by Ella Miles
* * *
“What the hell happened to you?” Eden asks when I walk into our apartment.
“You don’t want to know,” I say, walking past her.
“Please tell me that it was some filthy sex thing that you and Arlo did in the woods, and now, he’s out of your system.”
I laugh. “Something like that.”
“Well, whatever it is, we’ll have to talk about it later. We needed to leave for class, like, five minutes ago, so get changed, and let’s go.”
I’m exhausted. I look down at my filthy dress. I touch my hair and feel the grease and oil from not having washed my hair, and I’m sure my mascara and eyeshadow are now smudged all over my face.
“I—”
“You are not skipping class. You are going to go wash your face and put your hair up in a ponytail while I go pick out some clothes for you. Got it?”
I nod and walk to the bathroom. I start trying to wash off the makeup that is now caked onto my face. Before I even finish half of my face, Eden is back with jeans, a T-shirt, and new underwear. She stands in the bathroom doorway, waiting for me to finish washing my face before thrusting the clothes into my hands.
“Put them on now.”
I get dressed, and then Eden basically drags me to class about five blocks away. We step into the lecture room that’s already filled with the thirty other study abroad students, and we end up taking the only two seats left in the back.
“Thank God Italians run on a much more relaxed schedule than we do in America,” Eden says. “It would’ve been so embarrassing to walk into a class that had already started.”
I give her a fake smile. She has no idea what being embarrassed really means.
An older gentleman with frazzled hair and tiny, rimmed glasses walks toward the front of the room. “Welcome, everyone. I hope you’ve been enjoying your time in Italy so far. I’m Professor Gianpaolo Tullio, and I’ll be teaching you everything I can while you’re here.”
The professor rambles for a little bit about the importance of art and history and what his areas of expertise are before he says, “But the best way I find to learn about art is to create it yourself.”
Several small moans can be heard throughout the room. There is a reason most of us are art history majors instead of artists.
He motions for us to stand up, so we do. Then, we follow him to another room where easels are set up throughout the room.
“Take a seat. We are going to work on two paintings. The first will be of an object, and the second will be of a person.”
I sigh. I’m a horrible painter. I’ve tried countless times, but it’s just not a skill I’ve ever learned to harness. I love art, and I love history. I would love to be able to contribute something meaningful to this world, but I realized that I would never be the kind of person who could paint, draw, or do anything artistic. I’m the kind of person who will study it and teach others how to use their gifts and learn from the past.
“Start by painting this beautiful bouquet of flowers.”
That’s all the direction he gives us after showing us the vase of flowers, and then he sits in the front of the room. I don’t understand what we are supposed to learn from this class if he’s not going to give us any amount of instruction. I could attempt a crappy painting of some flowers at home anytime. But I should be happy because it gives me time to mindlessly think about Arlo.
“So, are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Eden asks five minutes after we’ve started painting.
“Not today.”
I get lost in painting until I have a picture that resembles a vase of flowers that a five-year-old could have painted.
“You’re a good painter,” a man sitting to my right says.
I raise an eyebrow. He’s got to be kidding. Most people looking at my painting wouldn’t even be able to make out that I painted a vase of flowers. I turn my attention back to the boy on my right. He is very good-looking with light, sandy blond hair and a bright smile. I’m sure most girls immediately fall for his charm.
Why can’t I go after someone like him?
Because he’s a boy, not a man. Because he’s easy, not hard. Because I can already guess every boring thing about him. He’s not the excitement that I crave.
I open my mouth to say, Thank you for being so nice, but I know you’re just trying to sleep with me, when I hear a deep voice say, “It looks like shit. You should tell her that if you want to get into her pants. I’m sure she’d spread her legs for a good-looking boy like you.”
My mouth drops as I look up and see Arlo standing over us with a wicked grin on his face.
“He’s right; it does look like shit. While I appreciate you trying to give me a compliment, my painting skills are not what you should be complimenting me on. And, as far as sleeping with me goes, he’s right.”
I watch both men’s eyes grow wide.
“The only men I don’t sleep with are those who lock me in a dungeon and think they can control me,” I say, glaring up at Arlo.
“Oh, Mr. Carini, you made it,” our professor—I already forgot his name—says as he runs over to Arlo and kisses him on each cheek.
Arlo walks to the front of the room as the professor says, “Everybody, this is Mr. Carini. He will be helping us with our paintings this afternoon.”
I watch as Arlo removes his black leather jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair. My mouth waters, and my cheeks flush when he begins unbuttoning the dark blue shirt that he is wearing underneath his jacket.
I turn my attention back to the professor, who’s still rambling, but I do manage to catch his last word.
Nude.
We will be painting Arlo in the nude.
Arlo smirks as I realize that I’m going to see him naked and be forced to attempt to paint him naked while keeping my composure. I’m sure I won’t be the only one who struggles with painting a naked man. I glance around the room, but no one else seems to be blushing or fidgeting in their seat like I am.
Arlo continues to undress with his eyes locked on me. Today, he seems to be in a better mood, probably because he got a good night’s sleep while I attempted to sleep on a dungeon floor. I’ve seen him almost naked before, but somehow, him undressing in front of us makes it all the more intimate, especially when his eyes stay on me the entire time he’s doing it.
My cheeks flush a bright shade of pink when he pulls down his pants and briefs all in one motion, and his cock springs free. I try not to stare even though I know every other warm-blooded female in the room is doing the same.
God, his body still draws me to him just as much today as it did before he locked me up.
“Paint. Free your mind, and just paint,” the professor says, breaking the spell that I’ve been under since Arlo came into the classroom.
I stare down at the canvas in front of me, and I start painting, knowing full well that there is no way my painting is going to look anything like Arlo. I paint, hardly ever looking up at Arlo. Every time I do, his eyes are always watching me, making me nervous or so filled with lust that I can’t think straight. So, I just paint, mostly from memory, not that it matters anyway.
I look over to see how Eden is doing. Her painting looks exactly like Arlo. I’m going to have to steal hers later when I’m thinking dirty thoughts about him.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Eden says, lying to me.
“Really?” I ask.
“Okay, it looks horrible. How did you manage to make him look like a mix between a rhinoceros and a gorilla?”
I laugh and shrug as I look at the painting. “It’s a talent, I guess.”
“Let’s all thank Mr. Carini for being the inspiration for all your paintings today. We’ll be going through everyone’s paintings over the next few weeks, and at the end of your time here, we will paint again and see how things have changed in your appreciation of what’s important to capture in your painting.”
I frown. “This guy does realize this is
art history, not a class about how to paint, right?” I ask Eden.
She shrugs. “Well, at least I’ll get an A.”
“I might as well drop out now because I’m going to fail this class.”
I begin to gather my things as Arlo walks out of the room. It’s the wrong decision. I know it the second my feet leave the ground to start running after him. But I’ve never been good at doing what is good for me.
“You really think I look like a hippo, Miss Young?” Arlo asks as he continues to walk forward without looking behind himself to know who is following. He just knows, or at least presumes, it is me.
“No, I think you look more like an ass. Too bad I’m not a skilled enough artist to convey it.”
He chuckles and stops, waiting for me to catch up to him.
I’m shocked that he’s talking to me, but maybe he feels that he’s warned me enough, and any decision I make from this moment on is mine to make.
“Why did you let art history students paint you? Surely, they could have paid some college student who needed a buck or two instead of having you get naked in front of a room full of strangers.”
“I did that because it was fun—the same reason I do everything in my life.” He turns and starts walking.
“Arlo!” I shout.
He stops and turns, studying me.
“Why would you do that after everything you did last night? You made it your mission to keep me as far away from you as possible. Yet here you are, showing up in my classroom the next day.”
He grins. And then he leans down and firmly kisses me on the lips. It’s a sweet, chaste kiss with only a bit of his tongue and a tease of what more he could give me. But it’s enough to make my craving for him uncontrollable.
He pulls away. “Maybe it’s because I want you.”
I blush. “I want you too. I want to come to one of your parties and actually be invited this time.”
“No, you don’t. The only way you become one of the women is if you become indebted to me.”
The wheels start turning in my head again. I still don’t know what he means by being in his debt.
“Stop thinking about it. You’ll never be indebted to me.”
“Fuck me, and I’ll stop thinking about it.”
“Why? So that you could become even more obsessed? Clingy? No, thanks. I have more than enough women who fawn over me.”
And then Arlo leaves me alone. Confused and frustrated.
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted a man before.
But, right now, I’ll have to relive the kiss over and over again while I make sense of his bizarre behavior. What kind of man kisses me, but won’t fuck me unless I’m in his debt? Some sort of twisted, messed up man that’s who. A man that makes me want to know everything about him.
6
Nina
“What is up with you? You’ve either been a bitch to anyone who talks to you or you have been completely silent all week,” Eden says when she walks into the living room where I’m curled up on the couch.
“From that description, seems like I’m my usual self.”
Eden grabs the quilt off my body.
I growl, “Give it back! It’s freezing, and I’m taking a nap.”
“You are not napping on our first of only three free weekends that we have here.”
I close my eyes. “I’m taking a nap.”
I don’t want to walk around the town. Everything will just remind me of Arlo again. All I can think about is his damn kiss anyway. He’s the most confusing, infuriating man I’ve ever met. I’m frustrated that I have already let a week pass without trying to come up with a plan for revenge. I’m way out of my league. So, my new plan is to sulk and stay away from him until I leave. It’s a good plan that will get me into less trouble anyway.
Eden storms off.
I smile slightly. I’ve won. She’ll leave me alone and let me nap while she goes and makes the best of this trip by exploring all that Italy has to offer.
“Here,” Eden says, throwing a lump of something soft on me.
I glance down and find a small pile of clothes. I look back up at Eden, baffled as to why she threw me one of her shirts and pants.
“This shirt makes your boobs look great, and those pants make your ass look even better. Put them on, and let’s go.”
“I already told you, I’m not going.”
Eden grins with her hands on her hips. “You are going. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
I slowly sit up to see what she thinks I should wear. “Oh my God! This is your Versace shirt. This thing is over a thousand dollars. You never let me wear it.”
She smirks. “Easy way, it is. It’s yours if you leave with me now.”
Damn it! This woman knows the way to my heart. Expensive designer clothes and shoes.
I pick up the clothes. “What about shoes?”
“You can have my Gucci black heels.”
I grin and run to my bedroom to get changed. I poke my head back out. “What was the hard way going to be?” I ask.
Eden walks to her bedroom and then reappears in the hallway with her black heels. She holds them out to me, and I take them.
“I’m not telling. I might need to use the hard way later.”
I quickly get ready and then reappear.
“You look smoking hot. Damn it, you should be happy that I like you; otherwise, I would never let you leave, looking better than me.”
I roll my eyes as I look at Eden’s dark jeans and low V-neck top. “You look amazing. I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Eden throws me a leather jacket. “Put this on. Your current look is a little too revealing for daylight hours.”
I put the jacket on. She’s probably right even though I have no idea what we are doing. But I hate to cover up the gorgeous gray lace shirt I’m wearing.
I loop my arm through Eden’s arm. “Let’s go, friend, to wherever you are taking me.”
Eden’s grin brightens. “We are going to a lecture.”
My excitement drains. Leave it to my studious friend who has a body of a model and the brains of a rocket scientist to get us all dressed up and then take us to a lecture.
* * *
We walk into the large auditorium already filled with fifty or so people. The one nice thing about auditoriums here versus the US is that, here, they have beautiful balconies, chandeliers, sculptures, and paintings around the room. It’s full of history even if the lecture that she brought me to is going to be boring as hell.
I look at the words on the screen as we take a seat in the front row.
“Why are we at a lecture for entrepreneurs of the future? We don’t want to start a business. We want to teach or work in a library or museum or gallery. Our future is the exact opposite of starting a business or something new. Our jobs are very old.”
Eden rolls her eyes. “There is nothing wrong with keeping our options open. What if we want to start our own business someday?”
“We won’t.”
“Well, that’s not keeping an open mind.”
“I don’t care about the future. I care about the past. About the beauty in the world. About how to keep it alive. Not how to start some tech company that just cares about making money. Neither of us needs money. How long is this thing anyway?”
“Three hours.”
“Three hours!”
A group of college students sitting next to us stares at us.
I glare at them, and they turn away. If only it were that easy to make everyone stop looking at me.
“Three hours? Are you serious?” I ask a little quieter.
“Yes.”
“And what are you going to do for me after we get out of this three-hour torture?”
She turns her attention to the front as someone with a mic starts talking.
“You are going to find a way to thank me for bringing you.”
“Why in the world would I thank you?” I hiss.
Eden n
ods her head toward the stage.
I face forward. She’s right; I’m going to have to find a way to thank her after this.
“I would like to introduce you to our speaker for today. He’s an Oxford grad, he runs a multibillion-dollar company, and the ladies tell me he’s one good-looking man.”
Women start screaming like they are at a rock concert.
“Let me introduce you to Mr. Carini.”
Everyone applauds as Arlo walks onto the stage. He’s dressed in a three-piece gray suit, his hair is tousled artfully on his head, and he has a nice five o’clock shadow going.
“Thank you. I know you are all here to listen to me talk about what it takes to be a young entrepreneur. You want to know the secret to making billions of dollars. Or as my friend Vito Abele said, you are here to swoon over my body. But I’m not going to talk to you about any of those things today.”
Arlo’s eyes dart to mine.
I hold my breath. I don’t know how he found me so quickly in a room full of people. The last time I saw him, he kissed me. I look for something to show me that he wants me as badly as I want him. That he has been a complete mess of need and lust since our kiss, just like I have. That he is desperate for me, just like I am to have his lips on me again.
I see no sign of any sort of desperation. He does what he always does. Pretends I don’t exist while making me his entire focus.
“I’m here to talk to you about why you should never be in anyone’s debt.”
I swallow. I glance down at the program that Eden is holding. It says he’s here to talk about how to start a company. The keys to success. Not about not being in debt. This lecture is entirely for me.
“Asking someone for help shows them your weaknesses. It shows them how reckless you are. Be very careful who you show your weaknesses to. If you pick the wrong person or company, it could lead to your death,” he says.
The only problem is, I can’t pay attention to any of his words when he is staring at me so intently. He has to know that, if he is trying to get me to listen and leave him alone, this is the absolute worst way to do it. Because all I can see are his eyes. Occasionally, my eyes are able to break from his spell long enough to drift down to his lips. I imagine his lips on me. Kissing me again, but harder, more passionately. The kind of kiss that makes me forget about everything but him.
