When in Rome...Break His Heart

by Lena Mae Hill

  “True,” Cynthia said. “You and him are disgustingly cute.”

  “I still think you should see what else is out there before you chain yourself to Weston for life.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Maggie said. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I’m going to make him miss me so bad while I’m gone that he’s going to be dying to propose when I get home.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Kristina asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Maggie said. “But it’s going to happen. Trust me. I always get what I want.”

  Maggie curled up in her seat to sleep, but she couldn’t help wondering as she drifted off, if that were true, why hadn’t she gotten a ring yet?

  Chapter Three

  Maggie and Kristina had chosen to be roommates in Rome, with the same host mom. Kristina hadn’t even bothered to email her, but Maggie had spent enough time for both of them researching and corresponding with the woman. You couldn’t be too careful with strangers, and she wasn’t about to end up on the news like those spring breakers who were always disappearing in foreign countries.

  Mary, their host mother, was waiting at the airport with a sign, but even without the sign, Maggie recognized her from the pictures she had requested. On the way out of the airport, Kristina had already managed to flirt with an Italian guy and convince Maggie to stop for a glass of wine. Maggie hung back from their host mother, not wanting her to smell the booze and think they were crazy, alcoholic American girls. Kristina had no such reservations and returned Mary’s hug like she was her long-lost grandmother.

  The house that Mary lived in was old but clean and upscale, and the bedrooms were upstairs so Maggie didn’t have to worry about psychos climbing in the windows at night. She’d already texted Weston to let him know she’d made it safely to Rome, but she wanted to call now, to hear his voice and let him know she’d gotten to the house without any problems.

  “Don’t call him,” Kristina warned. “You already told him you’re here. Let him sweat a little.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” Kristina said, covering Maggie’s phone with her hand. “Trust me, I’ve dated a few guys, and I know how this works.”

  “But it’s not like that with us,” Maggie said. “We’re way past those games. And I’d want him to call if he were the one here and I was back home.”

  “Do you always do what he’d want?”

  “No,” Maggie said. “But I do if it’s what I want, too.”

  “Fine,” Kristina said. “Don’t listen to me. What do I know, anyway? I just got dumped.”

  “You can do better than Alex, anyway,” Maggie said. “I never liked him.” This was true, but then, she rarely liked Kristina’s boyfriends. They tended to be shallow A-holes just out to have a good time, and Maggie found them simultaneously obnoxious and mind-numbingly dull. Though she’d learned to tolerate Alex over the past year, she would never understand the attraction. She could count on Weston for conversation, comfort, and a future. His versatility was his best attribute. She didn’t understand the appeal of a loose cannon who could only satisfy her in one way.

  After they got settled in, they joined Professor McClain for a welcome dinner. A girl Maggie didn’t know well sat next to her and squirted hand sanitizer into her hands. She’d seen the girl around campus a few times, looking like a scared rabbit.

  “Can I borrow some?” Maggie asked, holding out her hand.

  The girl, who had light red hair and thick glasses, smiled nervously when Maggie spoke to her, but she dumped some hand sanitizer into Maggie’s palm.

  “You can never be too careful,” Maggie said. “Who knows what foreign germs they have over here that we haven’t built antibodies against.”

  “Right?” the girl said in a breathy voice.

  “It’s Rome,” Kristina said. “What are you going to catch? A sexy accent?”

  “Yeah, don’t encourage her,” Cynthia said to the redhead, but she smiled.

  Maggie sat up straight while the waiter set their food out.

  “You’re brave,” said the redhead with the breathy voice, nodding at Maggie’s plate of pesto risotto. She’d gotten a Margherita pizza.

  “It seems like a clean place,” Maggie said. “I think anything here is safe.”

  “Except maybe the bathroom,” the girl said. “That’s why I brought my hand sanitizer. I’m scared to even go in there.”

  “Oh, me, too,” Maggie said. “Who even knows what kind of people have been in there. And have you noticed all the unisex bathrooms? Talk about a recipe for disaster.”

  “No,” the girl said, her eyes widening. “They probably splash all over the seats. Can you imagine the germs?”

  “Not just that,” Maggie said. “You could be in there just minding your business, never knowing what kind of psycho might be right there in the next stall.”

  “I could never go with a boy beside me.”

  “And what if one of them, like, stuck their phone under the stall and took a picture? You hear about that stuff happening all the time. I’m Maggie, by the way.”

  “Rory,” the girl said, giving a little wave, looking nervous again after her brief moment of talkativeness.

  “Like from Gilmore Girls?”

  “Yeah,” Rory said. “But without the Ivy League school, dreamy boyfriend, and cool mom.”

  “That’s a lot to live up to,” Maggie said, digging into her food. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted in her whole life. She couldn’t wait to tell Weston about it.

  When they got home after Professor McClain gave them the itinerary, Maggie checked her phone once again. Weston had texted to say he was glad she’d made it safe. A warmth crept into her, and she called him as soon as she saw the message, though it was early in Arkansas, and he’d be at work. After a few rings, it went to voicemail, and she left a message.

  “I guess I missed him,” she said, flopping down on her bed and tossing her phone on the pillow.

  “I’m sure he’s just working,” Kristina said as she set out her things on her side of the bureau.

  “I know,” Maggie said. “But I still wish he’d answered.”

  It didn’t feel real yet, that she was literally halfway across the world from him. It seemed like she could step outside and walk to his house. She still knew his work schedule for the week, what he had planned that weekend. But six weeks wasn’t so long. It would pass like nothing, and they’d be back together, as they always had been. She slid under the blankets, exhausted from the travel and time change, and held the locket while she fell asleep.

  “Guess who texted me again?” Kristina asked the next day as they left class.

  “Alex,” Maggie said with a sigh. Kristina and Alex had gone out for most of their junior year, but if you took out all the time they spent fighting or broken up, it was probably only half that time that they’d actually been together.

  “No,” Kristina said, her blonde ponytail swinging, her loose smile careening all over her face. “Guess again.”

  “I have no idea,” Maggie said.

  “Armani.”

  “Who?” Maggie asked, though she knew exactly who. He’d texted Kristina the night before at dinner, too.

  “The guy from the airport,” Kristina said. “Armani.”

  “I still can’t believe you gave him your real number. What if he’s a psycho sex-trafficker?”

  Kristina laughed. “You’re obsessed.”

  “I’m not obsessed,” Maggie said. “It’s a real danger. Especially over here, where you don’t know anyone, and he can isolate you.”

  “Okay, relax, Mom,” Kristina said. “You wouldn’t freak out like this if I met a guy back home. It’s no different. We’re in Italy, not some weird woman-hating society.”

  “I would freak out back home,” Maggie said. “Just not as much.”

  “Well, I’m going out with him either way, so you might as well be excited for me.”

  �
�You can’t,” Maggie protested. “What do you even know about this guy? Nothing. It’s not safe.”

  “Then you can come with me and protect me,” Kristina said. “But you can’t stop me from going. I’m all grown up, Mom. You don’t get to decide who I date anymore.”

  “You’re going to be sorry,” Maggie said. But Cynthia chimed in that she wanted to go out, too, especially if Armani had a friend for her to hang out with. And she promised she’d bring Nick so they’d have a guy there to protect them and run interference if Armani wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Maggie spotted Rory digging through her bag, a lost expression on her face. “I’m going to ask her if she wants to come, too,” she said.

  “Ugh, don’t,” Kristina said. “She’s weird.”

  “You talked to her for like an hour straight on the plane.”

  “That’s how I know she’s weird,” Kristina said. “And no offense, but she’s kind of a dog. I don’t want Armani to have to find a date for her.”

  “You’re such a bitch,” Cynthia said.

  Kristina shrugged. “She can make her own friends. And I don’t mind hanging out with her in class. I just don’t really want to go out to a club with her.”

  “It’s not like we’re models,” Maggie said, tucking a tuft of hair behind her ear. She’d been with Weston so long she didn’t have to worry about how she looked, but she also didn’t like Kristina’s critical look.

  “No, but you’re my friend so I put up with you,” Kristina said, grinning. “And besides, you’re cute when you try.”

  “I don’t have to,” Maggie said. “I have Weston, and he doesn’t care if I wear makeup.”

  “Well, Weston is not here,” Kristina said. “And guys here dress nice, in case you hadn’t noticed. The least we can do is put in as much effort as they do.”

  “Great,” Maggie said. “So now I’m escorting you on an ill-advised date, and I have to also dress to impress your sex-trafficking airport pickup?”

  “Exactly,” Kristina said. “And watch out for Armani’s hot Italian friends. You might actually have fun if you’re not careful.”

  “I’ll be sure to watch for warning signs,” Maggie said, but she couldn’t help but smile. She’d gone out with Kristina lots of times at home, and though she usually ended up serving as the designated driver so Kristina and her latest fling could get drunk and make out in the back seat all the way home, more often than not, Maggie did have fun when they went out. She rarely drank, as she couldn’t handle more than one drink and she didn’t like the taste of alcohol, but she loved dancing.

  “And hey,” Kristina added. “If Weston can ignore your calls and go have fun with his friends back home, what’s stopping you from meeting some new friends and having fun here? I mean, we didn’t come to Italy just to study.”

  “Actually, that’s exactly what we came for,” Maggie said. “And besides, Weston’s working, not going out partying.”

  “Maybe,” Kristina said. “But I came to experience all that Italy has to offer. And right now, it’s offering me a hot Italian guy.”

  “She’s just sampling the local cuisine,” Cynthia said, her maniacal cackle drawing looks from a couple Italian guys across the street. “Meow,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at them as they passed.

  Maggie shook her head and held her bag a little closer. Still, she couldn’t help but think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they’d looked at her, too, instead of just her friends.

  Chapter Four

  Kristina’s date was that Friday. Maggie made sure she knew she was only coming as a favor, and only once, to chaperone and make sure this Armani guy wasn’t some kind of psycho. Since Cynthia and Nick were coming, too, she didn’t feel like a total drag.

  When they got in the cab, Cynthia and Kristina critiqued each other’s outfits. “You look hot,” Cynthia assured Kristina.

  “I could have told her that,” Maggie said.

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have,” Kristina said. “You would have told me to put on a sweater and a longer skirt.”

  “I would have told you to wear jeans,” Maggie corrected her. “Everyone knows that rapists target girls with skirts for easy access.”

  “I’m not dressing according to your paranoia.”

  “Obviously,” Maggie said, eyeing her friend’s micro-mini and ruffled tank. At least Cynthia had the sense to put on a cardigan over her skimpy outfit. Maggie hadn’t gone out of her way to look nice, wearing her usual jeans and flats, though she had put on a lacy blouse instead of a t-shirt.

  “Come on, we’re in Rome,” Cynthia said. “Live a little.”

  “Yeah,” Kristina said. “Wouldn’t it feel nice to have a guy admire you once in a while? I know you’re like, married, but even a married woman can flirt.”

  “Not good ones,” Maggie said. “I’m trying to be the best girlfriend ever so he’ll propose the second I get home.”

  “It’s pretty hard to be the best girlfriend ever from across the ocean,” Kristina said. “Unless you can think of some way to give a long distance BJ.”

  “Ew,” Maggie said. “Weston’s not like that.”

  “All guys are like that,” Cynthia said.

  “Maybe that’s why he hasn’t proposed,” Kristina said. “If you want him to get down on one knee, maybe you have to spend a little more time on your knees.”

  They all cracked up laughing, even Maggie, who couldn’t help herself.

  Before they left, she’d made sure to tell Mary where they were going and with whom, in case anything happened to them. She’d also made a list of important numbers for the refrigerator door which included the number of her parents, Kristina’s parents, Weston, and the American embassy. Though it was too early for Weston to be up yet, she texted him, too. He wasn’t the jealous type, but she wanted to reassure him so he’d know that even halfway around the world, she could be trusted to be the perfect girlfriend who thought of only him.

  The club was just another doorway that opened onto the street, nondescript except for the brightly lit sign overhead. Maggie quickly texted the name of it to Mary before stuffing her phone in her money belt.

  “That looks like a fanny pack,” Kristina said. “You do know that you’re totally embarrassing right now, right?”

  “And you know that you look like a streetwalker,” Maggie shot back.

  Armani showed up then, dressed in slacks and a button up shirt, his black hair slicked back and his chiseled face clean shaven. He looked exactly like the sort of man who could charm a girl into his apartment and sell her to a human trafficking ring. His three friends were average looking, and therefore, much less likely to be pimps.

  “This is Enzo, Flavio, and Danilo,” Armani said after kissing both Kristina’s cheeks and telling her she looked beautiful.

  “This is Cynthia, Nick, and my mom, Maggie,” Kristina said.

  Maggie rolled her eyes and joined them to go inside. “You’re her mother?” Enzo asked. “But you’re so young. You could be sisters.”

  “I’m not really her mom,” Maggie said. “She was kidding.”

  “Oh, joking, yes?” Enzo said.

  “Yes.”

  Inside the club, Enzo started sidling up next to her, so she quickly escaped and joined her friends on the dance floor. Kristina and Armani wasted no time in getting physical. Without a moment’s hesitation, she jammed her ass into his crotch and started grinding on him. It made Maggie blush just thinking about being that forward with a complete stranger. But Kristina was always like that, guileless and oblivious to the possibility of rejection.

  Maggie turned away from the spectacle and moved in closer to Nick and Cynthia. She had only been friends with them for a few months, but she wasn’t shy about dancing with Nick. For one, he wasn’t trying to dry hump her, and for another thing, he was exceptionally uninhibited for a guy. Weston never danced, unless he knew the prescribed steps ahead of time. He could waltz with her at their wedding, but if he’d been there ri
ght then, he would have been sitting at the bar, afraid to look silly.

  Apparently, Nick had no such reservations. He did look a little silly, but the open, joyous smile on his face made up for it. It was like he knew he that he was ridiculous, but he did not care one iota. Which made Maggie feel completely at ease with scooping his arms around her when Armani’s friends swooped in. Cynthia broke away to dance with Flavio, so Maggie asked Nick to escort her to the bar. She wasn’t about to get roofied. If someone slipped something in her drink, at least Nick could get her home safely. And he’d never take advantage of her, because he was obviously ga-ga over Cynthia.

  Nick got Maggie a cup of water, and they sat watching the crowd of gyrating bodies. After a while, Kristina came and dragged her back on the dance floor, but soon enough, Armani had pulled her friend away, so she went back to the bar to sit with Nick. As she was texting Weston, Enzo slid up to the bar beside her. He was short, barely taller than her, with short, blondish hair. His face was wet with sweat, and dark circles colored his shirt around the arms.

  “Smile,” he said, leaning one elbow on the bar and turning to face her.

  “What?”

  “Smile. Your face looks more beautiful when you smile.”

  “Have you ever even seen me smile?”

  “That’s how I know you need to smile more.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “I have a boyfriend.”

  Enzo made a show of looking around and over both shoulders. “Where is this boyfriend? I don’t see one.”

  “He’s not here,” she said. “Back home.”

  “You must have driven him crazy with your smile,” Enzo said. “If he was not crazy, he would never let his hot and sexy girl go to Italy alone.”

  Though it was ridiculous, she felt her face positively flaming with heat. And then his hand slid up the outside of her thigh until his thumb pressed into the crease of her jeans. He squeezed, and the heat spread from her face through her whole body. She slapped his hand away, not sure if she was more shocked by his bold—and completely inappropriate—gesture, or her own reaction to it.