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“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Bailey says, like it’s her birthday and the presents have just arrived. I startle and exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

A guy in blue jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt buttoned tight around the neck strolls over to Bailey. She tosses her hair and greets him with a haughty look. He circles around, inspecting her like he wants to check under her hood. I look for Duffy but the guys are drooling on the cars.

“Well, well. A nice improvement over the last American girls we met,” the guy says with an Italian accent.

“Oh yeah? And what were they like?” Bailey is using her sex kitten voice, and I think,
Oh, Lord, trouble’s talkin’
.

“Oh, you know, running, screaming.” The guy smiles and his friends laugh low and deep. Green Eyes cocks an amusing grin at me, and I cross my arms for something to do. Nobody knows what to make of their joke.

The guy says his name is Vaughn Raider. His family just moved here. He introduces the driver of the Bugatti who is taller, wider, and thicker than the rest. Wolfgang, his older brother, is clad in a black T-shirt, jeans, and biker boots. His hair is pulled back and shaped like a comma at the nape of his neck. With a rough-looking face
and black hollow eyes that you could throw a rock down and never hear the bottom, Wolfgang could deface property at a glance. He seems wild and impatient, like he’s missing a link. He has been analyzing us or hunting for someone but not quite sure whom.

Vaughn introduces his cousin, Santiago, a slight kid of about fifteen. He’s not bad looking, like, if Sal Mineo had gone emo—dark hair and red bangs, black skinny jeans, high tops, a bandana hanging out of his pocket, and black nail polish. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says
I DIED FOR AN IRON MAIDEN
, and his arms are overflowing with every electronic device imaginable. Santiago is smiling profusely.

Attention shifts to Green Eyes, who is sporting a cool demeanor that elevates him above the others. He strolls over just as a blast of hot wind swirls around us, tossing hair and ruffling clothes. It’s warm on my face, like a breath of fire. Dead leaves scatter across our feet, and then gradually the wind dies down and all activity goes still as a tomb.

Green Eyes smiles at me. “
Buongiorno, cara mia
. Forgive, please, the ‘American girls’ remark from my cousin. He twists humor like linguini.” He slides his hand beneath mine and lifts it to his lips. “I am Dante Dannoso. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

His thick Italian accent is sexy, like an accessory to his car. When he kisses the back of my hand, his lips feel hot and feverish. His hand is warm and possessive, and not letting go.

There’s a catch in my voice when I say my name.

“Sophia,”
he repeats my name like it’s some romantic song, and I’m pretty sure the next breeze will knock me over.

An uncomfortable silence follows because a nagging thought has its foot caught in my door. I can’t remember what I wanted to say. Dante is leaning forward, waiting for me to acknowledge something.

“I … um—”

The school bell blasts, and Dante twitches with annoyance. I take the opportunity to retract my hand and rub it. It’s really hot.

Dante’s entire family reacts to the sound. They step back and stare suspiciously at the school. “Church bell?” Wolfgang asks.

“Warning bell,” Duffy answers, striding over as the guys pry themselves away from the cars. “Means we’ve got three minutes to haul ass to class.”

The car doors close, and electronic chirps activate the locks. Jordan the Leerer offers to show the new guys around, but Dante moves in on me.

“Perhaps Sophia could give me a tour.” His hot hand cups my elbow, and my
cheeks tingle with heat.
Jeez, I’m blushing like a freshman!

There is something unnerving about the way Dante looks at me. Like he knows what color my panties are.

“Um, well, actually … I’m kinda new here, too, and … Jordan knows the school better than me, so …”
Oh wow, that wasn’t lame at all
.

Dante notices his effect on me and breaks out laughing.

My face falls, and I stare.

That laugh!
I know that laugh! It’s the same devilish laughter that has been pinballing around in my head for weeks.

Chapter 17

My, What Big Eyes You Have

First period is a cacophony of chatter and excitement. Mr. Wagner wants an explanation so Jordan the Leerer starts in about the supercars. Bailey interrupts, giving details about the new guys checking in at the front office.

“Dante and Wolfgang are cousins and seniors. Dante’s brother, Santiago, is a sophomore. Vaughn is Wolfgang’s brother and a junior. They’re from Italy.” Bailey waggles her eyebrows at me. She has omitted the best part.
They’re hot!

“Where do they live?” Mr. Wagner asks, and I answer on reflex.

“The old Hardgrave mansion.” Everyone looks at me in surprise. Still officially an outsider, I’m not supposed to know things before the locals. I shift uncomfortably. “Well, Connie Caulfield said she rented the mansion to an Italian family so …” I let them jump to my conclusion.

Mr. Wagner takes attendance by glancing around. Raph and Michael are the only ones absent. Not so unusual, they seem to miss a lot of school, always coming and going at odd intervals. It’s funny though; none of the teachers seem to mind.

Mr. Wagner starts his lecture like a verbal assault, and my notes take on a Sanskrit appearance, but hey, I’m trying. Ten minutes later, the door opens and Dante and Wolfgang stroll in.

I feel my insides curl up. I can’t shake the idea of Dante’s laughter sounding identical to that wicked sound I’ve been hearing. I tell myself it’s impossible. I’m making something out of nothing.

Dante asks to “Excuse, please, the intrusion,” and makes the introductions to Mr. Wagner, who in turn makes an embarrassing show of the “fine young gentleman’s impeccable manners.” The class gives a collective,
Yeah, whatever
, kind of groan.

Dante strolls down the aisle, his cocky expression telling us he played the old fool. Everybody laughs.

He takes the seat to my left and Wolfgang behind him. The class whizzes by but neither one takes notes, and I think,
You’ll be sorry
.

Ten minutes before the bell rings, Mr. Wagner explains next week’s schedule regarding the Harvest Festival. “Classes are dismissed at the usual time next Wednesday.
However, most seniors will be allowed to leave early to help finish decorating the booths.”

Because Haven Hurst is heavily into tourism, the festival marks the start of what the locals call the autumn mini-break.

“The junior high and elementary schools will walk to the square Thursday morning. The senior class and parent helpers will be in place to receive them. Each senior is assigned to work a booth as part of your required community service hours. The list of booth assignments will be posted in the courthouse foyer—if the goats don’t find them first.” Mr. Wagner smirks. “Anyway, the festival ends Saturday night with the Harvest Festival Dance …”

I feel Dante’s eyes on me. The sensation is warm and gentle, and I’m compelled to turn and look at him but I don’t. The more I fight it, the more I’m tempted, and the faster my heart pumps. Blood pounds in my ears. I start to give in just as Wolfgang’s deep voice breaks into Mr. Wagner’s monologue and snaps my tension like a thread.

“So what’s this harvest thing for anyway?” Wolfgang sounds bored.

Mr. Wagner looks dumbfounded. “Why, it’s to celebrate the fruits of our labor, of course.”

“You’re kidding.” Wolfgang chuckles and glances around. No one shares his amusement.

Casey scoffs and mumbles, “Sheesh,” like Wolfgang’s an idiot. And then Casey’s knee jerks and his foot kicks the edge of Lizzanne’s desk, sending her books and papers scattering in the air. Lizzanne yelps in shock; Casey stares in shock; everyone gapes in shock. It is categorically out of character for Casey and he is horrified. He scrambles to clean up the mess.

“I’m so sorry, Liz. I didn’t mean to … I don’t know what happened. It was an accident.” Casey’s face is red, and everybody is laughing.

I look at Wolfgang and find him grinning at me, his dark features animated with a look of utter satisfaction. There is a row of pencils from the front office on his desk, and he returns to his pet project, sliding them through his fingers and snapping them like toothpicks. He has a pile of dead number 2’s like a stack of yellow bones.

When the bell rings, Dante and Wolfgang twitch, again, and I think,
Maybe they don’t use bells in Italian high schools
.

So the morning slides by like a knife through Rocky Road ice cream, cool with a few bumps. The new guys are in all my morning classes. Dante is charming and schmoozes Mrs. Dennis, the language teacher, with his sexy accent. She nearly pulls a Wicked Witch and melts into a puddle. Wolfgang withdraws into a pouty mood like he
has been reprimanded by his daddy. He scowls at Dante, and I think it’s funny because it’s not directed at me. Then it’s just scary.

One thing snags my attention; I get the feeling that they are pretending or something, like they’re not here for school but killing time until something else happens.

Holy crap, here I go again
. Just like with Michael, more suspicious thoughts. I trudge through my classes wondering if there is such a thing as excessive suspicion disorder.

It’s not until lunch period that I realize none of the Patronus family are at school. When I ask Bailey about it, she shrugs like it’s no biggie.

“They do that sometimes. They’re really connected to their homeland. Take random days off. Like celebrating Estonian holidays and stuff like that.” She throws a biscuit across the room that glances off Jordan’s head and hits Sarah. “Suck it!” she yells at Jordan. Sarah’s eyes become two glaring spotlights.

I raise my eyebrows. “Well, that was mature.”

“He keeps doing that disgusting thing with his tongue.”

“Why don’t you quit looking at him?” Rachel pipes in cheerfully, the ambassador for world peace.

“And then how would I know if he’s still doing it? Huh,
mademoiselle loca
?”

I bite into my hamburger just as Dante, Vaughn, and Wolfgang slide into the empty chairs that usually hold the Patronus brothers. Dante smiles at me, and Vaughn’s intense brown eyes target Bailey. Wolfgang scowls.

Everybody says “Hey,” and then the guys start picking at their burgers like they’re not sure what to make of them. One by one they push their plates aside, sit back, and, without any pretense, watch us eat.

Even with a fat burger and fries before him, Dante gives off a vibe of sophistication and ease. He oozes confidence, and I think if you’re going to ooze something it should be confidence. He is grinning like I hold some fascination for him. I’m wondering if I have ketchup on my face.

Bailey is an immigration officer firing questions. What part of Italy are they from? Why did they move here? How long are they staying?

Dante explains that his dad and uncle travel a lot for business so he and his cousins are basically independent. They will live alone—with just the servants, of course—until the others arrive.

Bailey is spellbound, and I think she might crawl over the table and snuggle into Vaughn’s lap. Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind either. As much as I love observing the Art of Flirting by Bailey Caraway—she makes eating a french fry sexy—I’ve got stuff to do:
upload and edit photos for the next newsletter, polish my lenses, agonize over the astronomy packet I’m not doing. I’m a busy girl so I dump my tray and leave.

When I push through the cafeteria doors and start up the sidewalk, Dante appears beside me, and I startle.

“I’m sorry. I surprised you, no?” His voice is deep and smooth and laughing. This time it’s a playful laugh and it makes me doubt myself. I must have overreacted earlier, just imagined he sounded like the devilish laughter. I mean, it’s been awhile since I’ve heard it. I could be wrong.

Everything about Dante smacks of money: his European car, his European clothes, his European hairstyle.

“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention,” I say, but think,
No European footsteps
? He doesn’t say anything so I turn to leave and he catches my arm. His hand is so hot, I wonder if he has a fever.

“You look very familiar. Do I know you?” He smiles, and his green eyes have hooks that lure me in, tipping my head forward. His pupils dilate and reflect two tiny images of my face.

“I … uh, I wondered that, too, but, no, I don’t think so.” Even as I say this, I’m struck again by a strong sense of familiarity.

“Are you
sure
?” He tilts his head, prompting me toward the right answer.

I’m not sure
. I strangely don’t feel sure of anything.

“Hmm, well, I would
like
to know you,” he murmurs with a trace of disappointment.

I say “Oh,” because it’s the pinnacle of my intelligence at the moment. He has a strange way of stalling my thoughts.

Dante laughs at my non-answer. “Well, we have plenty of time for that, don’t we?”

I don’t know what he means, and then the bell rings and he twitches and it’s my turn for a question.

“You don’t like bells, do you?”

He glances around. “You are very observant. No, I do not care for church bells.”

“You mean school bells,” I say, and he shrugs as though it’s all the same.

“Does that bell indicate that we are to go to the next class?” He moves in as the sidewalk becomes crowded with students pouring out of the cafeteria. The chilly air turns warm as he closes the space between us. Hot fingers slide up the inside of my arm and pull me next to him. A wave of heat washes over me, and I think
I’m
the one with the fever.

“Yes,” I whisper and he smiles down at me. I like his smile. It’s open and friendly, not full of suspicion and secrets. Like Michael’s.

“I am supposed to report to something called shop class. Direct me?” He makes a charming, helpless expression. I point to the large tin building at the end of the walk. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, and I laugh out loud.