DEMETRIA

The leather of Marion’s Bugatti was warm against my legs, the morning sunlight slipping in through the tinted glass. My body still carried the afterglow of last night, the laughter, the kisses, the thrill of a night unlike any I’d ever had. Now, heading toward Anastasia’s house, reality was creeping back in, though not in an unpleasant way.

My phone buzzed, lighting up with a call from Papá. My chest softened. I hadn’t spoken to him since Friday, and guilt pricked at me.

I ...