Heading into the main building, where the school cafeteria accommodates the entire student body’s meal needs throughout the day, I pick a food line to collect a grilled chicken spinach salad, which is packed with nutrients, and a black coffee to get me through my afternoon classes. I can feel the physical exhaustion creeping into my muscles, and hopefully, the boost of caffeine will keep me awake. But I don’t dare add sugar or cream and disrupt my strict dietary regimen that keeps me in dancing shape.
I’m grateful that my scholarship includes a meal plan, which takes the burden off my aunt to pay for quality food and helps provide for Clara. It comes as a relief to know our groceries and my cafeteria meals are covered for as long as I’m at Rosehill. Heading toward the tables, I carry my tray as I make my way through the throng of bodies coming in search of their own lunch. A familiar deep voice catches my ear as I walk, inexplicably lifting the hair on the back of my neck. I think my body’s on overdrive from all the physical exertion, and I try to calm my quickening heart as I continue forward.
And then he’s right there in front of me.
As a student steps around me, intent on getting to the food line, his lanky form reveals the strong, tall, and stunningly good-looking figure of Nicolo Marchetti. The air leaves my lungs in a gasp as his hazel eyes meet mine, interest sparking there as he looks at me. I freeze, my body going rigid as I come face to face with the man who hurt me so deeply over four years ago.
The father of my child–although he has no idea. I never told Nicolo Marchetti about the two pink lines on the test. He took something from me, but he couldn’t have her. I thought I’d escaped him when I left our high school, and all the confidence goes out of me as I face what feels like a cruel joke.
As his lips pull up into that charming, cocky smile that reminds me he and his family all but own the city of Chicago, my body goes numb. I barely feel the tray slip from my fingers before it hits the floor.
Hot liquid bursts upward as a combination of lightly dressed salad and coffee sprays up onto both Nicolo and me in an explosion of green and black. The sting of hot coffee splattering across my hands is nothing compared to the look of utter rage that transforms Nicolo’s handsome face. His strong jaw clenches, making the tendons pop dangerously beneath his lightly stubbled face. His nostrils flare as his shoulders tense.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” he demands as he flings his hands, sending the liquid and greenery coating them, splatting back to the ground.
My heart comes to a dead standstill in my chest as I realize what I’ve done. But I’m so utterly shocked at seeing Nicolo standing before me that I can’t seem to formulate a complete thought, let alone words. The man who took my virginity, the father of my daughter, and the man who made my life hell. I haven’t seen him since the end of my sophomore year of high school, and I had been so thankful to be away from him then. I’ve spent every day since trying not to think of him. But it's been hard with a living reminder of him in the form of my daughter.
And now, he’s here in front of me, at the school I’ve always dreamed of attending, looking like he’s two seconds from slapping me.
2
ANYA
Nicolo’s as handsome as I remember him, his hazel eyes intense, their almond shape elegant. His dark curly hair falling in a perfectly styled mess over his forehead. With the added benefit of time, he’s grown into his proud nose and strong jaw. The dark stubble that colors his face tells me he’s more man than boy now.
His full lips twist into a sneer. “Are you deaf?” he demands as I continue to stand motionless before him. “I asked what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“It seems she doesn’t know how to carry a tray–or speak,” one of Nicolo’s friends observes dryly beside him.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I stutter as I stare in mortification at the mess I’ve made of his nice jeans.
I’m overwhelmed with memories. The residual wave of emotion as all the pain and rejection I felt back in high school comes flooding into me. The betrayal of Nicolo using me, the price I paid for one brief encounter that I naively thought might be love. Even the nausea of confronting him at school rises back to the surface, making me feel like a self-conscious teen once again.
“Clearly,” Nicolo responds to his friends as he looks me up and down. “You’re dressed like a dancer, but I hate to break it to you, klutz. You’re too clumsy to be in this art program. I bet she fails out before the end of her first week,” he taunts, laughing at me to his friends.
“Good one, Nico,” someone praises him.
His friends laugh around me. Though they’re different faces than the ones that followed him in high school, they’re the same person. Tall, good-looking, muscular guys with mean expressions permanently etched on their faces. A perfect match for Nicolo’s cruelty.
“And just look at her. You think she got that outfit from Goodwill or just the dumpster out behind it?” Nicolo mocks me, bringing tears to my eyes as he targets my vulnerability.
“I-I–” I stutter.
“You must be new here. I would have noticed someone strutting around in rags before now. Is it your first day, New Girl?” Nicolo sneers.
I’m struck by the realization that Nicolo doesn’t recognize me. While my body can’t seem to function properly over being in his proximity, my worst nightmare from high school has completely forgotten about me. I flash back to our confrontation in the halls of our high school, Nicolo pretending he didn’t remember my name, and I realize that it wasn’t just to hurt me. He really thinks so little of me that four years later, he doesn’t know who I am.
“Yes, it’s my first day,” I gasp breathlessly, trying to regain some form of composure in front of him while I stand frozen like a deer in the headlights.
“Well, let me give you a little hint, New Girl. Stay thefuckout of my way,” he growls, echoing his sentiment from years before and bringing back a fresh flood of memories. “Ugh,” he groans, looking down at his spinach-and-coffee-covered pants and shoes. “I’m going to have to change before my next class. I guess I’ll just buy something from the school shops.” His eyes flick back to me once more as his expression of disgust transforms into another sneer. “I would recommend you do the same, but it looks like you won’t be able to afford them. Maybe you can borrow a clean outfit from the homeless guy down the street.”
Nicolo’s friends burst into laughter, their heads tipping back as they point at me.
I fight back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks as I stare down at my feet. I can’t bring myself to apologize again or even try to clean up my mess as his words cut deep. Spinning on my heel, I race from the cafeteria, ready to crawl into the deepest, darkest hole I can find.
Spotting the nearest bathroom, I rush through the door and sprint to the far stall, closing and latching it behind me. My tears of hurt and mortification burst from me in gasping sobs as I tremble uncontrollably.
How is it that Nicolo Marchetti, the man who has plagued my life for years, is suddenly at school with me once more?And what’s somehow worse is that he doesn’t even recognize me. I should be grateful, considering I have Clara to think about. I don’t want him to know anything about me. Still, in this fresh introduction of ours, I’ve clearly made Nicolo, an enemy.