(Izzy POV)
I stare at the mess on my dorm room floor, empty vodka bottle, my jeans, Marco's socks he forgot. My head's still fuzzy from last night, but I'm grinning like an idiot. Marco. My boyfriend. Official. I flop onto the bed, sheets still tangled from where we crashed together. It was wild, drunk, messy, perfect. His hands on me, his laugh in my ear, the way he said, "You're mine." I can still feel him, warm and close, and it's the only thing keeping me from losing it over Mom's call this morning.
That call. "Please, for me," she begged, all shaky and sad. I didn't say yes, but I didn't say no either. Now it's gnawing at me. Sofia's marrying Antonio Rossi today, that mafia creep Dad would've hated. I don't want to go, don't want to see her all happy with him. But her voice stuck, and here I am, digging through my closet for something to wear. I can't show up in ripped jeans, even if I'm just there to glare.
I grabbed a dress from the thrift store pile a couple weeks back for a date with Marco, black, simple, a little tight. It's not fancy, but it'll do. I hold it up, wrinkling my nose. This isn't me. I'm not some glittery wedding girl. I toss it on the bed and sit, thinking about Marco instead. He rushed out this morning, muttering about family duties. Weird, yeah, but I get it, parents suck sometimes. I didn't tell him about the wedding. Why ruin our bubble? Last night was too good, music, sex, us laughing until we couldn't breathe. I want to keep that, not drag him into Mom's mess.
I pull my sketchbook out, flipping to the page I started last night. Marco's face, sharp jaw, dark eyes, that grin. I trace it with my finger, smiling. He's my escape. I don't need to think about Antonio's flashy empire or Mom's stupid diamonds when I've got him. My phone's quiet, no texts from him yet. He's probably busy with whatever his dad's making him do. I wonder what he meant by "family duties." He never talks about them, just shrugs it off. Doesn't matter. He'll be back later, and we'll pick up where we left off.
The clock says noon. Wedding's at three. I groan, rubbing my face. If I'm doing this, I've got to move. I yank on the dress, tugging it over my hips. It's snug, but it works. I catch my reflection, pale, messy hair, smudged eyeliner from last night. Good enough. I'm not there to impress anyone. I grab my boots, lace them up, and shove my phone in my pocket. My stomach's churning, and it's not just the hangover. I hate this, hate Antonio, hate that Mom's throwing Dad away for some rich jerk.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out. The dorm's buzzing, people laughing, doors slamming, but I tune it out. Outside, Queens is loud, cars honking, wind biting at my bare arms. I hop on the subway, the dress sticking to me in the stuffy car. Manhattan's not far, but every stop feels like forever. I lean against the window, thinking about Marco again. Last night replays in my head, his lips on mine, his hands pulling me close, the way he looked at me like I was everything. My face heats up. Official. I still can't believe it.
The train jerks to a stop, and I'm in Manhattan. I climb the steps, the city hitting me all at once, tall buildings, bright lights, too much noise. The ballroom's a few blocks away, some fancy place Mom bragged about. My boots thud on the sidewalk as I walk, the dress rubbing my thighs. I feel dumb, out of place, but I keep going. For Mom, I guess. Just this once. Then I'm done.
I pass a guy selling hot dogs, the smell making my stomach flip. I haven't eaten, too wired from last night and this morning. Marco's probably eating right now, stuck at home with his family stuff. I wonder what his dad's like, strict, maybe, to drag him back like that. He didn't sound happy about it. I should've asked more, but I was too caught up in us. Next time, I will. He's my boyfriend now, I've got a right to know.
The ballroom's up ahead, all glass and gold, screaming money. Antonio's kind of place. My gut twists harder. I stop outside, staring at the doors. People are trickling in, suits, dresses, fake smiles. I don't fit here. I never will. Mom wants me to play nice, but I can't. Not with him. Dad's voice echoes in my head, "Stay clean, Izzy." Antonio's dirty, and Mom's blind to it. I clench my fists, the dress suddenly too tight. Why am I even here?
I take a step toward the doors, then stop. Maybe I should bail. Tell Mom I got sick or something. But her plea, "Please, for me," digs in again. I hate that it works. I hate her for it. I take a deep breath, shove my hair back, and push inside. The lobby's huge, marble floors, chandeliers, everything dripping with cash. My boots echo, too loud. People glance at me, and I glare back. Let them look. I'm not here for them.
My phone pings in my pocket. I fish it out, expecting Mom nagging me to hurry up. It's Marco. "See you later, babe. Family event." I stop dead, a grin splitting my face. He's so sweet, probably planning a surprise for tonight, something to top last night. I text back quick, "Can't wait," and shove the phone away. He's the best part of my day, every day. I don't care about this wedding crap, Marco's my real thing.
I head for the ballroom doors, humming a little, Marco's text buzzing in my head. He's got me smiling, even here. Whatever he's doing, it's better than this. I don't know his family stuff's in this same damn building.