Vogue | Tony Stark

FORTY THREE - QUESTIONS

"You're drunk."

"Am not," Tony grinned, sitting on the floor of the balcony outside Esté's bedroom in the Hamptons, "You are, though."

"Am not."

The truth was, both the sixteen year olds were drunk. It was George's birthday and as usual, a large soirée was taking place downstairs, spilling out onto the garden beneath them.

It was dark by that point in the evening and pretty lights illuminated the garden and the pool, the full moon reflecting on the rippling surface of the ocean past the lawn and the sand.

Adults were congregated on sun loungers sipping alcohol and picking at leftover food while mighty laughs and terrible singing filtered through the floorboards from downstairs, a light breeze in the summer air cooling down hot skin.

Tony and Esté made light work of stealing alcohol without their parents noticing, nailing down the operation after around two years of practicing and plenty of scoldings when they had been caught in the past.

That night, the plan went smoothly and after scavenging some slices of pizza and taking them upstairs, the teenagers were several beers and a bottle of white wine deep when the adults sang an ear-splitting version of Happy Birthday to George.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Esté shrugged and filled her glass up with more wine.

Tony shifted awkwardly, scratching the side of his neck before looking at her with knitted brows. She was waiting patiently to hear his question, a content smile on her face and eyes a little glazed over from the alcohol.

She looked beautiful, but that wasn't a new thought to cross Tony's mind. He thought Estélla always looked beautiful. Since he was old enough to think flowers and stars were pretty, he thought she was too.

"Do you like him? The guy from school?"

Esté paused in thought, "Luke?"

"Yeah," Tony answered, "That guy."

"Why do you ask?"

He shrugged his shoulders and avoided her gaze, looking down at the floor and picking at some chipped paint by the edge of the balcony.

His silence irritated her and Esté kicked the bottom of Tony's foot lightly, prompting him to look up at her then as she raised her brows and shook her head, coaxing him into giving her an answer.

Tony sighed, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head, the sky spinning around him and the trees appearing to melt into the ground if he stared at them for too long.

"Because I don't want you to."

"Why?"

"I just don't."

"But why?"

Tony grew agitated, regretting even asking his question now her pressing counter was forcing him towards an answer he didn't want to give.

"You're so annoying," Esté eventually said.

She huffed at his silence and put down the wine, lying down on the balcony beside him. Tony waiting for a few moments before joining her, lying down on the wood with his hands resting on his torso, eyes staring up at the stars above their heads.

"Because I want you to like me."

Esté turned her head to look at Tony, their faces just a few inches apart. His brown eyes were wide and sparkled with flecks of green, his skin tanned and hair fluffed up, the collar of his navy dress shirt twisted ever so slightly.