategic dinner. Just me and Dad. A distraction, so Carter could pull off his plan and lock Chase and Blake in the rink’s locker room long enough for them to either murder each other or—hopefully—sort out their shit. But, of course, Antony has slithered his way into joining us, all smiles and smooth talk, like the snake that he is.

"Relax, GiGi," he leans over to me, murmuring for only me to hear, amusement lacing his voice. "The way you’re bouncing your knees under the table, you’d think you’re nervous about something."

I grit my teeth so hard I swear I feel my molars grind to dust. Before I can snap back, the waiter steps up, a polite smile on his face as he flips open a notepad and runs through the evening’s specials.

"Buona sera. Tonight, we have a beautiful osso buco, slow-braised with red wine and served over saffron risotto," he says, his thick Italian accent making the words roll off his tongue like poetry. "Or, if you prefer pasta, the chef has prepared a handmade pappardelle tossed in a creamy truffle sauce with wild mushrooms and pancetta."

Dad nods approvingly, setting his menu down. "Sounds good. I’ll have the osso buco."

"I'll take the pappardelle," Antony says smoothly, handing his menu back without so much as glancing up. Of course, he would order the most expensive thing on the menu. Fucking prick.

The waiter turns to me, and I clear my throat, keeping my voice steady. "I'll have the gnocchi al pesto and a glass of red wine." I hesitate, then add, "Actually, make it two glasses."

Dad’s head jerks up, eyes narrowing as he focuses on me. "Nice try, Geneva. You’re underage." He shifts his eyes to the waiter, giving him a firm shake, a clear no wine for me.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Technically, he’s right. But after the night I’m having, I really don’t care and it’s not like I haven’t drank before. Hell, I’m a pro at it, and if I was asked for an ID, well, I have a fake one. Dad just doesn’t know about it.

"Fine," I sigh dramatically. "Just a Coke, then."

The waiter nods, jotting everything down before gathering mine and Dad’s menus. "I’ll be back shortly with your drinks. Would you like to add an appetizer?"

“Yes. Thank you for reminding me. Can we get the Bruschetta al Pomodoro, please?” my dad tells him, ordering our favorite appetizer.

“Of course. Coming right up.” The waiter opens his pad, jotting it down quickly as he smiles at us.

As he steps away, Antony leans back in his chair, swirling the ice in his water glass. Smug. Always so smug. I’d like nothing more than to take my knife and stab it right into his heart.

The thought of him, bleeding, begging for help, puts a smile on my face. I should hate myself for thinking such gruesome and horrible thoughts. But I don’t.

"Everything okay, Ginny?" Antony asks, tapping his finger against his chin.

I press my palms to my lap, digging my nails into the soft fabric of my dress. He knows. Maybe not about the plan, but he knows I don’t want him here. He knows his presence is choking the air from my lungs, and yet he’s thriving in it, basking in my discomfort.

I force a smile, all saccharine sweetness and thinly veiled irritation. "Oh, I’m great. Just really, really looking forward to my Coke."

And getting the hell out of here before I stab him.

His question gets my father’s attention, and he clears his throat as he fiddles with the silverware. Fuck me! I know that nervous tell. He had one similar when he gave me the whole birds and bees lecture when I got my first period. This night is getting worse by the minute. The only thing that would make it better would be knowing that Carter’s plan went off without a hitch and Blake and Chase are on the path to working out their issues. But I can’t check my phone to see if I have a message or to send Carter one. Not with the way Antony’s watching me like a hawk.

I feel the weight of the moment settle over the table like a thick fog, suffocating any breath of relief I might’ve thought I could take. Dad clears his throat, a soft, deliberate sound that echoes louder than it should. His eyes flick to Antony, then back to me. There’s something in that glance, some silent exchange that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. They both know something—something I don’t, and I don’t like it. My stomach twists into a tight, anxious knot, and my fingers tremble just slightly as I trace the edge of my water glass.

Dad shifts in his seat, fingers still dancing nervously around his silverware before he suddenly raps his knuckles against the table, sharp and firm, demanding attention.

"Geneva," he says, drawing out my name. I glance up, catching the look on Antony’s face. His eyes are trained on me, intense, calculating. I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks as I shift my gaze away, locking it back onto my father. I hope to god he didn’t see the fire that flared up between Antony and me. The tension is thick, suffocating, and it makes the words in my mouth feel trapped.

I force a smile, the sweetness of it as artificial as the syrupy sweetness of a dessert you know is going to be too rich. "Yeah?" I say, my gaze still flicking to Antony, whose smug face makes me want to hurl.

Dad doesn’t seem to notice my gaze or the tension between the three of us. Instead, he presses on, his voice smooth and proud. "Antony told me about your extra early morning training at the rink. I want you to know, I admire this new dedication to perfecting your skill set. I was worried about you for a while, especially with the issues at Christmas, but you seem to be turning a new leaf and I’m proud of you."

My head snaps toward Antony, and without thinking, I let him have it—a look sharp and loaded with the venom I’ve been holding back. His smile falters, inch by inch, as if every second I'm glaring at him is another chip off his mask. Good. Let him feel it. His plan to sabotage me is failing, crumbling right in front of his eyes, and for the first time, I feel like I’ve won something.

But before I can savor the moment, Dad speaks again, his tone shifting, growing more serious. "However, Antony has voiced some concerns, and I have to agree with him."

My stomach drops. The words echo in my mind, and my pulse hammers in my ears as the air grows thick, heavy with what’s to come.

"You’re more fatigued during your practices," he continues, "and it's showing in your routine. I’d love to see you cut down the extra training to a few days a week."

There it is. Antony once again fucking with my life. Controlling it and me like a puppet master.

I feel my smile slip away, a tightness creeping into my chest. My heart races, my thoughts scatter in every direction, but all I can hear is the silence that follows his words.

But then, Dad’s voice pulls me back. He’s not done. "There’s more," he says, his words thick with the weight of whatever he’s about to unload. My stomach twists as I brace myself. "My team uses the rink for extra practice as well," Dad continues, his tone turning even more serious, more unsettling. "And it seems you’ve been there when they’ve been. Both Antony and I worry about you being there alone with them."

My heart lurches. My chest tightens. "What’s to worry about?" I blurt, the words snapping out of me before I can stop them. I’m fighting to hold it together, to keep my voice steady because we’re in a crowded restaurant and I can’t make a scene—not here, not now. But the tension is boiling inside me, itching at my skin like a rash I can’t scratch.

"Geneva," my dad says, and the way he says it—heavy, slow, like he’s speaking to a child—makes the blood rush to my face. "You’re alone in a rink with men. You’re an attractive girl, and, well... quite frankly, my team, while they are men, they can act like boys and think with the wrong head. I don’t want you in a situation where they could possibly try to take advantage of you."

His words hit me like a slap across my face. My pulse quickens, my vision narrows, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep my anger from spilling over. I can feel my hands trembling slightly, but I don’t let it show. "I can take care of myself, Dad," I snap, the words sharp and bitter on my tongue. "I’m not some damsel in distress. Besides, it’s only happened one time that someone was there, and we didn’t even talk to each other." My eyes flick to Antony then, and I can’t stop the sneer that curls my lips. "Antony can attest to that—he followed me there. Seems like when he left, he couldn’t run fast enough to snitch on me, huh? Like a damn playground tattletale."

I need to keep it together. There’s too much at stake for this weekend, too much I can’t afford to lose.

"Geneva," my dad starts again, but I don’t let him finish. I can’t hear it anymore.

"Seriously, Dad?" I cut him off, my voice harsh, cutting through the space between us like a knife. "We didn’t even skate on the same end of the rink. But it’s okay, I get the memo. If anyone is there, I can’t skate. Got it. Once again, your precious team is put before me, your daughter. Your flesh and blood."

Before he can respond, the waiter arrives at our table with our drinks and the appetizer. His presence breaks the tension like a glass of cold water. But it doesn’t help. It doesn’t cool the heat burning in my chest, the fury swirling in my stomach. My mind is made up now, clearer than ever. I’m going to see Carter tonight. Hopefully, he still wants to. And I just so happen to have the perfect alibi—thank you, Melly.

But for now, I plaster on the most composed smile I can manage, because that’s the only thing that matters. Get through dinner. Get through this. And then, I’ll take back control.

It’s been torture since we made it home. Hell, even before that. Having to keep a fake smile plastered on my face to appease my father and let Antony think he has the upper hand is exhausting. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. I just had to make sure to put on a show for Dad.

Antony lounges across from us on the loveseat, legs spread wide, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. He looks like a king on his throne, fully convinced that he’s won, that he can manipulate my dad with every well-placed lie he spins to keep me under his control.

Fuck him.

I sit up straighter, smoothing my expression into something casual, almost innocent, before speaking. "Hey, Dad, I forgot to mention it earlier at dinner, but Melina’s in town this weekend, and she wants me to come hang out with her at the hotel. If that’s okay." I pause just for a beat before adding, "She’ll be heading to Europe next week, and she’ll be there for a couple of months, and it’ll be a while before we can see each other." The last part is a lie, but my dad doesn’t need to know that.

Dad raises an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face. "What’s she doing here? I didn’t think she had any family in town."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Antony shift in his seat, leaning in closer, making sure he doesn’t miss anything I have to say, ready to pounce if need be. That’s right, asshole. Game on.

"She doesn’t," I reply smoothly. "I mentioned that the rink was closed for the weekend when we last talked, and since I wouldn’t be practicing, she decided to come surprise me."

Dad hesitates, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s about to ruin my plans to escape for the night. Then he nods. "Okay," he says, just before his tone turns firmer. "Just stay out of trouble." His eyes lock onto mine, making it crystal clear that he means exactly that.

Relief crashes over me so hard I can barely keep my glee contained. I practically launch myself into his lap, throwing my arms around his neck and squeezing him tight, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Daddy!" I say sweetly, grinning as I pull back. "I’m going to call her now and start packing my bag!" I kiss his cheek again for good measure before slipping off his lap and heading for the stairs.

But before I disappear completely, I pause at the bottom step—just out of Dad’s line of sight—and flip Antony off. Fucking asshole.

I don’t waste another second, moving quickly to my dresser, disconnecting my phone from the charger, and tossing it onto the bed. First, I message Melly.

Me: How fast can you get here to pick me up?

It’s like the universe is finally on my side because, by some miracle, Melly actually is in town—visiting the football player from the rival college. They met at a club, and from the way she’s been gushing over him, I think my best friend might have finally found a guy who could make her a one-man woman.

Next, I text Carter.

Me: Still want to see me tonight?

His response comes almost instantly, like he was already waiting for me to message him.

Carter: Hell yeah. Want me to come and get you?

Me: No, I got it covered. Can I stay the night?

Carter: Pixie, you don’t even need to ask me that.

Me: See you soon.

While I was texting Carter, Melly responded, so I click over to her thread.

Melly: Be there in 15. Or less.

Me: Perfect.

I rush to my closet, grab my overnight bag, and start throwing in clothes, toiletries, my charger—everything I need. Zipping it shut, I sling it over my shoulder and race down the stairs just as the doorbell rings.

Damn, she’s fast.

"I got it!" I call out before anyone else can move, my heart pounding with excitement. I yank the door open to find Melly standing there. She doesn’t waste any time pulling me into a tight hug. I bury my face in her shoulder, inhaling her familiar perfume, and whisper, "Thank you for this."

She squeezes me even tighter, whispering back. "You’re welcome.”

When we pull apart, she takes my bag from me, stepping inside just long enough to greet my dad. "Hello, Mr. Lein, it’s good to see you again," she says, flashing him a warm smile before turning to Antony. Her expression shifts instantly—her voice turning cold. "Antony."

Dad, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air, grins at her. "It’s good to see you too, Melina."

She moves over to the couch, leans down, and kisses his cheek. "I trust you’ll both be on your best behavior tonight?" he says, his tone laced with amusement.

"Absolutely, sir," she replies smoothly. "We’re just going to grab some snacks on the way back, binge some movies, and catch up on life. You know, girly stuff."

She turns to me. "I’ll meet you at the car while you grab your jacket."

I step behind the couch, wrapping my arms around Dad’s shoulders from behind and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his face. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, Geneva," he says warmly, then turns to Antony. "Guess you and I are having a guys' night."

I don’t even try to hide my laughter. The look on Antony’s face is pure misery. Serves him right.

I grab my jacket and rush outside, practically vibrating with adrenaline as I slip into the passenger seat of Melly’s car.

"So," she says as she starts the engine, giving me a knowing glance. "Where am I taking you?"

I smirk. "Remember the guys from the Poconos?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Well, they just so happen to play hockey for my dad," I say, buckling my seatbelt. "That’s where I’m going."

Melly’s jaw drops. "Oh shit." She lets out a laugh. "I need all the details."

I grin. "Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get them." And with that, we peel away from the house, my heart racing with anticipation.