Page 19 of Nikola

“Of course not. That’s why we’ll never speak of this again. What happens in Revelation, stays in Revelation.”

“That goes for Vegas, not a club,” I corrected her. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Penelope’s nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed to detestable slits. “I’m not getting what I want, and I’ll ensure that he won’t either. Life’s a bitch?—”

“And then we die,” I finished with a sigh. “Maybe Enzo isn’t all that bad. Have you even met him yet?”

She shook her head. “No, but I saw a photo from his childhood. He isn’t my type.”

“I sure hope not,” Amara scoffed. “Why would you think that he would be your type if you only saw a photo of him as a child?”

Penelope slapped her on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Did you not ask to meet him? Or an updated photo?” I signed, questioning her.

Penelope’s answer was curt. “No. Don’t want to see him, meet him, or marry him.”

“I wonder why he doesn’t attend D’Arc?” Amara wondered, echoing my own thoughts. “Where do the Marchettis study?”

Penelope shrugged. “From what I hear, they both studied in the UK and are already running the Marchetti empire in some shape or form.”

“Isn’t it odd that you haven’t met him yet?” I questioned. “You’d think you two would have at least crossed paths by now.”

Amara snickered. “Maybe he’s not the academic type.”

I shook my head. “I’m sure he has other valuable skills. If you only gave him a chance.”

“Whatever,” Penelope said. “I just know we’re incompatible. The dude is old.”

I pursed my lips at her stubbornness. “You shouldn’t rush into having sex.”

“I think what Skye’s trying to say,” Amara interjected, coming to the rescue, “is that you should have sex with someone you care for. Someone who makes your world spin.”

Penelope slapped her hand against her forehead. “While that all sounds nice, as you know, my marriage to Enzo Marchetti was arranged decades ago. Whether I like it or not, it’s happening. Mama told me they set the date.”

Amara and I stared at her open-mouthed. “Already?”

“Yes, apparently Mr. fucking Marchetti is tired of waiting,” Penelope said with an exasperated expression. “Says he’s getting too old.”

“Enrico Marchetti? Why would he care?”

Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m talking about Enzo. The fucker wants a bride. Now!” She snapped her fingers to emphasize the urgency. “Something about him getting too old to keep waiting.”

“But he isn’t that old,” Amara protested. “Is he?”

She shrugged. “Early thirties. Thirty-two, I think?”

“But you’re twenty-one,”I pointed out.“Isn’t that a bit… weird?”

Amara’s cheeks flushed and she shifted uncomfortably on her heels. “I dunno… I’ve heard of more scandalous age gaps, I guess.”

I tilted my head pensively.

“Okay, are we talking about Penelope or you?” This time she turned crimson, and I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Amara would rather die than admit out loud her attraction to Gabriel Santos. “Gabriel’s slightly younger than thirty-two.”

Amara waved her hand nonchalantly. “Tomato, potato.”

“Do I look hot?” Penelope chimed in, interrupting our subject shift. She was determined to get laid, and there’d be nothing on this planet that could stop her.