When in Rome...Break His Heart

by Lena Mae Hill

  “I don’t even know if I want to go,” Maggie said. “I was with Weston for years. How can I already be thinking about going out with someone else? I just want to lie in bed and eat ice cream until I die.”

  “That’s pretty much what I did when my ex dumped me,” Rory said.

  “It took me years to get over mine,” Nick said.

  “Y’all, that’s enough,” Kristina said. “Maggie is not going to waste one more minute on Wet-Blanket Weston. She’s spent way too long in that trap.” She grabbed Maggie’s hand and squeezed. “It’s time to let out the wild animal inside you!”

  Though she was still nowhere near ready to stop thinking about Weston, by Wednesday, Maggie forced herself to put him out of her mind for the night. She wasn’t going to marry Enzo, but it might be okay to feel good about herself for a few hours. Kristina and Cynthia were fighting, but Rory joined them.

  “Now let’s get your face on,” Kristina said, pulling out her giant makeup bag.

  “I don’t even know what most of that is,” Maggie said after peering into the small case full of pencils and palettes, powders and pots.

  “You didn’t know,” Kristina corrected her. “Now that you’re single, you’re going to have to learn how to do your makeup. It was fine to go with the natural look when you were with a guy for a decade, but now you’ve got to step up your game.”

  “Enzo already knows what I look like.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with enhancing your natural beauty. Trust me, he might be okay with your old look, but he’s going to love your new one.”

  Rory timidly reached into the bag, her eyes darting around like she thought Kristina might slap her hand away. She drew out a huge palette of different shades of eyeshadow and turned it over to read the back with such a reverent expression, you’d think she’d found the Rosetta Stone. Maggie had to smile, and she pulled the bag over to look inside, too. Kristina grabbed the whole thing and dumped it on her bed, random tubes and bottles sliding down the mountain of makeup like an avalanche.

  “Wow,” Rory said. “You use all this?”

  “Not on a daily basis,” Kristina said. “But yeah. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m no prettier than y’all. I just put in more effort, so I look that way from the outside. Maggie’s seen me in the morning before I put on my face. I look like a velociraptor.”

  Maggie laughed. “No, you don’t. You’re pretty.”

  “Give me a break,” Kristina said. “You’re not my mom, you don’t have to say that. Not that my mom would ever say that. Now come on, let’s get started.”

  “This might be fun,” Maggie admitted. “But how do I know what to pick?”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Kristina said. “To help with the transformation from ugly duckling to swan. No offense.”

  “Can you help me with mine, too?” Rory asked, her big eyes magnified behind her glasses as she looked up reverently at Kristina. “I mean, after Maggie’s, if it’s not too much trouble. And if you don’t mind sharing makeup…” Her gaze faltered as she looked at all that germy makeup.

  “Sure,” Kristina said, dropping to her bed. A tube of lipstick clattered to the floor, but she ignored it. “We’ll all get glam. Maybe I’ll go out with Armani tonight, too.”

  Maggie picked up the errant lipstick and opened it, rolling up the bright pink stick. Every morning without fail, her mom got up and put on makeup, even if she wasn’t going to work at the university where she’d been a professor since before Maggie was born. But in all her years, Maggie had never seen her father compliment her mom, or even notice the makeup. Maybe that’s why Maggie rarely wore any. It was better to not put in the effort than to put on makeup and not even be seen.

  “That’s not your color,” Kristina said, plucking the pink away. “You’re warm toned. But I think you could pull off a bright red.”

  “I can’t wear that,” Maggie said, shrinking away from the siren of a shade.

  “Sure you can,” Kristina said, taking Maggie’s chin in her hand. “This particular red washes me out, anyway. I’ve only worn it once.”

  She proceeded to smear it on, then ask Rory’s opinion. After that, she ordered Maggie to put in her contacts and ditch her glasses, which she did, though she didn’t like contacts as they always made her eyes dry. But if she was going to do this, she might as well go all out. So she gave up and let them have their way with her—smearing her face with makeup, contouring sticks, and highlighter; dusting it with powder and blush and bronzer; swiping on coats of eyeliner and mascara, lip liner and lipstick. At last, Kristina stood back to admire her handiwork. Then she turned Maggie to the mirror over the vanity.

  Maggie stared back at the girl in the mirror, one who looked nothing like her. One who couldn’t be her. She was way too glamorous and…bright. Eye-catching, even.

  “I don’t even look like myself,” she mused.

  “You look like the hottest version of yourself,” Kristina said. “Look how pretty you are! Don’t you feel pretty?”

  “Yeah,” Maggie admitted, the face in the mirror starting to smile. “I do.” She stood and turned her face back and forth, admiring it, hardly believing it was her face at all.

  “Eat your heart out, Wet-Blanket Weston,” Kristina said, clapping her hands. “Now, let’s get you dressed and fix your hair a tiny bit, and you’ll be ready.”

  “Looking good takes a lot of work,” Maggie said as Kristina held up one skirt and then another, turning to Rory for her opinion.

  “It’ll be worth it when Enzo sees you and his jaw hits the floor.”

  It was, too. When the girls had finally finished with her, she went outside to catch the taxi that waited at the curb, Enzo already inside. “Where has this sexy girl been all this time?” he asked, sliding his hand up her thigh. “You look so hot I can’t bear it. My eyes are on fire.”

  She pushed his hand away and pulled her skirt down again. “Stop it. We’re in a taxi.”

  “I don’t care,” he said, leaning over to kiss her neck. “I’m on fire. You did all this for me. Let me enjoy it.”

  “This is just a friendly date,” she said. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “You broke up with your boyfriend for me, yes?” he asked. “Kristina said so. How can I not get ideas from that?”

  “I didn’t break up with him for you,” she said, fuming at Kristina’s meddling. “I broke up with him for me.”

  “But you don’t have a boyfriend to worry about now,” he said. “So I can have you all to myself.”

  The taxi pulled up to a building and stopped. “Where are we going?” Maggie asked, glancing up and down the street.

  “To my place,” he said. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Um, I don’t think you understood me when I agreed to this date.”

  Enzo reached over the seat and paid the driver, then pushed open the door and edged Maggie out. “I got the right idea,” he said. “I made you dinner. Come inside. You’ll like it. I’m a good cook.”

  “Well, at least you don’t live with your mother,” she muttered, tugging at the hem of her skirt as the taxi pulled away. Enzo threw an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, pressing his body to hers and kissing her hard.

  “I have the place to myself for the night,” he said, pulling away after a moment. “I told my roommates to go out, so it’s just me and you, baby.”

  It sounded so awkward when he said that word that she almost laughed. She pressed away from his chest, and after a moment, he released her. “Listen, I think you misunderstood what I wanted tonight,” she said. “I’m not ready for…everything. I just wanted to have a quiet evening. Not jump in bed with another guy already.”

  “Who said we’d be using the bed?” he asked. “I told you we have the whole place to ourselves.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Okay, you’re serious. Let’s go eat before the food gets cold.”

  Maggie hesitated, but she wasn’t sure what else to do,
so she followed him up a short, wide set of stairs to the front door of his building, an old two-story townhouse. Everything in Rome was old, and his building was no exception. It smelled like her grandmother’s house. Inside the entranceway, there were two more doors, one leading to the downstairs apartment. Enzo opened the other and led her up a flight of stairs to his apartment. It smelled like her grandmother’s house, boys, and garlic.

  “What did you make?” Maggie asked.

  Enzo turned and scooped her up, carrying her across the room and setting her on the edge of the table. “I know what I want to make,” he said, his words dripping sex. He uncapped a bottle and poured some amber liquid into two glasses and handed her one.

  “What is this?”

  “Salud,” he said, bumping his glass against hers. He downed it, and after a second, she did the same. It tasted exactly like rubbing alcohol and burned just as badly.

  “Oh, that’s awful,” she said, shuddering.

  “Don’t do that with your face,” he said. He leaned in and bit at her lip, and a jolt ran through her traitorous body. He gripped her knees, pulled them apart, and pressed against her, sliding his alcohol stained tongue into her mouth. Her brain told her to push him away, to ask what he was doing. But instead, her tongue caressed his and she ran her feet up the back of his legs.

  He slid his hands down her back and gripped her butt, pulling her tight against him while he rocked his hips against hers. “Let me get in there,” he said, grinding against her harder. “I want to make you as crazy as you make me.” Gripping the back of her hair, he pulled her head back and kissed her neck, sucking at her skin so hard it hurt.

  He already was making her crazy. If he kept it up much longer, she wouldn’t be able to say no, no matter how much her brain protested. The truth was, she didn’t want to stop. But she knew that she should. Even a girl who had dated the same guy since she was fourteen knew not to sleep with a guy on the first date. She’d dated Weston three years before they had sex.

  “Your hair is so sexy,” Enzo said when she pulled away. “I want to bury my hands in it while you suck me.”

  “Quit,” she said, shoving him away. Smudges of red lipstick ringed his oversized mouth. Maggie ran her fingers through her hair, trying to straighten it, and wiped her lips.

  Enzo hooked a finger under the edge of her skirt and lifted it to peek underneath.

  “Stop it,” she said, slapping his hand away.

  “I was hoping you didn’t have anything under there,” he said. “Are you wet?”

  “If you say one more thing like that, I’ll hit you. I swear. I will slap you in the face.”

  “Are…you…wet?” he asked again, slowly this time, as if relishing every word.

  It was like her body had hijacked her brain. She didn’t even mean to hit him—she’d never slapped someone in her life. It was something that girls in bad soap operas did. But the next second, her palm was smarting and Enzo was grabbing her wrists, pulling her roughly from the edge of the table and trapping her body against his. “Normally I would never let a woman treat me this way,” he growled. “But everything you do only makes me more crazy. With you, I think, I will have to get a little rough.”

  “Don’t make me hit you again.”

  “No, do it. I’m hard just thinking about it.”

  He was. She could feel him pulsing against her, like an animal breathing. It made her a little crazy, too. The recklessness of her desire scared her, though. Was this why it was called falling in love—because you had no control over it?

  “Here, have more grappa,” he said, sloshing some into her glass.

  “I think I’ll pass. I can already feel the last shot.”

  “Two feels twice as good.” He shoved the glass into her hand and poured his own, then bumped his glass against hers again. “You’re in Rome. Stop being so uptight.”

  “I’m not uptight.”

  “Then have fun with me.” He threw back his shot, then pushed hers against her mouth. She sipped, but he kept tipping the glass up with one finger until she swallowed it all. “Be my crazy girl,” he said. “My crazy and wild American girl.”

  She wanted to tell him that was a fantasy, a stereotype he’d seen in some bad movies. But she didn’t. She wanted to be his fantasy. She also wanted to be a wild and crazy girl, something so far from what she’d always been that no one would ever believe she’d done such things when she went home. She couldn’t resist being the girl he saw.

  So she didn’t resist when he pushed her against the table again, growling at her. She wanted to stop him, but she also didn’t want him to stop. Everything was mixing inside her—what she should do, what she wanted to do, what other people wanted. She didn’t know which voice to listen to. Suddenly he was in her hand, the bald heat of him shocking her out of her thoughts.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked, recoiling.

  “You showed me yours. I showed you mine.”

  “I—I don’t even know what to do with that.”

  “Oh, yes, you do,” he said, leering at her. “You put it in your mouth.”

  “Not that,” she said, incinerating heat turning her skin to ash. “With what you said.”

  “You listen to what I said,” he said, his hand circling the back of her head. “And you do what I said. That’s what you do with it.” He was already pushing her down. His pants were unzipped and his junk was jabbing out at her.

  “I don’t even know you,” she said, twisting away.

  “So get to know me, bella. It’s not sex. It’s just a little fun. Don’t worry. I’ll give it back to you.”

  “You don’t know me, either,” she said. “I can’t just do that with someone I don’t know. Now put that thing away.”

  “I know you,” Enzo said, circling her waist with his arm again. He was stronger than she’d noticed before, and the smell of his sweat was overpowering. “You’re a control freak. You never want to let go, so you’re trying to find a way to get out of this because you already know I’m going to blow your mind. You’re afraid you can’t tell me what to do. And you’re right.” He leaned forward and bit her lip again.

  Was he right? Was that why she suddenly wanted to run away?

  She’d never been able to give herself over easily, the way Kristina seemed to do with everything she did, every guy she dated. She was madly in love within days of meeting every new guy, obliterated with every breakup. Maggie hadn’t said she loved Weston until he said it first. She was always worrying about what might happen next in every situation, so much so that she sometimes missed the entire experience. The same way that taking pictures sometimes made her miss it.

  Maybe, just once, she would listen to that other side of her. The side that said she was alive and full of desire for this guy, that she should shut up her worrying and let herself have this. What did rules matter? What difference did it make if this was the first date or the tenth, if they ate first or after, if she’d known him five minutes or five years? She couldn’t predict other people. She had been wrong about Weston. Maybe she was wrong about Enzo, too. But she might as well know it now, before she’d wasted seven years of her life on him.

  “Just let go,” Enzo murmured into her ear as he lifted her off her feet and carried her around the table. They crashed onto the couch together, and she had to force herself not to grab at her skirt, pull it back down to her knees. Time seemed to skip a beat. Enzo had shoved up her skirt already, pushed his fingers into her. It was all happening so fast, too fast. She couldn’t think, still didn’t know how far she wanted to go, if she wanted to go this far or go back to the moment when he lifted her and tell him to stop. Should she have already said no? Or was now the time?

  Was the alcohol making her think she wanted this when she didn’t? Or was it just letting her say yes to what she really wanted? She wasn’t drunk. She just couldn’t believe she could move so fast. Enzo’s tongue was sliding over hers faster as his fingers moved faster, pushing her towards climax. />
  “I’m crazy about you,” he whispered, his full lips covering her ear. “I think about you all day, every day, since I met you. Let me make love to you. I want you so much I think I’ll die if I don’t.”

  Maggie tried to remember if Weston had ever said anything like that to her, but she didn’t think so. Weston didn’t want things so badly he would die. He wanted things that got the highest rating in U.S. News and World Report.

  Suddenly Enzo sat up, and with one hard yank, dragged her underwear down her legs and over her feet. But when he moved onto her, she held back. “Get a condom.”

  “Really?” he asked, kissing her neck. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you have to.” She pushed at his chest, and he pulled back just a bit.

  “I don’t like them,” he said. “It feels so good without one. Just once?”

  “No,” she said. “Do you want to risk getting me pregnant?”

  He laughed and kissed her mouth again. “I won’t get you pregnant. You’re on birth control. A girl like you would never leave it up to chance.”

  “What about diseases and stuff?”

  “I don’t have any diseases.”

  “Get a condom or get off me,” she said.

  He sighed and sat up. “I don’t know if I have one.”

  She wanted to scream at him. How could he get her so hot, so ready, and then fail her at the last minute? “Then we’ll have to wait until next time,” she said.

  “Let me look.” He leaned in and kissed her before standing. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

  While he rifled through the bathroom cabinets, Maggie wondered how long it had been since he’d been with a girl. Did he never wear condoms? It was true that she never used them, and that she was on birth control. But she and Weston had only been with each other. Who knew how many girls Enzo had been with. What if he never wore condoms? In high school, her sex ed teacher had said, “Every time you have sex, you’re having sex with everyone your partner has ever been with.” While the other girls in her sex ed class glanced around nervously, she’d smugly drawn a heart in the margin of her notes with her and Weston’s initials. After all, she was never going to be with anyone else.