FUNNY FALL AT SPANISH STEPS! the caption screamed, with a long line of emojis and hashtags. I watched myself in full, vivid color as my foot slipped and I tumbled down the stairs. My ass bounced, my mouth was open in a wide O, and my face had a weird, horrified expression—kind of like that scary painting The Scream. I heard the collective gasps and titters from the crowd, and then I lay in a heap on the bottom step, like a baby giraffe who was just learning to walk. I watched Enzo sweep me up into his arms and carry me away. He was the epitome of the classic Disney prince saving the fallen damsel in distress.
“This is not happening,” I whispered. “It’s not that funny.”
“I think everyone liked Enzo’s reaction,” Allegra pointed out. “Look at the comments. They think he’s very romantic.”
She was right. The comments went on about how he tried to whisk me away from danger and that men like him no longer exist. People tagged their friends, and it morphed into a discussion of Italian versus American men. Like a snowball effect, it began to take on a life of its own.
It had already racked up more than ten thousand views.
My chest tightened and I tried not to panic. What if my clients saw this? My employees? I’d already lost the lead on an important account over the panic attack. No one wanted to hire a woman who inspired a ridiculous meme or viral video.
“We need to stop it from spreading,” I said, trying to think of a plan. “I can’t let anyone from my company see this.”
“We can’t delete it because we didn’t post it,” Allegra said. “Mom, it’s not that bad. You’re human. The whole thing will probably die down by tomorrow.”
Mom jumped in. “It shows the world you may fall down, but you get right back up.”
I stared at her in astonishment. “Are you crazy? It shows me falling down and getting carried by a guy! I didn’t get up!”
“It was the intended meaning. You would have gotten up. Enzo just happened to be there.”
I wanted to scream but didn’t want to add to the madness. “How did you find the video?” I asked my daughter.
“Bonnie sent it to me and asked if it was you, but it’s also listed in the main search engine.”
Which meant it was being shared and commented on and people were finding my fall amusing. I was going to vomit. “I have to go.”
“Wait—we need to go to dinner soon,” Mom said. “Don’t let this ruin our evening. I’m sure no one important even knows it’s you.”
On cue, my phone buzzed. The text was from Kate.
Holy shit, Fran, did you fall down the Spanish Steps? Are you okay? Who’s that hot guy?
A whimper escaped my lips. “Trust me, everyone knows. I have to make some calls to the office. Allegra, don’t answer anyone who asks about the video. Pretend it’s not me.”
Her jaw dropped. “Mom, Bonnie knows it’s you.”
“Plead the Fifth. Nothing is real on the internet; we’ll say it was faked. I’ll check on you later.” Ignoring my mother’s protests, I skipped the elevator and headed up the staircase, my brain clicking through possible options to control the mess I was in.
I didn’t come up with many.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Allegra
When we stepped onto the grounds of Pompeii, I was struck by a few things. First, it was dusty. I felt as if I was enveloped immediately, a cloud of it blowing into my ears and nose and eyes. Also, everything was brown—a thousand shades of earth surrounded me until even the sky seemed dully tinted. The foreboding outline of Mount Vesuvius shimmered in the distance almost like a mirage, and there was an eerie sort of silence as we made our way through the excavations.
I’d been looking forward to Pompeii, but my bad mood threatened to ruin it. Mom had never gotten to dinner. She’d dumped Nonni and me for the whole night, then come up with a bunch of excuses that she’d been busy “stopping” the video from ruining her career. Like that was even a possibility.
And she called me dramatic?
I was stuck making excuses for her, saying she had a headache, while I made conversation with the rest of the group and kept an eye on Nonni. My mother had been the one who’d forced the trip on me. She’d been the one who’d promised to spend quality time fixing our relationship and who’d said that we both needed a break from the stresses of our daily routine. She’d been the one who swore she wasn’t going to work and we’d make Italy an important memory for our family. She’d been the one who warned me about getting off my phone and viewing the world without a lens.
Bullshit.
She wanted to work again and used the video as an excuse. And just like I’d said, the views were already shrinking and had been replaced by another royal family feud splashed all over social media. Even worse? We’d had a great time yesterday. Sure, there were some crazy moments, but I felt as if we’d finally connected a bit. Then she’d gone and ruined it all over again.
I’d refused to talk to her when we got home last night or this morning, even though Nonni tried to play peacemaker. I texted David a few times, but he’d gone MIA so I decided to be cool until he reached out. Mom tried to sit with me on the bus, but I took a seat alone and spent the whole time on my phone. Maybe if I became like her she’d finally see how it felt.
We’d gotten up at six a.m. to be on the bus early in order to see Pompeii, and next we’d have a brief stopover in Naples before heading to Capri for the next few nights. Enzo warned it was a long travel day. I needed to try to focus on enjoying the day and not let her affect me.
Why hadn’t I learned? She’d never change. I needed to stop believing she would.
We didn’t have any earbuds today. Our guide had a loud, booming voice and a fun, jokey-type personality, even though the site seemed to require a serious, sad attitude because of the tragedy. The sun beat down mercilessly, but I began to forget the discomfort as our guide spun a story of what it was like to live in Pompeii. I couldn’t imagine dealing with the awful realization that I’d burn alive, along with the rest of the city’s population.
Ian eased beside me. “Is it wrong to be craving a snow cone right now?”
I tamped down a giggle. “Probably, but I wish we’d come around the corner and there’d be a Mr. Frosty truck.”
He grinned and jerked his head toward the guy. “He’s good. More of a storyteller than a history teacher. I think with large disasters we forget it’s personal. We all view things from the worldly scope.”
I nodded and we moved as a group down the broken, rubbled road. “Like reading about a school shooting every week. It becomes a new normal until you walk the grounds or know someone who died.”
“Exactly.” We shared a look and I was surprised at the tiny jolt of recognition my body experienced. It didn’t happen a lot. I always figured my hormones were a bit sluggish. My interest was piqued by really hot celebrities, and by Christian Peterson, who was the school god in body if not personality, and definitely by David. But Ian wasn’t attractive to me in that way. I studied him more closely, noting his ginger hair and pale skin and freckles. But his eyes were a bolt of hot blue, and his smile made me want to smile back, and he was lanky but sported nice muscles under his T-shirt, which hinted at a good set of abs. I wondered if freckles covered his whole body or if he had red-gold chest hair. I wondered if he’d kissed a lot of girls and if he was good at it, or if he’d been more of a geek and never had a girlfriend.
“Can I hang with you?” he asked.
“Parent irritation?”
“Just a tad. To save money, we’re all sharing a room.”
Pure horror hit. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m pissed at my mom right now, so we’re in the same boat.”
“Anything serious?”
His interest seemed genuine and not polite. I bet he was a great listener. “Nope, same problem recycled.”
“Got it.”
We
fell silent and refocused on the lecture, our shoulders occasionally brushing.
“Before Mount Vesuvius erupted, Pompeii was a playground for the wealthy,” our guide continued. “The resort attracted vacationers, and these streets were lined with villas, shops, bathhouses, and of course, brothels.” His gaze surveyed the crowd and focused on Kai. “I’ll tell you when to cover his eyes, Mama,” he said teasingly to Hana, motioning toward one of the buildings. “There’re some pictures you may want to skip.”
Kai frowned, obviously not understanding, and Hana nodded in agreement.
“The arena sat twenty thousand people. Imagine crowds gathered in the open-air markets, mothers with children, shopkeepers selling wares, and horses pulling wagons.” He pointed to the ground. “This is the original road that was used. Follow me and watch your step.”
Our feet sank into the craters of ancient stone as we made our way through the dusty, silent city, which seemed to scream with thousands of unheard voices. He painted an image of the life led in the city until I could almost hear the ancient chatter of Latin drifting in the air. “When the volcano erupted in August 79 AD, there was time for people to flee, but many of them ignored it. Ash, rock, and poisonous gas exploded into the air, and when it came back down, it cut a path of fury that led straight to Pompeii.”
“Why didn’t everyone just evacuate?” Ian’s dad, Patrick, asked.
“Why do we stay when disaster threatens? We don’t believe it can happen to us? How can a thriving city such as this be completely destroyed? An estimated two thousand people stayed. By the time the volcano made its final stand, it erupted at a hundred miles per hour and it was too late for anyone left behind. Lava poured into the streets and swallowed the city whole.”
The group fell silent, looking around at the remains of a civilization that’d once made a life here. A shiver raced down my spine, and I trembled. As if Ian sensed my reaction, he reached out and touched my arm, offering reassurance. The clean scent of cotton and sunshine seemed to drift from his skin.
“A group of explorers discovered Pompeii in 1748 while digging for artifacts. What they found was shocking—the ash had preserved almost everything. Skeletons were discovered intact, along with everyday objects, paintings, furniture, all of it. It was as if the city had been lifted out of a deep sleep. Now I will show you some of the buildings that contain skeletons and the famous murals that guided tourists who once lived here.”
We weaved in and out of the crumbled stone buildings and viewed stone bodies encased in glass. One man was staring up in horror, his hands braced out in front of him as if he’d seen the lava come to swallow him whole. Another showed a woman crouched over, trying to protect her baby, the infant gathered between her arms, forever preserved in a Stephen King–esque show of macabre. Emotion choked my throat. My fingers gently brushed the glass as I gazed at the people who’d fought to live and who had surrendered to Mother Nature’s fury.
“Makes you think about how the world is today,” Ian said quietly. “Tornados, floods, insect swarms, Arctic melting. We’re told there are no global effects and who cares if we kill trees and the bees in order to make more room for condos. Every time we think we can control the earth, we’re proven wrong. No one respects God anymore.”
I tilted my head, curious at his statement. He spoke like a scholar and not any young, single guy I’d ever met. Almost as if he’d lived a long life and had seen things that made him sad. “Is Ireland like that too?” I asked. “I know we’re always fighting for environmental causes in America.”
“The world is all alike. We point fingers and say that our country is better, but we’re all fighting for the same issues.”
“Are you sure you studied psychology and not political science?”
His smile came back and the shadows left his face. “Told you I was a nerd. Forgot to tell you I had a double major. And the environment is one of my hot-button issues.”
I respected that. There was too little passion from the kids I knew, who were only focused on their country clubs and new fashion and social cliques. “That’s a good one.”
“What’s yours?”
I stared at him, slowly realizing I was quick to judge others but I had no real passions myself. I’d never supported a particular charity or watched the news with a burning need to make a difference. I flushed hot with embarrassment, not wanting to tell him the truth. “I guess I’m not sure yet,” I finally said.
“I have a feeling once you figure it out, you’ll be a badass.”
We smiled at each other and I relaxed. He wasn’t judging me.
Our guide gathered our attention. “Ever hear of the phrase red-light district?” he asked.
Everyone nodded.
“The phrase has a long history that continued here. Red lights were set up to mark the open brothels and guide the travelers at night. Pompeii had an underbelly of many, er, interests of the erotic sort. Besides the red light, specific directions were carved into the road to guide men. I will show one to you over here.”
He led us to the open door of a building and motioned to the etching in one of the stones.
A penis pointed straight toward the door.
There were titters and giggles as each person took their turn to study the drawing. Ian quirked a brow. “A unique compass,” he said with a grin.
“Now, if you enter the building, you will find some paintings. Each of them was used as a catalogue or a type of menu for various offerings. Signora, I’d advise your son skip this one.”
“Got it.”
“Mom, what’s that of?” Kai asked loudly, pointing down to the penis.
All the women in the group seemed to hold their breath. I wondered how Hana would get out of this one. Tell him to ignore it? Give him a distraction?
She waved a hand like it meant nothing. “Just a hot dog. It’s pointed toward a restaurant so people could eat.”
Dan let out a snort.
Kai nodded. “Cool.”
“Let’s check out this display over here,” she said, leading her son deftly away from the brothel.
We smothered our laughter and stepped inside. Immediately, I was struck by the multiple murals on the walls of various couples in sexual positions. A man penetrated a woman from behind, his large penis on display. Two men were entwined together, lying on a bed. Many of the murals were faded and chipped, but the images were clear enough to see detail.
An ancient porn room. How fascinating.
Refusing to feel shy with Ian at my side, I took my time studying the images before going back into the hot sunshine. My mom shot me a look, her brow arched, but I refused to give her any reaction.
“They were a wild bunch,” Nonni commented as I walked past. “But talented painters.”
I laughed. I adored her sense of humor. “Are you okay in this heat?” I asked.
“Of course. I can barely see anything under this hat,” she said, the floppy brim falling in her face. We’d brought extra water for her, but I was impressed with her endurance on the trip so far. Even Mary and Ray, the elderly couple, seemed comfortable on the long walk in thick humidity.
“Did you use enough sunscreen?” I asked her.
She tapped my nose in an affectionate gesture. “Yes, Mom. Just make sure you lather it on too, okay?”
The tour guide clapped his hands. “I will now take you to a beautiful picture site, so get your cameras ready. It’s a bit of a walk.”
We stood on a high ledge that overlooked the mighty volcano. Everyone posed for pictures, and we boarded the bus again for the next pit stop. Ian made a motion that I should grab an empty seat with him, so I took him up on the offer. Mom and Nonni gave me a look but sat together without protest.
“Thank God,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve been sitting with Mom and she listens to those steamy romance novels on audio. I keep wanting to bleach
out the images of what scene she’s on.”
I laughed and held up my Kindle. “I prefer Dean Koontz and Stephen King. What do you like to read?”
He dove into his backpack and took out a fabric-covered book. “Everything I can get my hands on. This one is Thomas Moore. It’s called Meditations. He was a monk who ended up leaving the monastery and wrote down his thoughts on life and spirituality.”
“Sounds intense. Is it good?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I like that it doesn’t apply to a particular time in society, or target a specific generation or problem. It’s just various revelations regarding the world and the spirit.”
“Do you read a lot of self-help books too?”
“Sometimes. Depends on who’s trying to give the help.”
I enjoyed his sense of humor—it was clever. “Agreed. I guess you wouldn’t consider The Art of the Deal a true self-help, then?”
He burst out in laughter. “Damn, you’re funny. Are you sure you’re still in high school? Or did you skip a grade?”
I tried not to blush. I never thought of myself as witty before, but a guy had never brought out that particular part of my personality. “Nah, I just like joking around. Are you looking forward to Capri?”
“Yeah, heard it’s beautiful, especially the Blue Grotto. Not looking forward to the death-cliff drive, though. I’m a bit afraid of heights.”
“I’ll try to distract you.”
“Thanks, but I already brought my rosary beads. Figured I’d go straight to the source for comfort.”
I shifted in my seat and gave in to my curiosity. “You’re really religious, huh? I mean, I’m just asking, not judging. I saw you in church praying, and the comments you’ve made and stuff.” I hoped my tongue wasn’t tangling over itself in ignorance, but he seemed chill and smiled at me.
“No, you can ask me anything you want. It’s a part of my life, but some people get weirded out by religion.”
I shrugged. “Not me. I think it’s nice. My grandmother’s Catholic, but Mom didn’t raise me to be any religion. She said she wanted me to find my own path. When I took a few yoga classes, they talked a lot about spirituality, and finding your center and your breath, and I thought I’d like to know more about that.”
Our Italian Summer Page 16
