And yet, the thought of leaving smacked me hard in the face.
“What’s the plan now?” Will asked, pulling me free of my thoughts.
His hazel eyes lit as he regarded me with his usual contemplative look. He caught me checking out Marco. Damn him.
“I’m free tonight. We could go to dinner, or—”
“You could finish answering some interview questions,” I interrupted as Marco pulled the towel over his shoulders and around his neck.
His brow perked above unreadable eyes. “We have all day for that tomorrow. Let us enjoy Roma tonight.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Will slapped Marco on the back, and I wondered how much longer the three of us would stand in the hall in between the field and locker rooms. “You guys should probably go change.”
Marco hesitated a moment and looked down the hall. His shoulder brushed against my body as he started past me. It was such a tiny touch, and yet it electrified something inside me, and my eyes flashed shut as I fought the pull of longing that stirred deep in my core.
“Baby girl.”
My feet were still firmly planted on the ground as I opened my eyes. Marco rounded the corner and out of sight. “What?” My cheeks warmed.
“I know you have your rules and all that, even if I disagree with your reasoning . . . but Maggie, you’re better than this.”
I took a step back and crossed my arms, swallowing hard.
His shoulders tensed, lifting a little so that he towered over me even more than usual. “Don’t be so damn scared.”
A hot flash of anger shot through me, but his gentle touch on my shoulder had me biting back my words.
I studied his hand and my gaze flickered back to meet his. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t be the girl who denies herself what she wants because of fear. You want him. He wants you. It’s incredibly obvious. Don’t go home having regretted what you didn’t do. You’re not the girl who runs away. You’re strong—I’ve seen it firsthand.”
I took another step back, and his hand dropped heavy at his side. “So you think having a fling with him—even if he’s seeing another woman—is the right thing to do?”
“Maybe he’s not taken. And who says it will be a fling?”
I released a deep, exaggerated sigh. “Oh, come on. It would never amount to anything.”
“Says who?”
I snorted. “What about you, huh? You like this Maria woman you met here, but you’re so afraid it will become something. You think you should be the one to give advice?” How dare he lecture me? I was angry with myself first and foremost, but couldn’t hold back.
Will frowned at me and shook his head. “I told you that you were better . . . I never said I was.”
Thirteen
“This was a fantastic idea. Cheers.” Lori raised her wine glass in the air, and we all brought out our glasses to clink them together. She smoothed on a smile before taking a sip of her drink, her eyes steadying on me from across the large, semi-circular booth. She was wearing a fitted, semi-short summer dress, and I regretted my decision to wear a pair of white pants and a loose fitting, black cotton halter top. I had told myself I didn’t want to try too hard in my appearance. I didn’t want to send mixed signals to Marco . . . but Lori and Maria looked amazing, and I felt like a slob next to them.
We were in a private VIP area of the restaurant, which would convert to a dance club in a few hours, according to Lori. The privacy afforded us the opportunity to avoid any angry fans or paparazzi. Well, at least I hoped it would.
“Thank Maggie. It was her idea for us to have dinner together.” Marco nodded at me, and I was grateful he had chosen to sit opposite of me, next to Lori and Sean. Having us all together should protect me from any insanity that might cause me to put my lips where they didn’t belong.
“I’m glad we finally got to get together, Maria.” Will turned his chin over his shoulder to give me the eye, but I ignored him and kept my attention on Maria, who was sitting wedged between Marco and Will toward the middle of the booth.
“I’m glad to be with you all. I have heard so much about each of you,” Maria answered.
“Where do you live in Italy? What is it that you do?” Marco’s questions were to Maria, and yet, his attention was on me. A jolt of energy shot through me, and I reached back for my glass.
“Oh.” Her chocolate brown eyes focused on Marco, and she pushed her long, wavy hair off her right shoulder. I didn’t blame her for being a little star struck. “I don’t live in Italy.”
“But you are Italiano, no?” Marco responded, and I shifted my gaze to Will. I was surprised Will had agreed to invite Maria to dinner—I had suggested it while Marco was showering at the stadium, but had hardly suspected he would actually do it.
“Mamma is Italian. Papà is French. And I currently live in the US,” Maria stated.
Interesting. Will had withheld that information from me. If Maria lived in the States, that meant she and Will could make it work. If they wanted to. But would Will have the guts to try?
“I grew up in Roma and spent my summers in Paris. I fell in love with history and culture, and so I became a museum curator. I work in New York now, but I am here on a project for the museum.”
My ears perked. “Talk about fate.” Everyone turned to me, and I gestured at Will and Maria. “Both from New York, both visiting here at the same time?” Will poked me with his hand beneath the table, and I bit back my surprise and swallowed a mouthful of chardonnay. What was his deal? It was just an observation.
I’d never understand men. If Will could lecture me earlier, why couldn’t I jab right back?
I glanced back at Marco, who was toying with his bread.
“Do you like living in New York?” Sean asked.
“Oh I love it, but Roma, Paris, New York—they are all becoming so commercial. So touristy. Roma, especially.” Maria’s accent was a little different from Marco’s, and I had to assume it had to do with her French roots. Still, it was sexy; I was sure Will loved it.
“This is true. Roma is not what it was in the past, but it will always be home for me,” Marco responded.
“Yeah, I’ve tried getting him to move back to the UK, but he won’t consider it.” Sean shook his head and flashed a smile at Maria.
“Marco, Will told me you are a football player for Roma.” Maria smiled at him when he looked up from his plate at her.
“Sì.” His brows pinched together, and his eyes darkened. “Well, I used to play for Roma, but I do not anymore.”
“Oh. Why not? Did you get hurt?”
Both Lori and Sean cleared their throats in unison, as if ready to come to the rescue for Marco, but Marco quickly said a few words to Maria in Italian. She nodded back at him and responded with a short sentence.
My stomach flipped. I hated not knowing what he’d said to her.
Marco rolled his black dress sleeves up to his elbows, then snaked a hand to the back of his neck, massaging his tension. He swallowed, his tanned throat moving enough to give his nervousness away. His eyes found mine as he lowered his hand from his neck, and I responded by placing my hands on my lap. The memory of his hands on me crowded my mind.
“What about you, Lori? What do you do?” Maria attempted to break the tension.
“Was Tuesday night a success?” I chimed in.
Lori’s cheeks flushed a little. Why was she so shy about her work? She was an amazing artist.
“I had my first art gallery opening the other day,” she explained to Maria and went on to describe some of her work to satisfy Maria’s curiosity. Sean pulled out his cell phone and showed Maria some of Lori’s paintings before we ordered our food.
“Very impressive,” Maria commented as she handed back Sean’s phone. “And Maggie, do you enjoy writing? Will said your boss mistakes you for Lois Lane.”
Will covered his face with his hand for a moment and removed it. I shifted on the seat to better face my friend, waiting for him to explain.
When neither Will nor I spoke, Maria continued, “He said you are Maggie Lane, but your boss thinks you are Lois Lane. He wants you to be an investigative reporter, not a sports reporter.”
I could have used my own Superman to save me at that moment.
“What do you mean?” Marco’s lips pressed together as he observed me.
Why the hell had Will opened his mouth? “I, um . . .” Shit. I tucked my hands back to my lap and fidgeted with the loose material of my shirt.
“She’s done a few high-profile pieces on athletes before, and Maggie has always managed to turn the articles into more interesting pieces, rather than simply reporting the details,” Will attempted to explain. I was sure his rationale would only fire off warning bells.
“And what about my story?” Marco laced his fingers together on the table in front of him, and the music in the restaurant became a dull noise. I could barely hear anything other than my racing thoughts.
“It looks like your story will be a retirement piece,” Sean said dryly, shooting me a look. Was that disappointment on his face? I didn’t know him well enough to decipher his expressions, but it suddenly occurred to me that he’d actually thought I could change Marco’s mind.
“I told you that I’m taking this season off, and we’ll see what happens after that. I never said I was retiring. How many times must I tell you this?” Marco glared at Sean, and I looked back and forth between them.
Lori’s hand swooped up over Sean’s, halting his fingers from drumming on the table.
“Sean.” I wondered if I could diffuse the awkwardness. “Perhaps I could get a few shots of you playing football with Marco next week?” I didn’t want to mention to Marco I was already planning on meeting with Sean to interview him as well.
Sean glanced over his shoulder at Lori, as if he were asking permission. You can tell when a couple has been together for a long time—they develop telepathy. Lori’s lips thinned, and she looked away from him and to her wine glass, her face pinched together. Even I could see that she was pissed. But it wasn’t my business, so I redirected my attention to Will, hoping he could help soothe the turbid waters.
“So . . .” Will faked a smile in Marco’s direction just before Marco’s phone rang.
Marco pulled the phone from his pocket and studied it. His lips went tight, and his eyes narrowed on the smartphone. “I must take this.”
Sean and Lori slid out of the booth, allowing Marco to escape. He pressed the phone to his ear and hurried out of sight.
“Everything okay?” I asked Sean, worried by Marco’s grim expression.
Sean lifted his wine glass and swirled the liquid around, studying it instead of looking at me. “Um. Yeah. He’ll be fine. I’m sure.”
Lori was still standing outside the booth as if she were waiting for Marco to come back. “Um. I need to run to the loo.” She grabbed her purse from the seat and hurried off before anyone had a chance to reply.
I refrained from duplicating my “is everything okay?” question in regards to Lori and turned my attention to Maria instead. It felt like I was in the middle of a game of dodgeball, trying not to get hit.
Maria and I began chatting, and soon into our conversation I discovered how much I liked her. She was sweet and sophisticated, and the way she observed Will from beneath her long eyelashes . . . well, they made a great couple. But Will was Will, so I wasn’t overly hopeful that they’d last.
Lori came back to the table and made eye contact with me, then glanced at Sean. “Marco not back yet?” She slid into the booth and tucked her purse on her lap.
“The call must be important,” I answered.
“Hope he’s—” Lori cut herself off when Marco reappeared at the table. He slipped his phone into his pocket as Lori started to get back out.
“Stay. I can sit on the end.” The chandelier above us cast shadows on Marco’s face, hiding his expression as he slid in.
“Everything okay?” There was no way I could bite my tongue.
He lifted his chin as he reached for his wine glass, snagging it from his previous spot. “I’m fine.”
What had I been expecting—the truth? From Marco?
We all made what felt like stilted conversation throughout the course of the meal, with Marco only uttering one or two syllable words every once in a while. Whoever called him had utterly wrecked his mood. I would catch him toying with the black band on his wrist or clinking his fork against the table every few minutes. Whatever was wreaking havoc on him had me on edge now, too.
After dessert and coffee (which made me more anxious than I already was), we started for the exit. When the glass doors of the restaurant opened, I had to blink a few times. Camera lights harassed my eyes, making it hard to see. The blitz of flashes had me raising my arm in front of my face. It was a damn circus of reporters. What the hell was going on?
Marco bumped into me and took an immediate step back when the pack of journalists and paparazzi surrounded us. How had they known we were there? My hands dropped to my sides in shock, and I looked around, trying to assess our situation and the best way to get out of it.
A few journalists began sputtering in Italian and shoving microphones at Marco. Then others spoke in English—with British accents—and their cameras were pointed at Sean.
Will tugged at my elbow, pulling me against him, and Marco was doing the same on the other side of me. I was in the middle of an overprotective tug-of-war.
“Sean, are the rumors true? Are you really going back to Manchester United? Will you be coaching or playing?”
My lips parted in surprise. I turned to look at Sean, but it was Lori who caught my attention first. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and I wondered whom she planned on punching: the reporter or Sean?
Marco started for the reporters in an attempt to break their formation. He peeked over his shoulder at me, holding his hand out, palm up. I stared down at his hand, frozen for a moment, wondering how the reporters would interpret the scene. “Come,” he commanded.
My eyelashes fluttered a few times, and I slipped my hand inside his and hurried through the crowd. Question after question bombarded us.
“Is it true? Are you back with Sophia Rossi?” a reporter shouted in Marco’s face.
Marco’s grip tightened on my hand at the question, but he didn’t stop.
Thankfully, we weren’t followed. Once we were clear and a few blocks away, standing where Marco had parked, Lori shook her head at Sean and started off down the street.
Sean dragged a palm down his face. “Great . . .” He dropped his hands to his sides then followed after her. His shoes slapped loud against the road as he picked up his speed to a jog. Lori was pretty fast in her heels.
I pressed a hand to Marco’s Lamborghini and another to my chest as I observed Sean and Lori from a distance. Guilt snuck into my heart as I realized my interest was the same as watching an episode of my favorite drama.
Sean caught up with Lori, and she spun around to face him. She jabbed a finger at his chest and said something I couldn’t understand, then moved past him and back our way.
“Are they okay?” Maria asked from behind me, and I turned and shrugged.
“They will be,” Marco answered, his eyes darting to mine.
“Well, this was fun.” Will swooped an arm around Maria’s waist and pulled her close to him. “What now?”
Lori was at my side before I could answer Will. “You girls want to get out of here? The three of us can go for drinks?” she asked a little breathlessly.
“Lori, please,” Sean pleaded from behind her.
Lori’s eyes narrowed, and her face pinched together like she’d eaten something sour. She was using every facial muscle she had to beg me without words. How could I say no to that?
“Of course,” I responded.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marco interjected.
I didn’t turn to look at him because I knew his steely gray eyes would lock me under his
spell. And I didn’t have the key . . .
“No worries. I’ll get Maria and Maggie back to their hotels safe and sound.” Lori hooked her right arm around mine and her left around Maria’s.
Maria’s eyes widened a little in Will’s direction.
“Lori, you’re overreacting,” Sean complained. “Just talk to me.”
Lori gave him the mother of all scowls and looked back at me.
Marco muttered something to Sean in Italian—warning him to back down, I assumed. Then he tucked his hands casually in his pockets, his eyes remaining on me as he said in a low voice, “Be safe.”
***
“This should probably be our last one,” I said as Maria, Lori, and I raised our shot glasses in the air.
The tequila didn’t burn my throat as much as the last one had, but I knew what that meant. I didn’t want to get drunk in Rome and accidentally follow through with my one-night-stand plan.
My whole ‘when in Rome’ mentality was completely gone now, and I was purely in survival mode. I just had to survive Rome without falling for Marco Valenti.
“I’m just so bloody pissed off.” Lori pushed her dark hair behind her head and whipped it up into a loose bun. “Sean lied to me. He bloody lied to me.” She rested her elbows on the sticky bar top and placed her face in her hands.
Maria raised her hands, palms up, looking to me for guidance. But I barely knew Lori. Still, I scooted my barstool a little closer and placed my hand on her back. “You can talk to us.”
She sat upright and groaned.
“Off the record,” I added, just in case she was worried I would confuse whatever newfound friendship we had with my professional responsibilities.
Lori frowned and waved to the bartender. Oh God, was she going to order more drinks? I’d be hungover tomorrow for sure. My stomach was already sending warning signals to my brain.
“Yes. You can tell us,” Maria added from the other side of Lori, but her voice broke a little. I had to say, I thought she was holding up quite well, under the circumstances. Maria was used to dealing with artifacts and Roman history—not professional athletes.
“Sean wants to play football again.” Lori grabbed the shot glass the second the bartender slid it her direction. She tipped it back without waiting for Maria or me to join her.
Forever Rome (Forever #1) Page 13
