Pretty Little Lies, page 1
PRETTY LITTLE LIES
IVY THORN
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Anya
2. Anya
3. Nicolo
4. Anya
5. Anya
6. Nicolo
7. Anya
8. Nicolo
9. Anya
10. Anya
11. Anya
12. Nicolo
13. Anya
14. Nicolo
15. Anya
16. Nicolo
17. Anya
18. Nicolo
19. Anya
20. Anya
21. Anya
22. Nicolo
23. Anya
24. Anya
25. Nicolo
26. Anya
27. Anya
28. Anya
29. Nicolo
30. Anya
31. Nicolo
32. Anya
33. Anya
34. Anya
35. Nicolo
36. Anya
37. Nicolo
38. Anya
Epilogue
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PROLOGUE
ANYA
As I watch Nicolo Marchetti in the hallway of our high school, I feel sick to my stomach. He leans toward the dimple-cheeked brunette before him and twirls a strand of her long hair around his finger, his proud lips curving into a cocky yet charming smile. The same smile he won me over with weeks ago. I can see it in the girl’s face as she leans back against the lockers–she’s falling for his tricks just like I did, the smooth, flirtatious words, the promises of his attraction to her, how she’s changed his life just by being in it.
“I’ve never met anyone like you. The moment I laid eyes on your beautiful face, my heart stopped, and I knew I couldn’t live without learning every detail about you.”
I close my eyes as I hear his smooth, deep voice reverberating in my mind, recalling those words he murmured to me during our night together.
Though it’s been weeks since he’s even spoken to me, I can still imagine his voice perfectly. A shiver runs down my spine as my body responds viscerally to it now as it did then. The intensity of Nicolo’s gaze, the way his dark curls fall into his hazel eyes, everything about Nicolo screams Prince Charming–at a glance. He’s quite good at maintaining the facade long enough to be convincing. In the current of his overwhelming attention, I actually lost sight of my singular focus to become a ballerina as I fell for his honeyed words.
With intense clarity, I recall our night together. The thrill of sneaking out for the first time to go to his house party was only superseded by my excitement at being asked by one of the most gorgeous guys in school. It was a party I knew I shouldn’t be at. My Aunt Patritsiya would never have allowed it. And as soon as I entered the front door, I knew I was out of my element.
The cloying scent of vape pens mingled with the sweaty stench of teens who were too busy dancing and making out to notice my arrival. I felt myself crawling into my shell as the music blared too loudly in my ears. I was positive the cops would break up the party for a noise complaint. Then again, it was in the rich, gated Forest Glen estates, so the cops were probably used to seeing extravagant house parties with blaring music.
I wandered in search of Nicolo, feeling out of place, and when someone shoved a red Solo cup of keg beer into my hands, I was almost grateful. Though I hadn’t ever drunk before, I’d heard about liquid courage and thought it might put me at ease. But as soon as I tasted the alcohol, I gagged and looked for a place to set it down. Definitely not for me.
That was when I spotted Nicolo.
In designer ripped jeans and a pale-green button-down rolled up to his elbows, he looked so cool and casual with a red cup in hand, leaning against the doorway as he laughed with friends. As soon as our eyes met, his attention turned to me, and I was sure he could hear my heart beating clear across the room as he approached me.
“You look beautiful,” he said, toying with a lock of my blond curls.
“Thanks.” I blushed profusely at his attention, unused to boys speaking to me, let alone calling me beautiful.
“I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would, and I’ve been dying for an opportunity to spend time with you outside of school.” His hazel eyes studied me appreciatively, making me grateful I chose to wear one of my nicer dresses, though it wasn’t yet spring.
“I’m glad I came too,” I said with a shy smile. I didn’t know why Nicolo Marchetti had a sudden interest in me, but I wasn’t about to pass it up. Despite his reputation as a bad boy with family ties to the Italian mob, I found him singularly engaging, interested in me, and yet charming in a playful way. And I liked him.
Someone stumbled into me, knocking me forward, and Nicolo put out a hand to steady me by gripping my forearm. Warmth spread through my chest at his strong touch.
“Want to go somewhere a bit quieter?” he offered.
At the time, I thought he might have sensed my discomfort with the crowd and wanted to put me at ease.
“Yeah,” I breathed with relief.
When he took my hand, butterflies erupted in my stomach, making me thankful I didn’t try to drink any more of that god-awful beer for fear I might have thrown it up. He led me upstairs with a quick smile over his shoulder, and my body melted into a puddle.
In the quiet of a bedroom filled with baseball paraphernalia, Nicolo closed the door behind us, cutting the party music booming from below. He paused by the door, watching me with a playful gaze as I sat hesitantly on the bed–the only place I could find to sit besides the floor.
“So, you’re a dancer?” he asked, bringing our conversation back to the first time he spoke to me the other day.
He’d seen a picture of me in a tutu as a child sitting with my parents that hung in my locker. And after breaking the ice with a witty observation, he’d closed my locker door and trapped me between his arms so I had no choice but to speak with him.
“Yes, ballet. It was my parents’ dream that I become a ballerina… I suppose it was their way to carry their culture with them since they immigrated here from Russia before I was born.”
“It was their dream?” Nicolo asked, walking slowly across the room to join me on the bed. “But not anymore?”
My nerves kept me talking before I had time to doubt his interest in my sob story. “They died. In a car accident.”
Nicolo’s strong brows pressed together in concern. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged to show it was in the past, though the pain of their absence still haunts me. I dropped my gaze to my lap to hide my pain as I tried to regain composure. “It was a few years ago.”
“I’m sure they’re proud to have a daughter who wants to carry on their dream after they’re gone.” Nicolo slid closer to me on the bed, his hand resting on my thigh as his thumb stroked a comforting line across my skin. Warm excitement pooled in my belly at his touch, despite the fact that I was sure he only meant it to be nice.
When our eyes met, though, I could see the same crackle of anticipation reflecting in his gaze. And then his hand was combing into my curls, and his face was mere inches from mine. I could smell his cologne, subtle and enticing, and the hint of beer on his breath. His lips pressed to mine, sending a jolt straight to my core. Our first kiss sucked the oxygen from the room. I lost all sense of control, overwhelmed by the excitement that coursed through my veins at Nicolo’s caress.
“You’re so beautiful, Anya. I can hardly believe you don’t have guys lining up to date you,” he breathed, his hand moving to brush the skin of my cheek.
“No one’s cared to know me before you,” I murmured, still in awe of the fact that of all the guys who could have approached me at my school, Nicolo Marchetti was the one who wanted to.
When he guided me further onto the bed and leaned me back, hovering over me as we made out, I didn’t question it. Blinded by my attraction for him, I let him lead the way, enraptured by his passionate kiss and his gentle caress. He took his time, putting me at ease even as he touched me in ways that brought my body to life like I’d never felt before. I gave him my virginity, convinced we were falling in love and sure we would end up together.
But now, as he traps the brunette against the lockers in what must be a signature move, I can see Nicolo for what he is. A player, a snake who will say anything to get into a girl’s pants. It hurts to see him toying with his next conquest while I feel my heart ripping open and bleeding out over the tile floor of our high school.
Tears roll down my cheeks, and I brush them away angrily. I’ve been an emotional wreck since I spent the night with him. Just thinking about that night launches me into turmoil as my rebellious body responds with a shiver of desire. I can still feel the ghost of his hands exploring my body, setting my skin on fire. It felt so good, so right. Sex with Nicolo had only confirmed what a perfect fit we were. And then, after he’d finished, he’d simply told me to leave. His sudden shift in attitude was like having a bucket of ice water poured over my head, a slap in the face after a single n
The hollow ache left inside me, both from his physical absence and the sudden withdrawal of his emotional connection, has left me raw, bearing an open wound I can’t quite seem to heal. And now, it’s as though I never even existed in his world. Nicolo’s gaze slides over me whenever I happen to cross his path, like I’m not even there.
I brusquely wipe at my cheeks once again, fighting to get my tears under control. I feel as though I’ve been a slow-motion train wreck, growing into more of an emotional disaster until I’ve started to make myself sick. I’m constantly exhausted from tossing and turning at night, plagued by vivid dreams of our time together that always end with Nicolo’s cold, callous gaze, his lazy command of “Get out” that sent me on my way. It doesn’t help that my anxiety has delayed my typically regular monthly cycle until I feel like I’m just a dam of hormones waiting to burst forth in another uncontrollable bout of tears.
I’m such an idiot for thinking I could truly catch Nicolo Marchetti’s eye. At our high school, he’s a god among men in both title and physical prowess, and I simply fell prey to his quest to sleep with every girl in our school. How could I have been so blind?
And yet, even as I ask myself that question for the hundredth time, I know. He made me feel special. I thought he saw me, truly saw me, when I have only ever been so focused on ballet that I hardly even see myself. He made me feel something I’d never felt before. And for that, I gave him all of me. It was a steep price to pay.
Nicolo leans towards the beautiful, smiling brunette, stroking her cheek with his fingers. I can almost feel that same gentle graze across my flesh. The way his touch set my skin tingling and made my breath catch in my lungs. That first electric kiss that seemed to bring my body to life like a defibrillator. Before Nicolo, I’d never even been kissed, and like the simpleton I must be, I’d fallen for his tricks so readily.
Sudden anger roars to life inside me as Nicolo makes his way down the hall, heading in my general direction, though he refuses to look my way. I don’t know what comes over me, but a deep need to call him out for his cruelty takes control. Before I can thoroughly think my actions through, I stride forward, cutting through the crowd until I stop directly in front of Nicolo Marchetti.
His eyes dance as he laughs at something one of his friends just said, and as his gaze connects with mine, I register a moment of surprise that gives me a small sense of satisfaction. He didn’t expect to interact with me ever again.
“You used me,” I accuse as I stand in front of him, my hands fisting at my sides, my lips pressed into an angry line.
“Well, hello to you, too… what was your name again?” His tone is light, making a joke of my anger. He’s already forgotten who I am.
His friends pause with him, encircling me as they chuckle in response to his taunting question.
“Why?” I demand, my voice quivering with emotion. “Why would you sleep with me–take my virginity–and then just ignore me? What could you possibly–”
“Oh, riiight,” Nicolo drawls, snapping his fingers and wagging his pointer finger at me as if suddenly registering how he knows me. “You’re that one girl, Anna? Auna? Anya? The girl who wants to be a dancer to honor her dead parents’ memory. Is that right?”
Just hearing him feed my personal information back to me, picking at a wound that’s still so fresh and painful, tears me apart. I feel the sting of fresh tears threatening to spill from my eyes once more.
Nicolo’s sneer falls into a more serious expression, his hazel eyes going flat as he looks down his proud nose at me. “Did you really believe we would be together?” He scoffs, looking at his friends as he rolls his eyes.
They respond with raucous laughter as if this is all just a big joke. I’m a joke to them.
“Oh, Anya. You see, to me, you were just another conquest, something to be tossed aside once I was done with you. How could you possibly have believed you might be good enough for me? You’re the low-class daughter of immigrants without a penny in the bank. You could never be worthy of me.” He presses his hand to his chest in a show of mortification at the thought of what I might have believed. “I just made you think otherwise to get you to sleep with me. I don’t mind mingling with commoners such as yourself on occasion if it means I get some virgin pussy. But I’m sure you can understand why I would never do that for more than a night. And now that I have your virginity, I have no reason to speak with you.” He steps up close, his tall, muscular frame towering over me, making me feel small, weak, and insignificant.
Despite the anger coursing through me, leaving my body trembling, I still respond physically to Nicolo’s proximity, the masculine scent of his cologne, and the heat of his body radiating from him, warming my flesh. My pulse quickens with unbidden excitement, betraying me. Tears obscure my vision as an unwanted memory of our night together consumes me. Nicolo’s strong arms wrapped around me, his naked body pressing close to mine, his full, warm lips devouring mine hungrily–
“I’m done with you. You mean nothing to me,” Nicolo murmurs, bringing his face close to mine in what could almost be an intimate moment if he weren’t whispering poisonous words to me. “You are nothing. And you’ll never be more than that, so I suggest you remember it and stay the fuck out of my way.”
Standing to his full height once more, he shoves past me as his friends burst into animated speech, mocking my attempt to confront him as they make their way down the hall to class.
For an excruciating moment, I stand frozen, intensely aware of all the curious and judgment-filled eyes staring back at me. As Nicolo’s voice fades behind me, I burst into horrible, racking sobs. I don’t care that afternoon classes are just about to start. I have to leave.
Sprinting toward the doors that lead out to the student parking lot, I flee as quickly as my feet will carry me. Crushing pain makes my lungs heave, struggling for oxygen as I fight to regain some semblance of control. I need to go home to grieve the crushing loss of my innocence in peace.
I can’t believe I so naively fell for Nicolo’s advances. I let him have the most intimate part of me. And not only does he seem to think of me as nothing more than a virgin notch on his bedpost, but he’s also willing to throw those most personal details of my life in my face when he knows I haven’t shared the grief over my parents’ death with hardly anyone. And he did it with such cruel satisfaction, like he enjoyed watching the pain it caused me.
As my anxiety intensifies, my nausea over having confronted Nicolo becomes overwhelming. Bracing one hand against the rough stucco of my high school’s siding, I bend in half and vomit up my lunch. I’ve finally done it, allowed my anxiety to so completely consume me that I’ve physically made myself sick.
Stooping by the side of the building, I continue to retch until I have nothing more to throw up. Sweat coats my brow, and my hands shake as I rise unsteadily to my feet. I wipe the sweat away with the back of my hand and continue on, marching across campus until I reach Chicago’s city streets.
My aunt’s apartment is within walking distance, and that’s the direction I head, ready to hide for the rest of the day, if not the remainder of the school year. What I wouldn’t give for relief of some kind. A way to wipe my memory clean of everything that’s happened over these past few weeks. I feel as though I need something to thoroughly cleanse me of my time with Nicolo Marchetti.
Maybe I’ll get my period soon. Hopefully, then, my body and mind can let go of what happened between us. But as I consider it, a new sinking feeling weighs like lead in the pit of my stomach. My emotions, a delayed period, and now vomiting? I couldn’t be pregnant, could I? I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. He pulled out before he came.
