When in Rome (A Heart of the City Romance Book 4)

by C.J Duggan

  The back of my legs hit the desk; I was caged in like an animal.

  ‘I am not blackmailing, I’m just saying it’s none of my business.’

  ‘Yeah, well, by writing shit about me, you’re now my business, and if you think I am going to turn a blind eye while you try and be everyone’s BFF, then you have another thing coming.’

  As far as threats went, that was right up there. And, much like with a drunk person or a two-year-old, I knew better than to try to reason with her.

  I straightened, stepping up into her face and looking into her eyes. ‘Do what you need to do,’ I said, pushing past her, pretending to be badass when all I wanted to do was run and hide. I felt exposed, like someone had read my high-school diary and was about to announce my secrets at assembly. I just knew it wouldn’t be the last I would hear of it. I walked to reception, waiting patiently for Gabriello to come serve me. Guilt clawing at my insides, my head spinning over the things that I had written.

  Just breathe, Sammi, in-out-in. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.

  ‘Ciao, Sammi. Come stai?’

  ‘Ciao, Gabriello, um, listen, I’m not feeling so good, is there a chance I might be able to book a room just for tonight? I just need a quiet space to get some rest.’

  And prevent my head from getting mounted on a stick.

  ‘Si, I am sure we can help you out.’ He typed on the keyboard, while I gripped the edge of the reception desk, wondering where Jodie was now. Was she waiting to get me alone? Had she slipped out the back to run to the group to tell them what I really thought of them? Or had she slid upstairs to pee in my shampoo bottle or, God, on my toothbrush?

  ‘Ah, you are in luck. It’s not the most spacious suite, but if you want some peace and quiet for the night it will do.’

  Did he actually refer to rooms here as suites? Jeez, he was optimistic.

  ‘I’ll take it, grazie.’

  Gabriello printed out the new booking and slid it across for me to sign.

  Level two, room ten. I felt a surge of relief knowing that I was floors away from them.

  ‘Ciao-ciao, Gabriello, bitch-face is off to catch up with her friends.’

  Jodie walked through reception, putting on her sunnies and flashing me a bright smile as she headed for the door.

  Gabriello’s face twisted in distaste. ‘She is a strange one,’ he said, shaking his head.

  I watched her disappear out into the street.

  ‘Yeah, you have no idea.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My ‘suite’ was a small, dark, windowless room with a bed shoved in the corner. Waiting was the worst, but doing so in what could only be described as a cell really did make me feel like a dead woman walking. I might as well have been placed under the staircase.

  I sat on the edge of the mattress, tears welling in my eyes, thinking how I didn’t even get to press send on my email to Claire. Mum and Dad would be telling her right now what an amazing time I was having with all my newfound friends, when in truth I was hiding, too ashamed to face the others knowing Jodie would have told all. Once again I didn’t recall social isolation being featured in the glossy tourist booklet; come to Italy and be an outcast! If I had wanted to feel that way, I could have easily stayed home.

  I had come all this way and spent a chunk of my savings only to be here, hiding, feeling sorry for myself? I stood up and began pacing my block-shaped room, angered by Jodie’s snooping, but also embarrassed at being caught out. Maybe Jodie did have the right to hate me from the start—maybe she was a good judge after all. Had I acted aloof, as if I thought I was better than them? No, I was just different, that’s all; if I wasn’t on this trip I certainly wouldn’t be friends with them. We were only going to be together for a short time; when I first stepped into the meet-and-greet, I’d doubted I’d be forming any lifelong friendships.

  I stopped my self-righteous thoughts.

  Oh, wow, Sammi! Will you listen to yourself?

  Within two seconds of meeting the members of the group I had made a judgement that they weren’t my type, which, in no uncertain terms, made me Miss Judgey McJudgeface of Judgement Town. I had even gone as far as to book another room to escape the backlash; how was that going to look? I had visions of them laughing from their bunk beds.

  ‘See, too good to even share a room.’

  I buried my head in my hands.

  ‘Oh, God, I am a snobby bitch,’ I groaned, lifting my head and running my hands back through my hair. I hadn’t given anyone a chance.

  Except for one.

  One very different person, one who from the very first moment had stood out, one who I’d been trying to work out ever since. Never once had I thought myself too good for him; if anything, the general consensus was he was far too good for me. I wished he was here with me now, telling me local myths, flashing me those adorable dimples, looking confused when he didn’t quite understand my meaning, touching me, kissing me …

  I snapped out of my daydream.

  ‘No, no, I wasn’t a bitch,’ I mumbled to myself, throwing myself back onto my bed. I swallowed some painkillers to alleviate my pounding head, and soon my eyes became heavy and my body sank into the mattress. Drifting off in my tiny little box room, I repeated sleepily to myself, ‘I am not a bitch.’

  Thunder, there was thunder jolting me awake.

  No, wait a minute.

  Thump-thump-thump. ‘Sammi, open up!’

  Oh, shit, they’ve found me. At my door with flaming torches and pitchforks, no doubt.

  I scrambled out of my bed, ripping the sheets from me, struggling to navigate the unfamiliar surroundings in my darkened room. What time was it? How long had I been asleep? Had I even locked the door?

  The handle twisted, the door creaked and light leaked into the room, threatening to expose me. Holding up my hand to shield my eyes, I squinted at the darkened figure in my doorway. The light was impossibly bright; spots danced in my vision until the fluorescent beam flickered above me.

  ‘Hot damn, look at you.’ Johnny’s Californian drawl was deep and filled the entire space. He didn’t seem angry; his words were an observation, and sounded shocked if anything. I knew I wasn’t exactly the most attractive person upon waking, but I really didn’t need to be reminded about my frizz-ball hair and squinty eyes at a time like this.

  ‘Just getting some rest,’ I croaked, smoothing down my hair, wondering if the red tinge of my skin was worse now. I had slathered on the sunscreen, I had moisturised, kept hydrated. I felt good, the painkillers had worked a treat, so why was Johnny looking at me like that? Did I have drool on my chin?

  ‘What’s that on your face?’

  I touched my chin, wiping at the skin.

  Nope, no drool.

  ‘What?’

  Johnny grimaced, walking closer to me, reaching up to capture my chin and turn my face to the light. ‘You have giant welts on your cheek.’

  ‘What?’ My hand flew up, searching, until I felt an unmistakable lump on my face, then another.

  ‘What the …’

  Johnny broke into a smile. ‘Haven’t you heard the old saying: “Don’t let the bed bugs bite”?’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ I said, pushing past him, skimming along the halls in search of a bathroom on the unfamiliar second floor. Instead, I found a murky hall mirror above a table featuring a dusty faux floral arrangement. I pressed my face up close to the mirror, whimpering at the sight.

  ‘I look like the Elephant Woman!’

  ‘Oh, I think that’s a bit harsh,’ Johnny said.

  I cupped my cheeks, staring at my reflection, which had instantly become itchy from the heat of my palms. All I could do was shake my head as the tears welled in my eyes. I turned to Johnny. ‘I have bloody bed bugs!’ I shouted.

  ‘It would appear so,’ Johnny said; at least he was trying his best not to laugh. But I knew no matter how much time would pass I would never find it funny. Instead, I simply burst into tears, the salty streaks probably fuelling the s
welling of my bites.

  ‘Oh, hey, hey, come on, you don’t look that bad.’ Johnny reached out, rubbing my shoulder. ‘Why are you in that room anyway—are you in quarantine or something?’

  I sniffed, shaking my head. ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘What, Jodie hasn’t come running to you reciting my email word for word?’

  Johnny’s brows pinched. ‘What email?’

  I wiped my eyes, my sobs stilled by his apparent and genuine confusion.

  ‘Did Jodie come back to the group?’

  ‘Yeah, she said you were asleep, that she didn’t want to wake you.’

  Now I was the one who was confused, my hand slowly falling from my face. Had I dreamt it? Had there even been an email? No, it was definitely real; what was Jodie playing at?

  ‘W-what are you doing here?’

  Johnny sighed. ‘So many questions! Maria is organising a dinner tonight, a kind of farewell to Rome, I guess. It’s all provided in our package so you better get ready,’ he said, backing away down the hall.

  ‘What? Dinner tonight? I can’t go out like this.’

  ‘Come on, Sammi, anyone would think you’re trying to avoid us.’ He laughed, but his words hit a nerve inside me.

  Too good for us.

  I didn’t think that, and even if, for reasons unknown to me, she hadn’t told them about the email, the last thing I needed was for them to jump to that conclusion on their own. The first three days had been a disaster, the fault all my own, but I still had seven days with these people. If I was going to get the most out of this trip then I had better slap myself and get my shit together.

  ‘Where’s dinner?’ I asked unenthusiastically.

  Johnny grinned. ‘Atta girl! It’s at a restaurant called That’s Amore. We meet down at reception at six,’ he said, setting off down the hall. As he walked away, he said over his shoulder, ‘Oh and, ah, just in case you’re thinking about changing your mind, Marcello will be there.’

  I slowly turned back to the mirror, a look of complete and utter dread spread across my lumpy face.

  ‘Oh, fuck!’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I had spent the afternoon in my stripped-down, barren room, standing with a cold can of Coke pressed to my cheek and the assurance that new bedding would be in place by the time I returned from dinner; apparently there were no other dungeons available, and I was still too chicken to return to my dorm room.

  As much as I tried to rearrange my hair, nothing disguised my disfiguration; short of stepping out in a Phantom of the Opera mask, there was nothing I could do to reduce the hideous-looking bite marks. Apparently I was allergic to bed bugs. Awesome.

  I had nothing in my possession that would work—I needed heavy-duty concealer. I took it upon myself to risk detection, scooting up to the girls’ bathroom and hitting the jackpot. Primers, hair products, brushes, blushes, contouring powder, eyeliners and bronzers were strewn all over the vanity. I sifted through foundation sponges, lipstick-stained tissues and eye-shadow pallets as quickly as I could.

  Come on, Sammi, in and out, the perfect crime.

  Just a smidge, I thought, a teeny-tiny dollop of foundation, dabbed lightly onto my skin to disguise the redness. And what do you know? It did exactly that. There was no redness in sight because now, in my reflection, the red had been replaced with a large orange blob on my face, the kind no amount of blending could save. To avoid being labelled a make-up thief, or mistaken as an Oompa Loompa, I rubbed the foundation off, making my face even redder than before. But it was necessary: the girls already thought I was moving in on Kylie’s man, they might not appreciate me moving in on their make-up—some things were simply sacred.

  I had wanted to really make Marcello’s head turn tonight, but now I would be making everyone’s head turn for all the wrong reasons. I descended the stairs in my navy maxi dress, long and flowing, skin aglow now that the burn had mellowed to a tan, and I was well rested. But, thanks to the bed bugs, none of that mattered. At least I was having a good hair day; my hair was out and swept to the side, my attempt at some kind of hair veil. As I entered the lounge near reception, without looking I could sense he was there, a dark spot in my peripheral vision. I concentrated on every single step I took, praying I wouldn’t trip on the length of my skirt and flail down the last of the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom, I breathed a sigh of relief and tried, as best I could, to walk towards the group in a carefree, elegant way. I strategically placed myself, turning my offending cheek to the wall while I attempted for lighthearted banter with an extremely confused-looking Bookworm Gary.

  I smiled, sipping on my pop-top water bottle, before slipping it into my bag.

  Just shut up, Bookworm, and play along.

  Everyone I had wanted to avoid had come to dinner. Jodie sat with Harper and Kylie in one big, happy sisterhood. As usual I could hear Nate, though he didn’t necessarily have to be in the same room for that. I glanced around the small space, trying not to let my eyes fall on that particular black figure across the room. I was just going to ignore him. With Maria being such a stickler for punctuality, I assumed that Marina and Gwendal from France and Em from Ireland, who were all bunking in together on the sixth floor, had not received the dinner memo.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I asked Gary.

  ‘Marina and Gwendal are having some kind of an anniversary dinner somewhere, and the Irish girl …’

  ‘Em.’

  ‘Yeah, she went home.’

  My head snapped around. ‘She went home?’

  Gary did a double-take, his expression deepening. ‘Ah, yeah, she said she wouldn’t stay another minute in this hole of a hotel, so she cancelled the rest of her tour … what happened to your face?’ Gary’s nose was screwed up.

  I turned away from him, my mind reeling.

  Em cancelled her trip? Bloody good on her.

  And then I thought it was quite the shame; Em sounded like my kind of girl. Who knows, maybe if we’d been assigned the same room we might have become best friends.

  Johnny had never said so explicitly, but the last dinner in Rome with the group had that kind of ‘this is compulsory’ feeling about it, and sure, there was a part of me that had wanted to see Marcello again.

  I mentally slapped myself.

  Don’t you even go there, Sammi.

  So he was here—so what? If anything, it was going to make for a hell of an awkward night. Yep, I was definitely going to keep my distance, from everyone. In fact, I was probably doing them a favour: by shielding my unsightly face they wouldn’t be turned off their food. You might even say I was being considerate … and, okay, a little egotistical.

  Maybe it wasn’t that bad? I did have a tendency to be melodramatic. Gary was easily distressed. Just as I was beginning to convince myself that I was overreacting, Johnny walked past me, tilting his head and wincing.

  ‘Are you okay? That looks, really, really bad,’ he whispered, like he was in on the hideous secret.

  Kill me now.

  ‘Thanks,’ I deadpanned. It was official, I looked monstrous. I would have to choose my place at the table very carefully. Johnny shucked my jaw sympathetically, as if to say, ‘Chin up, tiger,’ then went to get a drink.

  ‘Alright, people, avanti, avanti! Let’s go,’ Maria singsonged, floating through the reception in a beautiful floral-patterned dress that only she could get away with, her petite frame and ample bosom on display.

  I took a moment to glance in the mirror: Marcello was in the lounge. He was sitting there in a beautiful black suit, white collared shirt casually open, and dampened hair. Even from far away he looked gorgeous, wearing an impressive scowl as if he wished not to be here. And why was he here? Was he getting a cut of Maria’s commission somehow? Helping her out by taking clueless members of the group under his wing? Well, if that was the case, he deserved a decent cut based on his lip service alone. As much as I hadn’t wanted our awkward handshake to be his last memo
ry of me, I really didn’t want it to be like this; me dancing around all night, trying to avoid him catching a glimpse of my face. Though, truth be known, I couldn’t only blame the bite marks. Screw it, tonight I would just try to enjoy my dinner. As far as I could tell, Jodie hadn’t said anything to the others about my email; she hadn’t even cast me daggers, choosing to ignore me, which was fine by me.

  We converged out on the street, our smart-casual dress a stark contrast to the grimy hotel façade, making us look lost and slightly out of place. The evening was warm and clear and the streets were filled with the chaos I was becoming accustomed to, the happy mess of holidaymakers wandering in our paths. The dodging and weaving didn’t unsettle me so much as the unknown ambush I was likely to suffer at the hands of my own group if Jodie ever decided to drop the bombshell.

  We walked along the streets in cliques: Jodie, Nate and Johnny walked out in front, followed by the besties, then me and my new BFF, the solemn, serious Bookworm Gary, who shuffled along with his hands in his pockets. I didn’t care to think about Maria and Marcello, who led the pack, and tried to resist looking forward in case I caught a glimpse of them and their seemingly civil conversation. I was happy to linger further back with Gary, who seemed to share my ‘out of sight, out of mind’ philosophy. Maybe Gary and I could be mates: we weren’t party animals or attention seekers, we didn’t need loud, boisterous conversations, we were merely soaking up everything around us—even if I could tell that, much like me, he was trying to avoid his lingering fascination with a certain person. I would never in a million years understand how Jodie and Gary came about, but I really didn’t want to think about it either.

  I chose instead to focus on dinner. According to Maria, That’s Amore was located only a few steps away from the Trevi Fountain. I had a chance to turf my coin in after all, though choosing to do so would depend on how the evening played out; if it was a disaster, I may never want to return to Rome.

  It turned out That’s Amore was not just a song that Nate had been singing since our arrival in Rome (and had since been threatened by Maria to not sing again), it was a bright, warm and cosy restaurant abuzz with good cheer and intoxicating smells. Even though the restaurant was busy the staff were friendly and willing to help with recommendations. The owner made his way around the tables, showing a genuine interest in his customers and conversing with each one. One of the things I had come to love about Rome was the people, and I had noticed that if you made an effort to speak the language, no matter how terribly, it was like opening a door to the friendly and passionate locals.