by Lucy Lambert
“Emma, it is late in the semester. I am not certain that even getting perfect scores on the remaining assignments and exams in all your courses will be enough for you.”
My heart started lowering into that acidic pit. It seemed so ironic to me that now that I’d decided to stay I’d be forced to leave. “That can’t be true, professor.”
“I know how you feel. When I realized it, I felt a great sorrow as well. But I am afraid it is true… No, do not cry,” he said.
This confused me. I wasn’t crying. I didn’t feel anything but shock. But he reached out anyway, as though to brush a (non-existent) tear off my cheek. I stepped back reflexively.
“Do not be so shy. You are beautiful. There is always a way for beautiful girls to get what they want. Perhaps there is an arrangement we could make?”
Despite the numbing effect of the shock, I grasped what he meant immediately. This was his chance, he thought. He could see what a bad position I was in, and he would help me out of it. For a price, of course. For something he’d wanted from me ever since I’d come to Rome.
Perhaps it was also that numbness that permitted my next lapse. Dr. Aretino reached out and squeezed a lock of my hair between his thumb and index finger. He rubbed the strands, feeling their texture, that greasy smile of his coming over his face again.
Since I didn’t immediately slap his hand away, he took that for some sort of tacit consent.
“Emma…” he said, trying to wrap his other hand around the small of my back.
My senses came back to me finally and I jerked away from him. The sudden move yanked at the lock of hair he held, and sharp pain exploded in my scalp. So sharp I thought he’d managed to rip the hair out. “Dr. Aretino!”
When I looked down and saw that his hand wasn’t filled with my hair, that he hadn’t pulled any out, I felt relieved. Thank God for small favors, I suppose.
“I promise you it will be worth it,” he said.
I took an involuntary step back, realizing just how alone the two of us were in this big, empty lecture hall. Why couldn’t someone from the next class come in already?
“I’m not that kind of person, professor,” I said, crossing my arms across my chest tightly. I tried telling myself it was a gesture of defiance, but I knew it was really because I needed some comforting, some security, from this. Maybe I’ll leave Rome after all.
I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my integrity for better grades.
“You will come around, Ragazza d’oro. You will.”
The double doors at the top of the stairs burst open, letting in the flood of sound from the crowded hallway on the other side.
“Emma?”
My breath caught. It couldn’t be! But it was. I spun around and saw Liam standing at the top of the stairs. He wore casual clothes, the collar of his grey button down undone as a way to deal with the Italian heat.
I didn’t care why he was there, why he stood at the top of the stairs like some classical hero, a living representation of some beautiful marble statue. I only cared that he was there.
“Liam!” I said, feeling Dr. Aretino’s eyes burning twin holes between my shoulder blades. I whirled back on the professor, whose eyes kept bouncing between Liam and me like a ball in a pinball machine. “I’m sorry, professor, but I really have to go.”
“Emma, I really do not like this man. There is something about him. Something not honest,” Giuseppe said.
Liam walked down the stairs, casually scanning the lecture hall, one hand shoved into the pocket of his khakis. “She’s right, though, we do have to go. We have that thing.”
“Yes, that… thing,” I said.
Liam came up to my side and draped his arm over my shoulders. Immediately, I felt more at ease in my own skin. Skin that currently luxuriated at his touch. I’ve got it bad, I thought. That really wasn’t a one night stand. Isabella was right.
“You remember, that lunch date we set?” Liam said.
“No, no. She is busy!” Dr. Aretino broke in, waving his hands at Liam like he’d wave at a fly buzzing around his spaghetti. “He is no good. Emma, don’t you see? He is no dancing instructor! He is a liar…”
“I’m sorry, professor,” I said, that pool of acid in my stomach evaporating, making me feel light enough to lift up off the polished hardwood floor of the lecture hall, “But I did set that date. I know there’s a way for me to improve my grades. We’ll discuss it later.”
Dr. Aretino’s already swarthy complexion darkened further. The broad expanse of his forehead kept crinkling and then pulling taut. Finally, he fixed a greasy smile to his face that never touched his eyes. “Of course. I understand.”
“Nice to see you again, Dr. Aretino,” Liam said, his hand slipping from my shoulder. His fingertips brushed against the small of my back, making the skin there tighten. He took hold of my hand in his and started leading me back up the stairs and to freedom.
Chapter 4
We walked hand-in-hand down the broad hallway. It was a beautiful building, with marble floors and tall, arched windows that let in the light to play across the frescoes and decorations. But right then I only had eyes for Liam.
Other people had eyes for him, too, I noted. I squeezed his hand tighter and pressed my side against his while we walked, basking in the jealous gazes I felt from the other female students we passed.
Yes, he’s holding my hand. Yes, he’s as good a kisser as he looks. No, you can’t have him!
I put my giddiness down to the adrenaline rush of nearly being groped by my professor and then saved by the handsomest man in Rome. We continued down the hall, taking a turn that would lead us to one of the visitor parking lots.
“So, not that I’m not grateful, which I am. Very grateful, that is,” Stop babbling! The rational part of my mind said. But he’s so good looking. You should kiss him again! The rest of me replied. Liam pretended not to notice. “But why are you here?”
His eyebrows knitted together and he glanced at me. “To take you to lunch.”
“We never had a lunch date.”
“Yes, we do,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a tiny, sly smile. I couldn’t help returning the expression.
“I think I would have known. Since when did we have this date?”
“Since you agreed to it in the lecture hall, of course.”
“Ah. Sneaky. Lunch does sound good, though,” I said. The crowd in the hall began thinning enough so that I could hear the sound of our footsteps off the polished floor.
“Yes, I’m quite sly like that, aren’t I?”
Ten minutes later, I again found myself sitting outside of a small Roman café. A large umbrella protected out bistro table from the noontime sun, which beat down hard enough that heat radiated in undulating waves off the patio stones.
Except there were several key differences. First, I’d never been to this place before (though the aged Italian waiter with the silver platter looked rather like Giancarlo, so much that I thought they might be brothers).
Second, instead of a beautiful woman sat across from me, it was a handsome man. When we sat down, he’d undone the buttons of his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up almost to his elbows. I had to keep myself from openly admiring his muscular forearms.
And when he smiled and turned that full wattage on me, it was like the afternoon sun dimmed in comparison.
It took every last straining inch of my willpower to retain something like a level head. Besides, I didn’t think Liam was the type who appreciated googly-eyed airheads. And I wanted to be the kind of girl that he appreciated.
Horns honked down the street, and two men climbed out of their tiny Italian cars and began waving at each other. Some children kicked a soccer ball around down the other way, stopping their game briefly each time a car drove through.
For probably the first time since I’d come to Rome, I felt like I was in a movie. The streets looked exotic. The food smelled delicious. I was Audrey Hepburn having an adventure with a handsome
man I’d just met.
“So I don’t want this to come across the wrong way,” I said, “But are you stalking me?”
Liam blinked. Then he smiled again. My heart jumped and a sudden heat blossomed very low in my stomach. “No, I’m not.”
“Then how did you find me?”
“Well, it’s not like you’re a spy trying to escape from me. You had me drop you off at the campus. I already knew you were a student of Dr. Aretino’s from our introduction at the fundraiser. All I needed to do was ask a few people where the pretty blonde American girl was and they pointed me right to the lecture hall.”
For a few seconds, my brain went haywire. He thinks I’m pretty! I kept thinking. Schoolgirl giggles attempted to burble up my throat, and it was all I could do to keep myself from melting into a giddy little puddle right there in front of him.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. I’d spent the night with a guy Hollywood would probably love to put in front of a camera. A guy who knew how to kiss. Who knew how to… well, do other things women like, who could (possibly?) cook up a frittata, and who had a smile like that. And now he wanted to spend more time with me.
It was too good to be true. I heard Isabella’s voice joking that he had to be married. And he had to be, right? There was no way a man of this caliber was just walking around single. No way a guy like this could show interest in a Plain Jane from St. Louis despite all the dark-haired Italian hotties wandering around.
“Are you married?” I blurted out. I wanted to gobble the words back down right away. But I wanted to know the answer more.
Liam held out his hands and examined them, showing two bare ring fingers. “Not last I checked. Why? Are you?” One corner of his mouth ticked up in another small smile. I couldn’t tell if he was amused at me or with me.
I couldn’t blame him, if we switched places I’d definitely be wondering about the sanity of the mousy blonde sat across from me. And how to make a quick escape.
I couldn’t let him escape!
“No! Definitely not,” I said, holding up my own hands for proof.
“Why do you ask?” Liam said.
“Well, because you are hot. I mean really smoking. Like habanero pepper hot.” I couldn’t look at him anymore, so my eyes drifted down to the round bistro tabletop. I could see a silhouette of my reflection in it, as well as various white puddles of nondescript light.
Liam chuckled. It was a rich, throaty sound. It suited him, and I liked hearing it. “Habanero pepper hot? I’ve never heard that one. Thanks, I guess. What does my apparent hotness have to do with anything?”
“It’s just that I’m… I’m like mild salsa hot. Maybe medium on a good day.”
Liam sighed. I glanced up long enough to see that those eyebrows of his had knit together again. My heart plummeted into my stomach, which in turn fell down through my feet. This is it, I thought. He saw it now, too. Saw that my lukewarm mild salsa hotness did not compare at all to his.
“You’re wrong,” he said, followed by “Grazie,” when the Giancarlo-clone waiter came and set our drinks (Americanos for both of us) on the table. I barely looked up, worried that the heat in my cheeks had my face glowing cherry red.
“You’re definitely much hotter than mild salsa. You’re beautiful and funny and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since our night together. I want to get to know you, Emma. Now, how about some lunch?”
“So long as it’s not frittata,” I said.
He snorted. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up!” He laughed again. It was an easy laugh. I think that laugh was what really did it for me. Not his looks, his smile, his kisses. It was because his eyes laughed, too. They scrunched up, made him look boyish and innocent. The eyes don’t lie, I remembered.
“How long have you been in Rome?” he asked.
“Two months,” I replied, “I’m here studying abroad for a year.” It was my first semester here. And, if I didn’t bring my grades back up, possibly my last. “Art history,” I volunteered.
“I’ve always loved Rome,” Liam said, “There’s just something about it…” He looked around at the old buildings, the narrow, winding streets, the fountain that burbled down in the middle of the intersection closest to the café. “So much history all in one place. Sometimes I think about it and it overwhelms me. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes!” I said, “If I think about it, it starts to make me feel smaller. But somehow better about myself, more secure. Kind of like looking up at the stars at night.”
“That’s it exactly!” Liam said.
At least, I used to feel that way. Before I came to Rome, before the reason for my coming to Rome, anyway. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. But I did know what he was talking about.
I wondered if he did actually have a real interest in the city, or real knowledge about its history. I wondered if maybe this was some kind of line he ran on girls, trying to sound romantic and mysterious. If it was a line, it worked very well for him.
“So how long have you been in Rome?” I said, tossing his own question back at him.
“Five days, so far.”
“And what are you? Some kind of businessman, I’m guessing. Here for some important meeting for your boss.”
Liam tugged at one rolled up sleeve that had begun falling back down. “Business, yes.”
The waiter came back and Liam ordered antipasto for the both of us.
“Bold,” I said. Something light like that had been what I’d been thinking of ordering.
“I’m good at reading people, remember? I figured out where you’re from, didn't I?. Don’t you think I can also guess what you like to eat?”
Still, I couldn’t let him have all the satisfaction. No matter how cute the dimples he got in his cheeks from smiling like that were. “Well, what if I told you I’m allergic to olives? Wouldn’t that have been good to know before you ordered something that has olives?”
“Oh God, you’re allergic? I’ll get the waiter,” he said, the grin disappearing, replaced with concern.
“Relax!” I said, “I’m not allergic. Not to olives, at least. You were just so smug is all.”
His grin returned. As well as a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Ouch. That hurts. Right here,” he said, jabbing a finger against his chest.
“You’re a big boy, you can take it.”
We kept chatting, no lull lasting more than a moment. All the while, we both laughed and smiled. I couldn’t remember the last person I felt this comfortable with. There was Isabella, I supposed. But certainly no other men.
I didn’t quite understand why, but I could tell that the two of us just clicked. Like two pieces in a puzzle that went together perfectly. I felt like I could be myself around him. More, it felt like he wanted me to be myself, and that he could just be himself.
But who did he have to pretend with, and what did he pretend? Stupid Isabella, I thought. Her teasing remark that Liam was already involved with someone still niggled at me.
Probably because I never thought of myself as particular special or good in any way. There were prettier girls than me. Smarter ones. Funnier ones. All better candidates for the handsome man sitting and laughing in front of me as he popped an olive into his mouth.
I suppose I’m probably just the kind of person who, when presented with a gift horse, would promptly open its mouth and count its teeth. What was the catch, here? Was there a camera crew nearby, ready to punk me right after Liam confessed he was never actually interested in me?
I guess it all came down to me wanting to know how he could have possibly noticed me among all the possibilities.
But I tried to push that out of my mind, tried to tell myself to stop being so suspicious. To enjoy things and go with the flow. I’d done that at the fundraiser, and it had led me to one of the most incredible nights of my life. Maybe I could make it work a little longer.
Besides, I wanted to know everything about Liam. Although what surprised me more
was that he wanted to know everything about me!
Liam’s foot slid under the table, the toe of his shoe bumping against mine. Was it an accident? Had he done it on purpose?
My heart raced, all the heat in my body coursing through me, converging at one single point between my thighs. I glanced up at him, my eyes tracing that strong jaw line, then down to that delicious slash of flesh revealed by his unbuttoned collar.
My throat tightened. I had the sudden urge to have him right there on the bistro table. I could already hear the platter of antipasto shattering on the tiled patio, olives leaving smears of oil to bake in the heat of the sun while we tore at each other.
Before I could work myself up into a lather over it, I forestalled the issue with another question.
“So any brothers or sisters?” I said, taking a cold cut from the plate in the middle of the table.
“A half sister. Younger. You?” I watched the way his lips formed the words, mesmerized by the way they shaped each individual syllable. I didn’t even need to close my eyes to remember how his mouth tasted against mine, or to recall the other hidden talents of that tongue.
You’re getting obsessed, I told myself. More, I wasn’t even certain why. No guy had ever driven me crazy like this. Especially not on the second time meeting him. Like I said, something about the two of us together just clicked.
Even though I knew next to nothing about him, I felt like I’d known him my whole life. Sort of like meeting a friend you haven’t seen in a long time and picking up right where you left off, despite the gulf of time between last seeing them.
Though, of course, Liam was more than a friend. Much more.
I shivered, a patch of goosebumps running up my back. “I’m an only child, actually. Couldn’t you tell?”
He shrugged, and I wished I could see the play of muscles beneath his shirt. “I was being polite. So, being an art history major in Rome must be amazing. I bet you’ve seen everything a dozen times each.”
That put a bit of a damper over my flame. A bashful weight pulled my chin down to my chest. I sensed Liam’s sudden confusion, but embarrassment kept me from setting him straight.
