**Saturday Evening – One Week After the First Kiss**
I change my outfit four times before Aurelio arrives.
The first outfit is too casual—jeans and a sweater, like I'm not even trying. The second is too formal—a dress I wore to my grandmother's church, stiff and uncomfortable. The third makes me look like I'm trying too hard. The fourth makes me look like I've given up.
I settle on the third outfit again. A simple black dress from a thrift store in Cambridge. It's elegant enough to not embarrass myself, but not so fancy that I look like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not.
Grandma Rosa watches me from the doorway of my room, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face.
"You look beautiful, baby," she says.
"I look terrified."
"You look both." She comes in, sits on my bed. "You look beautiful and terrified, and that's okay. But Cassia, listen to me—you don't have to do this if you're not ready."
"I'm ready." I'm not. "I want to meet his family."
"His family, or you want to get it over with?"
I sit next to her on the bed, and she takes my hand. Her palm is rough from years of nursing work, warm and familiar.
"Both," I admit. "I just... I want to see what I'm dealing with. His mom already hates me, right? At least after tonight I'll know for sure."
"She doesn't hate you. She doesn't even know you."
"She knows enough. She knows I'm the scholarship girl from Roxbury. She knows I'm not Sterling Hayes."
Grandma Rosa squeezes my hand. "Then show her who you are. Show her you're smart and kind and worthy of her son. But baby—" She turns my face toward hers. "Don't shrink yourself to fit into their world. You hear me? You don't make yourself smaller to make them comfortable."
My throat tightens. "What if I'm not enough? What if—"
"Stop." Her voice is firm but gentle. "You are enough. You've always been enough. If they can't see that, that's their loss, not yours."
The buzzer rings. My stomach drops.
He's here.
I stand up, smooth down my dress, check my reflection one more time. My hair is in loose curls. Minimal makeup. Small earrings Grandma Rosa gave me for my sixteenth birthday.
I look like myself. That'll have to be enough.
Grandma Rosa walks me to the door, kisses my forehead. "You call me if you need me to come get you. Any time. I don't care if it's the middle of dinner."
"I will."
"I'm serious, Cassia."
"I know. I love you."
"I love you too, baby. Now go. Make me proud."
---
Aurelio is waiting downstairs by his BMW, and when he sees me, his entire face lights up.
He's wearing dark slacks and a button-down shirt—blue, which makes his grey eyes even more striking. His hair is styled but still has that slightly messy quality that makes him look effortlessly perfect.
"Wow," he says as I approach. "You look... wow."
Despite my nerves, I smile. "You already said wow."
"I know. It bears repeating." He opens the car door for me. "You look beautiful, Cassia."
"You clean up pretty well yourself."
The drive from Roxbury to the North End takes twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of Aurelio trying to make conversation, trying to ease my obvious anxiety, while I sit rigid in the passenger seat, hands clenched in my lap.
"They're going to love you," he says for the third time.
"You don't know that."
"I know you. That's enough."
"Your mother already has opinions about me. I could see it in her eyes that day at school when she picked you up and saw us together."
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "My mother has opinions about everything. That doesn't mean she's right."
"But she's your mother. Her opinion matters."
"Not more than mine." He reaches over, takes my hand. "Hey. Look at me."
I do. His eyes are steady, sure.
"I don't care what my mother thinks. I don't care what anyone thinks. I care about you. About us. That's all that matters."
"Easy to say now," I whisper. "Harder to mean when the pressure starts."
His jaw tightens. "Have a little faith in me."
"I'm trying."
We pull up to his house—calling it a house feels like an understatement. It's a four-story brownstone in the heart of the North End, surrounded by history and money and the kind of architecture that screams *we've been here for generations*.
I want to throw up.
Aurelio comes around, opens my door, offers his hand. I take it. His palm is warm. Steady.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No."
"Me neither."
That makes me laugh despite everything. "You're nervous?"
"Terrified. My mom can be... intense. But Cassia, I promise you—no matter what happens in there, we're okay. You and me. We're okay."
I want to believe him. I squeeze his hand. "Okay."
We walk up the steps together. He unlocks the door—an actual old-fashioned key, not a modern lock—and we step inside.
The entryway alone is bigger than my entire apartment.
Marble floors. Crown molding. A crystal chandelier that probably costs more than Grandma Rosa makes in a year. Original artwork on the walls—not prints, actual paintings with signatures I don't recognize but that look important.
This is old money. Real money. The kind that doesn't need to show off because everyone already knows.
I don't belong here.
"Aurelio!" A woman's voice calls from somewhere deeper in the house. "Is that you?"
"Yeah, Mom! We're here!"
*We.* Like I'm already part of his life. Like this is normal.
His mother appears in the doorway of what I assume is the living room. Vivienne Santoro is exactly what I expected—elegant, poised, wearing a cream silk blouse and tailored pants that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her dark hair is pulled back in a perfect chignon. Pearl earrings. Subtle makeup that somehow makes her look both natural and flawless.
She looks at Aurelio with warmth. Then her eyes slide to me, and the warmth disappears.
"Mother, you remember Cassia Monroe," Aurelio says, his hand firm on my lower back.
"Of course." Vivienne's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Cassia. What a... unique name."
Here we go.
"It's the scientific name for cinnamon," I say, keeping my voice steady. "My mother liked spices."
"How... rustic." The word drips with condescension. "Well, come in. Dinner will be ready shortly. Dominic is in his study, finishing a call. He'll join us soon."
She turns and glides away, expecting us to follow.
Aurelio leans close, whispers in my ear. "I'm sorry. She's—"
"It's fine," I lie.
It's not fine. Nothing about this is fine.
---
The dining room is exactly what I expected. Long mahogany table. Fine china. Crystal glasses. Fresh flowers in an expensive vase. Everything perfectly arranged, perfectly curated, perfectly designed to remind people like me that we don't belong.
Vivienne gestures to a chair near the middle of the table. "Cassia, you can sit there. Aurelio, next to your father's seat."
He's separating us. Deliberately.
Aurelio's jaw tightens. "Actually, Mom, I'll sit next to Cassia."
"But your father—"
"Can sit at the head of the table like always. I'm sitting next to my girlfriend."
The word *girlfriend* hangs in the air. A declaration. A line in the sand.
Vivienne's lips press into a thin line, but she doesn't argue. "As you wish."
We sit. Aurelio immediately takes my hand under the table, squeezes it. I squeeze back, grateful for the lifeline.
A moment later, Dominic Santoro enters. He's tall, distinguished, with silver at his temples and the kind of confidence that comes from never having to worry about money. He's wearing slacks and a sweater—casual for him, probably, but still more expensive than anything I own.
"Ah, our guest!" He smiles at me, and it seems genuine. "Cassia, is it?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you for having me."
"No need for 'sir.' Call me Dominic." He takes his seat at the head of the table. "Aurelio tells me you're quite the scholar. Top marks in all your classes."
"I try my best."
"She's being modest," Aurelio says. "She's third in our class. Would be first if she didn't have to work part-time."
I want to kick him under the table. Don't mention the work. Don't mention the scholarship. Don't remind them I'm not like you.
But it's too late.
"You work?" Vivienne asks, as if the concept is foreign. "Where?"
"The school library. And sometimes I help out at a bookstore in Cambridge on weekends."
"How... industrious." Another word that sounds like an insult. "And your parents? What do they do?"
Here it comes. The question I've been dreading.
"My father isn't in my life," I say as evenly as I can. "And my mother left when I was young. I live with my grandmother. She's a nurse."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Vivienne's expression doesn't change, but I can see the judgment in her eyes. *No father. Absent mother. Raised by a grandmother. Working class. Everything we feared.*
"I see," she says finally. "How... unfortunate."
"I don't find it unfortunate," I say, and I hear the edge in my own voice. "My grandmother raised me with love and taught me the value of hard work and resilience. I'm proud of where I come from."
Aurelio's hand tightens on mine. A warning? Or support?
"Of course," Vivienne says smoothly. "I didn't mean to offend."
But she did. We both know she did.
Dominic clears his throat. "Well, let's eat, shall we? I'm starving."
---
Dinner is seven courses. Seven. Courses.
I don't know which fork to use. I watch Vivienne and copy her movements, but I'm always half a beat behind. She notices. I know she notices.
The conversation flows around me—Aurelio and his father discussing Harvard applications, Vivienne mentioning some charity gala, everyone carefully avoiding any topic that might include me.
Until Vivienne says, "So, Cassia, what are your college plans? I assume you'll be applying to state schools?"
The way she says *state schools* makes them sound lesser. Inferior.
"I'm applying to several schools," I say carefully. "BU, UMass, Northeastern. Wherever offers the best financial aid package."
"Very practical." She takes a sip of wine. "Aurelio, of course, will be attending Harvard. Legacy admission. His father and grandfather both went. It's tradition."
The message is clear: *He has a path. A legacy. A future planned. And you're not part of it.*
"I think Cassia should apply to more competitive schools," Dominic says suddenly. "With her grades, she could get into excellent programs."
"That's what I said!" Aurelio lights up. "Dad, I was thinking—maybe we could help with application fees? Or even tuition if she gets in somewhere without full aid?"
No. No, no, no.
"That's very generous," I say quickly, "but I can't accept that."
"Why not?" Aurelio looks genuinely confused. "We want to help."
"I don't need help." My voice comes out sharper than I intended. "I'm perfectly capable of handling my own college applications and expenses."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant. But I don't need charity."
The word hangs in the air. Ugly. True.
Vivienne's smile is ice. "Well. How... proud."
"Cassia," Dominic says gently, "it's not charity. It's support. There's a difference."
"Not to me."
Aurelio looks stricken. "Cass—"
"Can I use your bathroom?" I stand abruptly. "Please."
"Of course." Vivienne gestures vaguely. "Upstairs, second door on the left."
I walk away with as much dignity as I can muster, feeling all three sets of eyes on my back.
---
The bathroom is, of course, massive and perfect. Marble countertops. Expensive soaps. Monogrammed towels.
I lock the door, lean against it, and try to breathe.
This was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake. Dating Aurelio is a mistake.
Sterling was right. Reality is setting in.
I pull out my phone, consider texting Grandma Rosa to come get me. But that would be admitting defeat. That would be proving Vivienne right—that I don't belong here, that I'm not strong enough for this world.
So instead, I splash cold water on my face, careful not to ruin my makeup, and give myself a pep talk in the mirror.
*You are Cassia Monroe. You are smart and strong and you belong anywhere you choose to be. Don't let her make you small.*
When I finally go back downstairs, I hear voices from the dining room. They don't know I'm listening.
"—she's lovely, Aurelio, but you have to be realistic." Vivienne's voice. "She's from a completely different world. Different values. Different expectations."
"So what?" Aurelio sounds angry. "I like her. I care about her."
"You're seventeen. You don't know what you want."
"I know I want her."
"For now. But what about Harvard? What about your future? What about—"
"What about my happiness?"
Silence.
Then Vivienne, cold and final: "Happiness is fleeting, Aurelio. Legacy is forever. And that girl—as sweet as she may be—is not part of our legacy."
I don't wait to hear more.
I walk into the dining room. All three of them look up, startled.
"Thank you for dinner," I say, proud that my voice doesn't shake. "But I should go."
"Cassia—" Aurelio stands.
"It's fine. I'll take the T."
"No, I'll drive you—"
"I said it's fine." I look at Vivienne. At her perfect face and her perfect life and her perfect disdain. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. Santoro. You've made your position very clear."
"I don't know what you mean—"
"Yes, you do."
I turn to leave. Aurelio follows me to the door.
"Cassia, wait. Please. I'm sorry. I didn't know she would—"
"She told you exactly who she is. And you brought me here anyway."
"Because I wanted them to meet you! To see how amazing you are!"
"They see what they want to see. A scholarship girl from Roxbury who doesn't belong." I feel tears threatening and blink them back. "And maybe they're right."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true. Look at this house, Aurelio. Look at your life. And then look at mine. We're from different universes."
"I don't care—"
"But I do!" The words burst out of me. "I care that your mother thinks I'm not good enough. I care that you offered me charity like I'm some project to fix. I care that I spent this entire dinner feeling like an imposter!"
His face crumples. "I never wanted you to feel that way."
"But I do. That's the reality you keep ignoring."
I walk out the door before he can respond. Before I can see the hurt in his eyes. Before I can change my mind.
I make it two blocks before I hear running footsteps behind me.
"Cassia! Stop!"
I don't stop. I walk faster.
He catches up, grabs my hand, spins me around.
"Let me drive you home. Please. It's not safe—"
"I'm fine."
"You're crying."
I am. I didn't realize.
He reaches up, wipes away a tear with his thumb. The gesture is so gentle it breaks something in me.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. You're right. My mother was horrible. I should have warned you. I should have—"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes it does. You matter. What you feel matters."
I look at him—this beautiful boy who brought me coffee with cinnamon and held my hand in hallways and quoted poetry like it was a love language.
And I see our future. Every dinner like tonight. Every subtle insult from his mother. Every reminder that I don't fit. Every moment of him having to choose between his world and me.
"I can't do this," I whisper.
His face goes pale. "What?"
"I can't be with you. Not if this is what it means. Not if every day I have to prove I'm worthy of being in your life."
"You don't have to prove anything!"
"Yes, I do! To your mother. To your family. To everyone at school who thinks I'm just the scholarship girl dating above her station!"
"I don't think that—"
"But everyone else does. And eventually, you will too."
"Cassia—"
"I'm sorry, Aurelio. I can't."
I pull my hand away. Turn. Start walking.
This time, he doesn't follow.
And somehow, that hurts more than anything his mother said.
---
**Journal Entry - That Night:**
*Today I learned that love isn't enough.*
*That's the lesson no one tells you when you're reading fairy tales. They don't tell you about the Cinderellas who go to the ball and realize they don't know which fork to use. About the girls who fall for princes and discover that castles have walls designed to keep people like them out.*
*Vivienne Santoro looked at me tonight and saw exactly what I am: not good enough for her son.*
*And the worst part? She might be right.*
*In Jane Eyre, Rochester tells Jane that he could never love a woman who was merely beautiful or accomplished—he needs someone who matches his soul. And Jane, poor Jane, believes him. Believes she's worthy despite being a governess, despite having no money, despite the world telling her she's inferior.*
*I'm not Jane Eyre.*
*I don't have her courage.*
*I walked away tonight because staying would have slowly destroyed me. Death by a thousand paper cuts of inadequacy.*
*Aurelio said he doesn't care what his mother thinks. But he will. Eventually, he will. Because family matters. Legacy matters. And I'm neither.*
*Sterling was right. Reality did set in.*
*I just didn't expect it to hurt this much.*
My phone buzzes. Aurelio's name lights up the screen.
I don't answer.
He calls again. And again.
After the fifth call, I turn my phone off completely