“You don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask.
“Nope. I did, but we broke up recently.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s good. We’re still friends. She got a job in San Diego and we weren’t close enough to move across the country together.”
“Good for her then.”
“Yeah, good for her. I’m on the market again.” He laughs.
“I imagine that won’t be for long.”
“How come?” He smiles as he pops a piece of fish in his mouth.
Does he expect me to tell him because he is the very definition of sexy? I will not.
“You don’t seem to have any trouble with the ladies.”
“I do alright. I got you to come to dinner with me.”
“That’s hardly a spectacular feat.”
Nico cocks his head at me. “Why do you say things like that about yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I think it’s cool you’re out with me. I wanted to talk to you. Is that difficult for you to believe?”
Yes, it is. I say nothing and occupy my mouth with another piece of sushi. Madeleine has scolded me a thousand times about my self-deprecating ways, especially in front of men. I remember how it drove Bradley crazy. It may have been one of the reasons he dumped me.
“Are you sorry you came?” he asks and flashes his amazing honey colored eyes at me.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Great! Do you want another drink?”
I shouldn’t, knowing I have to work tomorrow but I decide to let loose a bit. “Sure.”
Nico orders another round and we finish our meal, engaging in get to know you chatter. I learn that he is six years younger than his brother, and that he grew up here, which explains his strong Bostonian accent. I also learn that he works as a carpenter specializing in custom cabinetry. When he talks about his brother, his voice changes and I can tell he looks up to him a great deal.
“You have a stronger Boston accent than Luca,” I observe.
“He was born in Italy and my parents moved here when my mom was pregnant with me. His first language was Italian and my mom says it took him a while before he would speak English.”
“That would explain his slight Italian accent.”
“Yeah, that and the fact that he’s been in school with smart people so long. He’s not down in the trenches with me and the working class of Boston.” He laughs when he says this.
“Do your parents live in Boston?” I ask.
Shaking his head, he replies. “No, they live in Cape Cod. We finally got them to retire a couple of years ago. They’ve worked hard for many years. Do your parents live here?”
“No. They’re back in England. It’s just me and my brother. And Madeleine.”
“Now you have me too.” He grins again as his gaze lingers on me. How do I respond to this? Is he coming on to me? It can’t be. Can it?
“You’re quite the flatterer, Nico.”
“I’m just saying what I think.”
“Well, it is nice to have a new mate in this big town.”
The bill comes and I start to reach for my wallet, but Nico reaches out and touches my arm, stopping me. My eyes move directly to where his hand rests on me, my skin prickling with excitement at the connection.
“I got it. I asked you.”
“Thank you.”
“No worries. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
Walking back to my flat, I still feel as though I’m in a dream. I have no idea how this happened, but I’m trying my best to enjoy it. At the bottom of the steps leading up to my door, we pause.
“I enjoyed dinner, Londyn. I hope we can do it again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great.” Nico leans close to me and kisses my cheek. I’m certain I stopped breathing for the brief moment when his lips made contact with my skin. I catch the scent of his cologne just before he moves away. “See you soon.”
“Yes.” I turn and walk up the steps, turning back to wave when I get to the top. Once inside, I practically fly up the stairs to tell Madeleine about my evening.
Opening the door, I find her on the sofa. “Londyn! Who was that? Where did you go? You have so much explaining to do!”
“I know!” I plop down on the sofa next to her. “That was Nico. The man I told you about who came into Luca’s office. He’s his brother.”
“Brother? How did you end up with him?”
“I have no idea. I literally bumped into him on my way home and he asked me to dinner.”
“Lucky. He’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“I noticed. Can you believe he asked me out?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I feel like I’m in a dream.”
“Did he kiss you?”
“Just my cheek and even that was perfect. He smells so good.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“He said he wanted to. We’ll see.”
“What do you think the boss will say?”
“Oh. I haven’t thought about that yet. I have a feeling he isn’t going to like it.”
“Well, he can not-like-it all he wants. What you do in your free time is none of his business.”
“True.” Although the professor can make my professional life miserable if he sees fit.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“No, I don’t think I will. There’s nothing really to tell yet, anyway.”
“I suppose,” Madeleine says. “What an exciting night!”
“Yes, it was.” I have plenty to write in my boodle tonight.
After finishing my chat with Madeleine, I snuggle down under my sheets and pull out my journal. Nico is handsome, charming, and sweet. All traits I always wished for. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but how I hope that was not the last time I see Nico Di Roma.
Note to self: Maybe dreams do come true.
The train rumbles down the tracks on its way to Cambridge as I sit collecting my thoughts. I have no plans to tell the professor that I ate dinner with his brother, but I have no idea if Nico shares my decision. I must be prepared if asked, but pray that I won’t be.
As we approach the stop for Harvard Square, my thoughts drift to the professor. He is this strange mix of aggression and passivity, of melancholy and arrogance. He is mysterious yet he lets me have tiny little peeks. He is quite the enigma and I wonder if I’ll ever figure him out completely. It doesn’t get by me that I very much want to.
I enter the building and walk quietly up the steps, my ears already searching for today’s early morning soundtrack. As I approach, I hear one of my favorite songs, The Prayer. It also happens to be my favorite version by Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dion. The music is so beautiful and so soul stirring it practically lifts my feet and carries me to the office.
When I enter, the professor is sitting in his chair, his eyes completely closed, with his hands in prayer pose below his chin. For a moment, I wonder if he is praying, but then I see that he is just letting the music flow through him. I slip quietly into my chair and wait for the music to end.
When it does, the professor slowly opens his eyes. I’m startled by the deep sadness staring back at me. What is it that makes him so sad? Does this music help him or make it worse? I cannot tell.
“Good morning, Miss Harper.”
“Morning, Professor. How are you today?”
“Very well, thank you.” He runs his hands through his hair. “How was your evening?”
As soon as he asks, my cheeks start to heat up. How I hate this physical reaction to discomfort I have! “Very well, thank you.” That is not a lie at least.
“Good. Ready to work?”
“I am.”
We start our day and I’m very thankful the professor isn’t in the mood for chit chat today. Even though I have no intention of telling him how I spent my evening, I’m simply dying to know how he spent his. Something in this man’s life is worth
knowing. Perhaps someday he’ll come to see me as someone he can trust and confide in. Not likely, but a girl can hope.
IT’S ALL I CAN DO to concentrate on my work. I’m exhausted, having gotten minimal sleep last night. Knowing I committed to visiting Cape Cod is unsettling. Even though it’s more than three months away, I don’t know if I can handle it. The last time I tried to go, I had to pull over. I can’t drive that stretch without seeing it all replay in my mind. I broke down and it took me twenty minutes to compose myself enough to drive. I turned the car around and returned home, then told my mother I came down with the flu. I knew from her voice she knew I was lying.
I sense Londyn’s presence in the room. She’s early again. At least she respects this morning time of mine. These songs do so much for me. While they remind of the beautiful angel I lost, they also somehow comfort me. It’s almost as if she is here with me when they play. I open my eyes slowly as the song ends.
Something is different about Londyn today. I can’t place my finger on it, but her demeanor isn’t what I’ve come to expect. She seems happy- an emotion I long for, but have no idea how to achieve. I have so much that fulfills me, but there is nothing that truly makes me happy. I haven’t earned the right to be. I’ve caused nothing but pain and devastation to those around me. What makes me think I deserve to be at peace?
“Professor?” Londyn’s voice invades my thoughts.
I look up at her. “Yes?”
I listen while she clarifies some of the directions in my syllabus and I offer her the guidance she needs. At least I made a good choice in hiring her. She compliments me well. I know if she is to last, I need to move her to the office with the other assistants, but…I sigh quietly, hoping I haven’t attracted her attention. I need her here. In this room with me. I hate being alone and her presence is soothing to me.
“Are you okay, Professor?”
“Yes. I was just thinking. I suppose we need to talk about an office space for you. The repairs in the other room are nearly complete. I think it’s evident this working relationship is going well.”
I watch her face light up. I know it’s important to her to do good work.
“I’m so pleased you feel that way. I’m fine here, though, for now. Unless it’s bothering you to have me around all the time. I’m sure you’d like your own space.”
Her offer to stay surprises me. Is she reading my mind?
“I don’t mind you here. In fact, it’s helpful. It’s more efficient, no?”
She smiles at me again. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to. I rather like my little corner spot with the view of the Square.”
“Good. We can reevaluate at the end of the term.”
I rather like it, too.
OUTSIDE IN THE COURTYARD, I walk around and pick a place to eat lunch. As I get on queue for a nearby restaurant, I spot the professor sitting on a bench not far from where I stand. Watching him, I take in every detail about his appearance. He’s reading a book that he seems intently focused on. A group of women acknowledge him as they pass. He looks up and smiles and even from here, I can tell the women find him attractive. There is no denying that he is.
I continue watching the professor, wondering what he’s reading that has captured his attention. A girl approaches him, and when he sees her, his demeanor stiffens. The girl pulls a paper out of her rucksack and shows it to him. Whatever it is, it causes his brow to furrow as he studies it. I watch as they have a conversation about it. The professor stands, towering over the girl and tears up the paper she handed him. She covers her mouth in horror and then lowers her head. They exchange a few more words, or rather, the professor does all the talking. Moments later the girl walks away, clearly distraught. I have no idea what happened, but from where I stand, Luca can be a very mean man. All thoughts of his physical appeal quickly dissipate.
After lunch, I return to my desk. I can see that the professor is agitated about something and I can only imagine it has to do with his interaction in the courtyard just a while ago.
He sighs. “I need you to type this up and send it to the student mailbox listed at the top.” He rises and hands me a sheet of notebook paper. “Read it aloud to me. I want to hear how it sounds.”
“Miss Patterson,” I begin. “The document you presented to me today could not be more insulting to me or embarrassing for you. I believe my instructions were more than clear, yet you attempt to turn in drivel. You’ve had the entire summer to compose your proposal and yet you degrade the topic by presenting nonsense. While I’m tempted to drop you from the course for your sheer lack of ability to follow instructions, I continue to believe that your work shows promise and it is for this reason that I will give you an opportunity to redeem yourself.” I stop reading for a moment just to collect my thoughts. I cannot believe how harsh he is. I look up to see his gaze intently locked on me so I continue. “Attached are the assignment instructions. I expect you to read them—once again—and then explain them to me in person in my office Wednesday morning at nine am. If at that time, I feel confident you understand your responsibility, I will allow you to start class this semester. Please do not insult me with any substandard work again. I don’t have time for it and you can’t afford it. Professor Di Roma.” I look up, waiting for his response.
“Is it clear?” he asks.
“Very.”
“Good. You can send it.”
“Is this the student whose paper you tore up today in the square?”
Professor Di Roma looks up and narrows his eyes. “You saw that?”
“I was nearby.”
“Yes.”
“It seemed very mean.”
I wish I didn’t say that as I watch his eyes widen. He removes his glasses and sets them down on his desk before speaking to me. “Mean? Do you know how much an education at Harvard costs, Miss Harper?”
“I have an idea, yes.”
“Do you think a person paying that kind of money who will have a degree from such an esteemed university deserves to be coddled and spoon fed?”
Shaking my head, I reply. “No.”
“Neither do I. I don’t expect people to like me. I couldn’t care less. What I do expect is that people learn and produce exceptional work. The students who attend here have above average intelligence and I expect them to be challenged. If they don’t like it, they are welcome to go to an inferior school where they can simply skate by.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What?”
“Professor. I’ll send the letter now.”
“Good.”
I quietly type the letter and put it in the interoffice envelope in time for the afternoon pickup. As the remainder of the day progresses, I file and sort all of this semester’s documents and create a new filing system I think will be more efficient. The professor works quietly at his desk preparing his opening lecture. I don’t know if I offended him, but I hope I haven’t.
As the day winds down, I start to pack up my things. The professor looks up at me and watches me for a moment.
“Good work today, Miss Harper, observations on my methods aside.”
I study his face and notice just the slightest smile. He’s teasing me!
“Yes, well, good evening.”
“Good evening.”
I walk out with a slight skip in my step, happy to know that at a minimum I didn’t anger him with my comments.
The following day, I set about my morning, taking care of emails and the various bits and bobs of the professor’s work life. He’s quiet this morning, as he often is, and I do my best to give him space.
A short time later, a soft knock comes on the office door. I look up and a girl walks in, her gait slow and reticent. I recognize her as the girl whose paper he destroyed. The professor looks up and instantly grimaces.
“Well, Miss Patterson. I hope whatever you have to present will be redeeming in nature. In fact, I expect it. I’m ready when you are.”
I glance at the poor girl. Her dishwater blond
hair is tucked in a neat braid with only a few escaped tendrils and she wears a rather unflattering plaid dress. I notice the paper she holds and how her hand shakes, I assume from nerves. The professor literally has this girl rattled. I say a silent prayer for her that this next bit goes well.
She clears her throat. “You wanted me to explain the instructions for my paper?”
“I believe that is what I said.”
“Excuse me, Professor,” I chime in quickly. “Would you like me to leave?”
“Did I ask you to leave?” he responds, his irritation evident in his tone.
I shake my head and remain silent. The girl glances quickly back at me and I offer an encouraging smile. She nods and turns back to face the professor.
“I selected the paper on Italian literature of the 19th century,” the girl says softly. She lifts the paper up where she can view it. “I chose Allessandro Manzoni as my subject.”
The professor says nothing and continues his death glare in her direction. Her voice trembles as she speaks and I simply want to jump from my chair and give her a hug.
She continues. “My understanding of the assignment was that I am to provide a biography of his life in two pages. I am to provide an in-depth synopsis of his career in three pages, and a ten-page analysis of the impact his work had on his contemporaries as well as modern literature. The assignment due on Monday is a proposal of what I plan to write.” She pauses and the professor remains silent. “Is that correct, Professor Di Roma?”
I hold my breath waiting for his response. He stands, which is worse, and turns his back to her. The girl looks back at me with a perplexed expression and I simply shrug. I certainly have no idea what he is thinking.
Time seems to be frozen as we wait for the professor to react. I’m absolutely dying to know what’s going on in his head. Is he angry? Will he yell? Is he pleased? I haven’t a clue. Finally, he slowly turns around and his expression, unfortunately for Miss Patterson, reads sheer frustration.
Londyn Falls Page 9
