by Anna Premoli
“Oh come on!” laughs Alessandra. “There are plenty far worse than him around. I mean, he obviously gets on your nerves for whatever totally mysterious reasons, but Ariberto is actually pretty hot.”
Needless to say, I thought it was wise not to tell a soul about the little ‘incident’ a few months before. The girls would have made a massive big deal about it, and anyway, I’ve been trying to tell myself that it never happened. Who knows, if I manage to fall and bang my head hard enough, I might even manage.
Mine and Ariberto Castelli’s tongues never made contact, mine and Ariberto Castelli’s tongues never made contact… Argh, not even trying to brainwash myself into believing it seems to be working!
“If I might say... with the detachment proper of a girl in love, yeah, no doubt about it – Ariberto is pretty fricking hot...” confirms Vinny with a laugh. “You know very well that Seb is absolutely the only person I have eyes for, but that doesn’t mean that my eyes have stopped working.”
“And since when did we all become so superficial that we judge guys exclusively by their physical appearance?” I ask with a hint of annoyance.
“Errrrrr, since always?” answers Ale. “Giada, what the hell is the matter with you this evening?”
Objectively speaking, her question is a good one and I’m a little bit uncomfortable with the answer: I spent the whole day staring at Ariberto in spite of myself. And holy cow is he good-looking.
It isn’t his fault, mind you, he was born that way. Getting an internship at M&K is his fault, though! Couldn’t he have taken his glorious physical presence to some other consulting firm, seeing as how many of them there are in this bloody city?
I’ve never before been the type of person to get embarrassed around very good-looking guys. After all, there are enough of them around. They have never, and I do mean never, caused me the least anxiety - I’ve always observed them the way you would a painting. Yeah, sure, cute... but I’m not sure I actually want it cluttering up my bedroom. I mean, if I actually had a bedroom. Which I don’t, not in my studio apartment. But that doesn’t matter. And yet, for some strange reason, there’s something about Ariberto Castelli – something that’s not his stupid shirts - that has a weird effect on me. For some totally unfathomable reason, and, just to be clear, absolutely against my will. Because bumping into him from time to time in the corridors of the university is one thing, but having to deal with the perfect symmetry of his face a million times a day is another thing altogether. Anyone in my position would have be pissed off about the turn of events.
Karma, you’re an evil bastard.
“I’m just in a bad mood, that’s all,” I say, and take a long slurp of my mojito. It might not be the answer to all the ills of the world, but it’s definitely helping my current depression. Another two of these and I’ll be completely oblivious of everything.
“Well, how’s the job? Apart from Ariberto-perfect-shoulders?” asks Vinny with a wink. So I’m not the only one to have noticed his physical characteristics! I breathe a sigh of relief: it’s not just me, then - it’s something that happens to everyone! Anyway, what were we talking about? Ah, yeah – the job! For some strange reason, as soon as she mentioned Ariberto, the job seemed to fade into the background.
“It’s interesting, really interesting. I mean, us interns are the lowest link in the food chain, even in consulting firms,” I joke, “so at the moment we aren’t even allowed to open our mouths, but it’s only the first day. By the end of the six months they might actually have started to notice that we’re there...”
“I’m 100% certain that Ariberto has noticed that you’re there,” says Vinny teasingly, with the tone of someone hinting at hidden meanings.
“He doesn’t count,” I say. “He’s at the same level as I am.”
But Lavinia doesn’t give up and scrutinizes me carefully with those clear blue eyes of hers. “We’ve never talked about it much, but do you remember that famous evening when Seb suddenly showed up at that club in a rage and dragged me off?”
Do I remember? In all modestly, I was almost tempted to add it to my CV. It was testament to my organizational skills.
“That famous evening when you were a total bitch to Ariberto,” continues Vinny.
“Hah, yeah!” laughs Alessandra. “You were acting like the princess out of Frozen!”
What is this, a competition to see which of my friends can be the rudest to me?
“He was provoking me!” I mutter, folding my arms across my chest defensively. “I just reacted the way I usually do, that’s all.”
“He was not provoking you! He was trying to get you to notice him, which, even though it might look fairly similar on Planet Woman is a completely different matter over there on Planet Man,” points out Lavinia, who suddenly seems to have become an expert on the subject. And to think that only a few months ago she couldn’t sleep at nights because she was desperately hoping for a message from her beloved programmer. Ah, how things change...
“Sure...” I say with a dismissive hand gesture. And a long sip of mojito.
Vinny’s face takes on that resolute air that once upon a time she wouldn’t have been capable of and which now is always there. “Have you ever noticed the way he looks at you when you walk past each other?”
“Who, me?” I ask, genuinely incredulous.
“Yes, you, you idiot!” laughs my friend.
“Listen, in case you haven’t noticed, Ariberto Castelli is the type of person that has absolutely nothing in common with me.”
“Why, what is he, a Martian?” laughs Alessandra.
“Something like that ... Or at least, he might as well be. You should have seen him today with his suit all immaculate. I bet he does his tie with a set-square and a spirit level before he leaves home in the morning.” I feign a shiver of disgust.
“Oh stop it!” guffaws Vinny. “All dressed up in smart clothes, a guy like that is definitely not to be ignored!”
“Maybe... but, as I’ve already said more than once, you have to like the type.”
“Which you, predictably, don’t,” Alessandra concludes for me. But her eyes are twinkling sarcastically. Honestly, my friends are such bitches!
“Absolutely not.” And it’s true. In a way. I mean, rationally speaking, I don’t like him at all. Instinctively, yes, I can’t deny that he does have a small effect on me, but I’m working hard to make sure that I don’t like him at all from any point of view.
“Just for a moment, forget about the way he dresses and his love of posing. Are you actually trying to tell me that you don’t find him objectively good-looking?”
What a stupid expression ‘good-looking’ is. I already hate it when it’s used to describe women, let alone men.
“Hmmm,” I whisper, playing for time. Because, as far as I’m concerned, it’s obvious to anyone who has a pair of eyes - or even just the one eye - that Ariberto is ‘objectively good-looking’. He’s not ‘interesting’, he’s not one of those you might like it or you might not. No, he’s just really bloody good-looking.
But, thank goodness, Ariberto Castelli is also a lot of other things, including a snob who wears expensive shirts and handmade shoes, so his being more than pleasing to the eyes can easily take second place. Today was just an exception. I wasn’t expecting to see him there and that’s why I still feel freaked out about it. But tomorrow’s another day – and a better one too, with any luck. So in the meantime, let’s try not to end up like Scarlett O’Hara here.
“Okay, yes, I’ll admit that he’s handsome,” I reply, feigning extreme disinterest. “But he’s mind-numbingly boring.”
“You don’t even know him!” Alessandra points out.
“She will,” laughs Lavinia pitilessly. “Oh, believe me, she will...”
“We’ll see about that. Okay, we work for the same company, but that doesn’t mean we have to become friends. In fact, it’s unlikely that we’ll even have to work together. I’ll stay on my side of the desk and he’ll
stay on his. But anyway, that’s enough Ariberto, can we change the subject? Talking about him bores me to tears.”
Lavinia continues to laugh, looking absolutely unconvinced. “Sure, of course it does...”
“Listen, does your Seb know what a pain in the neck you can be when you’re in the mood?”
“Why the hell do you think he likes me?” she laughs.
Good question.
Chapter 3
“Okay you two, here are all the reports about the tax changes introduced in the corporate sector for you to read, and then we need to prepare a Power Point presentation that highlights the salient points of the various European tax systems,” a very energetic Iris instructs us early the next morning. She must take her caffeine intravenously, because even with two coffees under my belt I can hardly keep my eyes open, let alone show that kind of conviction. The pile of documents that she has dumped on our desks is intimidating, but I would read them all twice if it meant I didn’t have to hear her speaking to us in the plural – because that means that she’s expecting Ariberto and I to work together.
“Together?” I summon up the courage to ask. “I mean, we could work faster if each of us focused on different aspects...”
Iris cuts me off with a look that it would be an understatement to call ‘frosty’.
“Yes, together. Two heads always think better than one. Especially if you’ve never worked on anything similar in your life.”
My expression grows despondent, but Ariberto’s neutral gaze doesn’t give much away. Brilliant, just what I needed to put me at ease: a nice little job to do together. And this is only the second day.
“It would be nice if you could get the presentation ready in time for tomorrow’s meeting,” says Iris. I’m amazed that she even knows the word ‘nice’ given how totally un-’nice’ she is. It be decidedly ‘nice’ of her not to act like we’ve got superhuman reading skills – she must be completely round the bend if she thinks that two people can read and summarise all this stuff in a single day.
“No problem,” replies Ariberto, perhaps sensing my discomfort. I really must learn this trick of lying to people. You risk getting totally cut off from the rest of the world if you can’t put a stupid smile on your face when necessary.
Iris scrutinizes us for a long time, undecided as to whether to give us further instructions or not, but the ringing of her phone decides for her.
“So how shall we divvy all this up?” asks Ari, scooting his chair around the desk until he’s next to me. He’s wearing a different cologne than the one still engraved upon my mind from the evening of the famous ‘incident’. And the fact that I am actually able to recognise and differentiate his aftershaves instantly puts me in a bad mood.
“Why have you come round here?” I ask, the alarm in my voice clearly audible.
He blinks in confusion. “Because I thought it would be easier. It’s going to take us God knows how long to get through all this, and even more time to get down a first draft and then a final version that we can incorporate into a presentation,” he explains.
Until proven otherwise, rationality has always been my principal characteristic – well, rationality and a bit of a difficult character, and I’m equally proud of both of them. Or at least it was my principal characteristic until Ariberto Castelli brought a ridiculous feeling of unease that I can’t explain into my life. Today the young gentleman in question is clad in a dark blue suit, immaculate shirt and light blue striped tie. It really isn’t normal for clothes to always look this good on someone. It’s just downright unfair.
“You can read just as well around the other side of the desk,” I retort warily, trying to push his chair away.
Ariberto stares at me as if I were out of my mind, which to be honest is a legitimate conclusion at this point. “I can, but if I stay on my side of the desk I won’t be able to point out anything interesting that comes across, while if I sit next to you there is the chance that there’ll be a constructive exchange of opinions between us, don’t you think? “
God, I hate having to admit that other people are right.
I pretend to reflect on his words for far longer than is really necessary. “Ok then,” I mutter, with a total lack of enthusiasm, “you can sit on my side of the desk.”
Ariberto shakes his head as he moves his chair back closer to my desk. He divides the pile of paper into two equal parts and turns in my direction. “Top or bottom?” he asks, an innocent expression on his face.
At this point, there’s only one question in my mind: if he is completely at ease while talking to me, why am I imagining all kinds of things that I should never be imagining?
Faced with my silence, he feels compelled to repeat the question. “Giada, do you want the top part or the bottom part?”
Top or bottom? For God’s sake, top or bottom?
“The top part!” I exclaim loudly, blushing as I do. “Yeah, I reckon the top part will be fine!”
He observes me with suspicion but fortunately doesn’t comment further and simply passes me my pile of papers, then, highlighter in hand, leans back in his chair, stretches out his long legs, preparing to attack the text.
I do the same, although I continue to mistrustfully follow his every movement from the corner of my eye.
Just when the atmosphere is starting to become vaguely tolerable again, a consequence of us both being intent on our respective piles of paper, he suddenly leans over and invades my personal space, filling it with it his bloody cologne. Good god, couldn’t he splash a little less of it on? I bet there are people passing out left, right and centre when takes the metro at rush hour...
“Look, Giada, I wasn’t going to say anything but I’m really getting the feeling that you’re still angry. I know you wouldn’t tell me, but you’re uncomfortable around me, so I just want to reiterate what I said yesterday and reassure you that I have no intention of behaving like that again. Like that incident in the club. I know you probably don’t believe me, but it really isn’t my style to just jump on girls like that.” He pauses for a moment to observe the alarmed expression on my face. “I swear to you that I’m not some sex pest or anything like that, so you can relax. Really, you can even start breathing normally again,” he reassures me with a smile so perfect that for a moment it almost makes me dizzy.
As if it was easy for me to let my guard down... It’s just not in my nature.
“Okay.”
Faced with my monosyllabic answer, Ariberto feels compelled to carry on with the explanations. “It’s not much of a justification, but in spite of appearances I was honestly convinced that you liked me. I know, I must have been kidding myself... In any case, that was why I kissed you. There had been some rather intense eye contact between us. I mean, I know that you’d kept giving me sarcastic answers, but I thought we were flirting, you know? You were teasing me and I was doing the same to you... Not that it’s my usual style of flirting, but you seemed quite different from the girls I usually date. I misjudged terribly and I’m truly sorry, but I can swear to you that not only do I never force kisses on people who don’t want them, I’m also usually pretty good at reading the signals.”
“...he said very modestly,” I add, my usual sense of humour returning.
Ari bursts out laughing and runs a hand through those curls of his. “He said very modestly, exactly.”
I allow myself to observe him for a few moments and in the end I feel strong enough to smile back. If I were him I wouldn’t get used to it, but we needed a bit of catharsis to allow us to turn the page today. Both of us. “I think it’s going to take me a few days to get used to the idea that you are here in the office with me,” I confess finally.
“That’s totally understandable. I mean, I put you in a very awkward situation and so it’s absolutely normal that you would want to take a while to make sure I’m telling you the truth.”
What Ariberto Castelli doesn’t know – thankfully – is that the real reason I need the time is for me to get
my brain working properly again because it appears to have decided that after twenty-three years of honourable service it’s due a break. I couldn’t agree more that it deserves one, but for God’s sake, did it really need to take it right now?!
But he’s right about one thing: it was a stupid kiss that was caused half by chance and half by provocation, but now it’s all behind us. We’re grown-ups who are about to graduate from uni and who are currently doing a very responsible job.
“Who knows, you might even eventually find yourself thinking that I’m a nice person...” he teases me.
“You think so?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“We might even become friends.”
“Or we might not,” I correct him, my expression deeply doubtful and my tone peremptory. In his place, anyone else would have got offended, but not him. Either he likes a challenge or he just has bags of self-confidence. He smiles at me like he’s absolutely certain he can convince me.
I mustn’t react, I mustn’t react... Oh, to hell with it! For reasons that elude me, I can’t stop the edges of my lips from twisting upwards in a smile. There must be something wrong with my facial muscles.
Several long seconds pass while we sit there smiling at each other like a couple of idiots. Given the amount of work that we’ve got waiting for us, it’s time that we could put to much more intelligent use.
“Come on, let’s get down to these tax reports,” I say in a firm voice to both of us.
Ariberto moves away from my chair and passes me a highlighter. But before starting to read, he gives me a look. A friendly look. That’s all it is.
*
By the time I get home it’s almost ten o’clock at night. I hope to God that with a bit of experience we’ll learn to prepare these presentations a bit more quickly, because today has been long, tiring and complicated. I kick my black ballerinas – high heels might be cool but I can’t manage more than an hour standing on a pair of stilts – into a corner of the room and jump onto the sofa bed. Before finally collapsing, though, I find the strength to take my phone out of my bag and call Filippo.
