He shrugged, but kept his shoulders rigid. “Right now? Not a whole lot …” he said vaguely, trailing off.

“Do you think you’ll miss school?”

Nic shook his head. “It’s only one semester. And I like to be active; I want to feel useful, like what I’m doing is making some small difference in the world. I don’t think I’ll ever need to use trigonometry in real life.”

“I know,” I concurred enthusiastically. “Or Shakespeare. Bleugh.”

Nic reacted like I had slapped him on the side of the head. He stopped and placed his hands on my arms, pulling me toward him until I was right under his gaze. I thought he was going to start shaking me. “Did you really just knock the man who gave us Romeo and Juliet?”

I frowned. I had never really considered it at length before; I just knew I didn’t like school, and for me, Shakespeare was synonymous with school, a place where I didn’t feel welcome. “I guess I’m not a big fan of tragedy.”

“What about love?” he said with such intensity I almost forgot to breathe.

Slowly, he moved his hands up my arms, trailing his fingers across my shoulders until his thumbs were brushing the base of my neck. I felt my skin prickle with anticipation.

“Love is different,” I said.

“Love is weakness.” He studied his fingers as he moved them up my neck in gentle, butterfly touches.

“Weaknesses make us human,” I said, hearing the dryness in my throat.

“And being human makes us fallible.” He was so close.

“Are you fallible, Nic?”

His gaze was on my lips now. “Of course I am.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You shouldn’t,” he whispered. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, leaving his thumb under my chin.

I rose onto my tiptoes and he pulled me into his body, until my nose was almost touching his. His breathing faltered. Then his hands were around my waist, pressing against my lower back, and his lips were on mine.

I couldn’t think anymore. I was undone, and suddenly nothing else mattered but Nic and the way he was pressing his mouth against mine and holding me like he never wanted to let me go. Everything around us dulled and, for a heartbeat, it was as if the entire world were holding its breath.

Then a roaring engine split the silence apart. A car sped up the street, pulling us back into reality and away from our kiss.

As the black SUV screeched to a halt on the street beside us, I felt my insides collapse in disappointment. Nic untangled himself from me and lunged forward to bang on the car’s blacked-out window.

“Gino? Dom?” he shouted. “Cosa vuoi?”

With a sleek casualness, the window buzzed down and the driver leaned across the passenger seat.

“Luca?” Nic sounded shocked.

Luca, in all his icy-eyed splendor, spat, “Get in, Nicoli.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Luca threw his arm out and popped the passenger door so that it swung open against his brother’s body. “Get in the car now.”

Nic turned back to me, his expression apologetic. “He can be a bit over the top sometimes …”

“Without her,” Luca interrupted.

“Have you gone insane? Or are you just having an asshole day? I’m not ditching Sophie in the middle of the street!”

Luca rubbed his hand across his forehead and released a sharp sigh. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, little brother, but it’s not funny.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you spoken to Dom today?”

“No.”

“Vieni qui.”

Nic leaned into the open window.

Luca dropped his voice and spoke in one endless, hurried thread. Even though I could tell they had switched to Italian, I stood with my arms folded and listened. And though what I heard was mostly an incomprehensible string of syllables, I managed to glean one word successfully. And that word was “Gracewell.”

The second I heard my name spring from Luca’s lips, Nic turned around and regarded me with a poorly concealed display of horror. His mouth, which had been soft against mine just moments ago, was pursed in a hard line, and suddenly he was looking at me like he didn’t know who I was.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s your name?” he asked in a strained voice.

“You know my name,” I replied, feeling scared by how unrecognizable he suddenly seemed. “It’s Sophie.”

“Sophie what?”

“Nic …”

“Sophie what?” he pressed, his voice growing frighteningly shrill.

“G-Gracewell,” I stammered, my lips trembling.

He looked like he was about to pass out. “Cazzo!”

“What does it matter what my name is?” I heard the desperation in my voice, but I didn’t care.

He shook his head. “But it doesn’t make any sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to go.” The words seemed forced, but he pushed them out determinedly.

“What does it matter?” I asked again. “What did Luca say about me?”

Behind Nic, Luca stared impassively at the road, but his hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard, they looked like marble. “Get in the car, Nic. Don’t drag this out.”

Nic lingered, looking at me like I had just slapped him hard in the face.