Текст книги "Italian Kisses"

Автор книги: Lucy Lambert

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"Really? Because I think you could make some bank as a gigolo."

He shook his head. "Sure. Now stop stalling and get that cute ass in gear." He gave me a stinging spank that had me hissing.

"You...!"

"Not me. You. Go. Unless you'd rather I drag you there? Somehow I don't think that would help your cause, though."

***

I went to class, grudgingly. I even opened up my text and tried to study the readings for the lecture, my eyes skimming the words as the bus jostled me from side to side.

However, as much as I loved studying art, especially Italian art, my mind kept going elsewhere.

I kept worrying about the look on Dr. Aretino's face, as though he'd somehow know that I'd come so close to packing it all in and running back to the States.

Rationally, I knew there was no way he could know. But I knew. I knew that I'd almost folded.

If only this were as simple as a game of cards. I could call his bluff and that would be that. Except this wasn't a prize pot at stake, but my academic career, my future. And what if he wasn't bluffing?

He certainly seemed to be holding all the right cards. A royal flush against my pair of twos.

But there had to be a way to get through this. Liam had said he'd wanted to quit, that he had felt that he was going to fail. Yet he'd succeeded. He'd succeeded all the way to the bank.

I got to class and took my seat. By some miracle, I wasn't late. I'd sat down pretty much just as Dr. Aretino entered the lecture hall, toting that briefcase in one hand and wiping at the sweat on his expansive forehead with the other.

"Emma, have you reconsidered my offer? I heard that the review board sent you a letter. Does it say what I fear it said? I am happy that you are still here. It gives me hope that you will see that I am right," Dr. Aretino said, stopping beside my row of seats and leaning against the outermost one as he spoke.

"I haven't reconsidered, professor. And I did get the letter. I'm still confident I can make you see things my way."

He clicked his tongue at me like I was a particularly stubborn child who refused to learn her lesson. "You should not worry so much about such things when the solution is obvious. It will age you, Ragazzo D'oro, and you are too young to begin looking old."

By then class should have started. My classmates had shifted in their seats to look at the two of us and wonder at the delay.

He went to the lectern at the front of the class, apologizing about the delay.

I listened to the lecture with only one ear. My mind was preoccupied, searching for some way to fix all this.

Several ideas popped into my head as I watched him take a question from a pretty girl who always sat near the front. I could record him coming onto female students. Get him to state something less than professional with my cell in my pocket recording the conversation. Trap him, basically.

Except there were several obvious problems with that. The first was whether or not the rest of the faculty or the dean would even care. Clearly they knew at least something of how he used his position.

Besides, Dr. Aretino had tenure, that Holy Grail sought by all academics. He could probably get away with anything short of out and out murder without worrying about losing his job.

And then there was that whole he-said-she-said thing I'd run up against in my earlier attempts to figure out some way to beat him. He was tenured, respected, published. I was a foreign student with apparently poor grades.

It also smacked of dishonesty, subterfuge, blackmail. All things that left me feeling slimy and tainted. Like I'd be sinking to his level to go through with anything like that.

I wanted to be the person Liam saw when he looked at me. The girl with integrity, intelligence, honesty. I wanted to look into his eyes and see that girl reflected back at me.

But how? That question echoed around inside my skull.

I came pretty close to accepting Liam's offer to help. If he could bury Abigail in an avalanche of shark-toothed lawyers and mounds of litigation I knew he could probably do something similar with Dr. Aretino.

That would be him fixing my problem for me, though. And that would definitely not make me the person he saw when he looked at me.

Being honest, maintaining your integrity, was hard work. They say that crime doesn't pay, but it sure seemed like the rent was cheaper.

Class ended, and I scurried away before the good professor could request my company.

I found myself drawn to the library. Like many campus libraries, it was designed along the lines of a fortress, as though to provide a solid bulwark to guard the knowledge contained within.

Perhaps I felt like I needed some protection, some sort of safety to retreat to and regroup from.

They had a nice little cafe in the lobby, something like most people back home would consider an upscale coffee shop. A glassed in counter with various confections and baked goods. Lights hanging from the ceiling at different levels. A shiny espresso machine.

The only thing that ruined the effect was the tall, boxy Coke cooler behind the counter.

I ordered a cinnamon cookie and a latte. It seemed like sacrilege to order something from an Italian coffee shop that didn't contain espresso, so I always made sure I did.

My phone started buzzing again. It was Isabella. She wanted to know if I wanted to get something to eat or drink.

Part of me wished that it had been Liam letting me know he'd come up with a brilliant solution that was both highly effective as well as above board.

At the library cafe, I texted.

UM, she returned. Uno Momento.

I hadn't realized how much I'd have missed Isabella until I saw her stride into the cafe. She spotted me right away and came to join me after placing her order with the barista.

I hugged her and caught a whiff of her perfume. It was vanilla scented and it was beguiling.

"You act like we haven't seen each other in some time," she said.

"Something like that," I replied. I took the plastic lid off my espresso to let some of the steam waft away.

"Perhaps you should have ordered it iced?"

Isabella and a few of the others always liked to mock me gently for letting my drinks cool a little before I sipped at them. I guess that Italians liked to scald their mouths. Either that, or they were born with the innate ability to down hot espresso.

"Next time I'll get a cold one," I returned.

Usually I took the teasing in stride. Sitting there, I didn't realize how much I would have missed it until she brought it up.

"You are certain? You seem... sad?" Isabella tried, searching for the right English word.

I kept getting this urge to tell her everything. To tell her that I couldn't come up with any way to get Dr. Aretino to lay off.

Except my desire to fix this all by myself kept intercepting that impulse. There has to be a way. I'm just not seeing it yet.

"Has Professor Di Cenzo fixed that paper for you, yet?" she asked. The barista came over with Isabella's latte and set it on the table beside her. "Grazi." She sipped from it right away, not even flinching at the heat.

I shrugged. "Not yet."

"You told him that he made an error? You told him that I helped you with that paper?"

"Yes to the first, no to the second."

"You should tell him. He would reconsider if he knew."

"The work should stand on its own, though. I just don't know what to do about it anymore. It's like there's nothing I can do!" Frustration clouding my judgment, I grabbed my latte and took a sip. It was still too hot. I sucked in a breath through my teeth at the sudden pain.

"Are you certain you are all right? You seem... I believe the word is preoccupied?"

"It's nothing," I started to say. I couldn't finish, though. There comes a point where you have to let something out, or else you would burst. And I didn't like keeping this from Isabella. She knew something of what was going on, true. But not the full extent.

So I told her. I filled her in on everything. On how Dr. Aretino refused to budge, on Professor Di Cenzo and the rest of the faculty siding with him, on how I'd come so close to leaving, on how Liam had come and saved me from myself there.

And how I felt my hands were tied, how I couldn't figure out how to fix this that didn't involve me lowering myself to Dr. Aretino's level.

Isabella listened carefully, that little dimple of concentration forming between her eyebrows. She took sips from her latte, then pressed her lips together.

When I finished, she said, "You didn't think to say goodbye to me?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course."

We hugged again and I experienced this burst of gratitude and friendship for her.

"You say you don't want to be like him. I do not mind so much. Let me take care of this for you. There is a baron with an estate near Napoli, he wants my attention so badly, he will do anything I ask him. Anything, I tell you. I could get him to..."

I put my hand on hers. "Thanks, really. But I really feel like I need to take care of this myself."

She smiled in a way that would make an angel blush. "Fine. If you feel you must, then you must. You won't accept any help at all? Not even from your Liam?"

"I want to do this myself," I reiterated. Isabella held up her hand to stop me from saying anymore.

"I think that you've become so involved in this that you have forgotten something. There is a difference between asking for help and advice and getting someone to do a thing for you."

"I don't see your point," I said.

"If your Liam feels for you like I think he does, then he would very much like to help you. You should let him."

"No," I shook my head.

She blinked, then glanced around the cafe, trying to find some way to explain what she meant. Then she smiled. "Your paper for Professor Di Cenzo, you let me help you with that. You let me suggest changes and additions. Was that cheating?"

"Of course not," I replied. Teachers and professors were always bugging students to review each other's work. "Oh," I finished, finally seeing her point.

Isabella shrugged, then looked at me over the rim of her cup while she took another sip of her latte.

She set the cup down and then lightly tapped the tabletop with her manicured nails. "So here is my advice to you: accept help. Let him help you."

We finished our drinks together. I didn't pity that baron trying to court her. He didn't stand a chance.

Chapter 16

Liam picked me up from the campus. The sun had begun its descent into the west, and we had to pull the visors down to keep it out of our eyes. A bar of shadow ran over Liam's face starting at his nose, making it look like he wore a mask.

"Is this the same one as before?" I said, nodding at the BMW's dash.

"Yes, actually. They tried to offer me a different one, but I insisted. I have too many good memories with this car to let it go so easily."

We purposely avoided talking about school. I could tell he wanted to, from the way we danced around the subject.

Instead, we talked about how pretty the city looked in the slowly dying light, about what we hoped to see at the museum. That sort of thing. Anything but Dr. Aretino and how I planned on winning.

And then I kept thinking about what Isabella had told me. I wanted to do like she suggested, I really did. It just didn't feel like the right time, though. Like some important piece was missing from the equation.

We reached the Capitoline Hill and it was just as beautiful and breathtaking as I remembered. With it being so late in the day and the season, it was nearly deserted, too.

Liam took my hand and we wandered past the central square with its starburst floor and its bronze statue and into the building that looked down on it.

It was called the Palazzo dei Conservatori, and we'd only been in to see the ground floor that first visit.

At first I thought it was closed. But when Liam reached for the door it opened with his grasp.

A guard wandered by, resting one hand on the black leather case that contained his cuffs. He gave us a quick once over before turning his nose up and wandering down the polished floor of a nearby hallway.

Excitement thrilled through me, buzzing in my chest. All of my senses opened up. I couldn't believe how empty the place was, that I wouldn't have to deal with people jostling us to get a look at some tapestry.

I really needed this.

It was an incredibly opulent building with paintings and frescoes and statuary. So the two of us looked the part of the tourist couple. I still wore my casual clothes from school: a comfy pair of jeans, a shirt and a light jacket over that to ward off the cooling evening air.

Liam wore his polo shirt and khaki pants, the shirt pulled out so that you couldn't see the brown belt he had on. The slight chill in the air didn't seem to affect him.

So definitely a pair of tourists. Though neither of us had a Nikon or Canon slung around our neck, which I suppose probably made us more conspicuous. Tourists that weren't there to take pictures were usually there to touch.

"He probably thinks we're going to try and touch the paintings," Liam said, picking the words out of my mind.

Surrounded by all those priceless works of art, it was easy to forget my troubles, easy to let myself fall into the moment. Especially with Liam's warm hand pressed against mine.

"Come on, I think the stairs up are over this way," I said, tugging him along like I was an impatient kid wanting to find the best aisle at Toys R Us.

"There," Liam said, pointing at the square sign poking off the wall with the picture of a stickman mounting stairs.

We pushed through the doors and I started up, our footsteps echoing up and down so that it sounded like dozens of people took the trip with us.

We were alone, though. A fact that Liam didn't forget. We reached a landing. I wanted to use my momentum to swing me around to the next flight, but Liam held me firm.

"What...?" I started.

He pulled me to him, pinning me against him with those strong arms of his. "You're so beautiful. Especially when you're happy." He kissed me, his mouth eager and hot on mine.

It was nice, but I felt so self conscious. "What if the guard comes? Or other visitors?" I hissed at him.

"Let them," he replied. He started kissing me again, the warmth of his body pressing against mine intoxicating. I wanted to get drunk on him. But then I saw the camera.

"What if someone's watching?" I said, nodding at the camera up in the corner, the little red light below the lens glaring at us like an evil eye. He looked back over his shoulder at it.

"I don't have anything to hide. I don't think you do, either. Let them see us."

"You exhibitionist," I said. Not that there was a single part of him he'd need to be embarrassed about anyone seeing.

"I can't help it. You're just irresistible. The way you move, the way you smile." Apparently even mentioning it got him going, because desire flared in his eyes again and he pulled me into another kiss.

We carried on until the hollow boom of the first floor door opening washed over us. Adrenaline burned through me at the thought of being caught. We both laughed, rushing up the final flight of stairs before we could be discovered.

"Oh," I said when we pushed through that second door.

The second floor used to be the Conservator's Apartments. It was definitely a job I would have worked for free if I'd been able to live in those halls and rooms.

It was even more opulent than the first floor. Frescoes and tapestries decorated what seemed to be every flat surface.

Statues and busts filled every sconce and archway. Even the architecture of the rooms themselves was a work of art.

"What is that?" Liam said when we reached a window that looked down into the inner courtyard. Fragments of a massive statue stood on various plinths on the stone floor.

"It's a colossus. Oceanus, I think," I said, staring at a massive foot broken off at the ankle that looked about as long as I was tall. It was hard to grasp the full magnitude of what the statue would have looked like, fully assembled. Though I remembered seeing drawings in some textbook or other.

"Must be a pain to shop for shoes," Liam said.

"Ha-ha. Funny."

"Who said it was a joke?" he replied, nudging me.

Still hand-in-hand, we reached the exhibit that was one of the centerpieces of the museum. It was a bronze statue of a wolf, two small boys suckling at it from beneath.

"Romulus and Remus," Liam said, naming the two mythical founders of Rome.

Again I was impressed. It kept slipping my mind that Liam knew his stuff when it came to this city.

"I think I'd like to be the curator of a museum," I said, examining the burnished head of the she-wolf, seeing the ferocious and protective look in her eyes.

"Whatever happened to the Roamin' Roman cafe?" Liam said.

That brought the heat to my cheeks. "I can't believe I told you that. I also can't believe you remember!"

"It was important to you. I knew how much that memory of your father meant to you. So it's important to me, too."

I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled him close. I could feel the firmness of his abs through the thin material of the polo shirt.

It's okay to ask for help, Isabella said. I knew right away why I'd chosen to remember that at that moment. I knew that Liam wasn't going to look down on me for asking for help.

I took a deep breath, getting myself ready. Here goes.

"Liam, I wanted to ask you something..."

"I think we've seen just about everything," he broke in, "Unless there's something else you can think of?"

"No, I don't think so. Like I was trying to say, there's something..."

"Great! We can get to part two of the date now."

What is he playing at? "That's nice, but this is hard for me. Just let me get it out. So..."

His arm, already across my shoulders, squeezed me closer so that the fresh scent of his aftershave tickled at my nose. "I think I have some idea of what you're getting at. If it is what I think it is, then we should probably talk about it over supper."

"Supper?" I said.

"Yes. That meal that comes after lunch. Usually between five and seven in the evening."

I hit him in the ribs with my elbow. "I know what it is."

"Good. Then you should join me for some."

I started to object, but then my stomach made its presence known with a growl that Liam pretended to ignore. I'd been so caught up with the museum, and with everything happening at school, that I'd forgotten about food.

But now that I had remembered, my appetite returned with a vengeance. That cinnamon cookie at lunch had been my last bit of solid food for the day. Far too little, as made abundantly clear by the gurgles that I thought for certain echoed throughout the whole floor.

And of course Liam had known. That man was magic, or psychic. Something, anyway.

"Okay, but after we eat there won't be any more..."

"Interruptions? No," he grinned at me. "Don't worry, the place is pretty close by."

***

There was a small corner restaurant just at the bottom of the hill that he took me to. As soon as he opened the door the smell wafting me out had the saliva squirting into my mouth.

"Pizza," Liam said, "Italian pizza. The real deal. I'm going to assume that you haven't actually had any since coming here. Which is, in my book at least, a sin."

As with so many of the little restaurants and cafes throughout the city, this place preferred those round little bistro tables suitable for no more than two. Unlike many of the other places, the tables in this place had white tablecloths draped over them, their skirts inches from the floor.

Liam and I took our seats at one near the window, which looked back up the hill towards the museums that now seemed to glow with the last rays of evening light washing over them.

It was a dark place, but in a warm and comfortable way. That warmth and comfort emanated chiefly from the old-style wood-burning oven in the back. I could smell melted cheese, fresh basil. The richness of homemade tomato sauce.

The man who came out to take our order wore an enormous black mustache below his nose and one of those floppy white chef's hats on his head. Flour patterned his apron and made me think of Mrs. Rosselini.

"Pizza Margherita," Liam said, holding up two fingers, "Due."

The man nodded and then went back to his prep table, which was visible to us. Making pizza in Italy was an art unto itself, it seemed. He rolled and kneaded the dough balls into relatively flat sheets.

These he then tossed into the air, spinning them in circles as expertly as an NBA player can spin a basketball on his fingertip.

The centrifugal forces made the pies thin in the middle and thicker towards the crust.

These shells he slathered with that fresh tomato sauce, a deep red, then shredded mozzarella cheese, a creamy white, and finally a few fresh sprigs of basil, deep green.

He then took a broad tray with a handle on it and loaded the pies into the oven. Soon the restaurant filled with the delicious aromas of baking pizza underscored by wood smoke. Flickering orange light spilled out through the oven's open door before he closed it up again.

"The colors of the flag, that's what the toppings meant," Liam filled in for me, noticing the rapt attention I paid to the process.

I'd wanted to talk to him right away about dealing with Dr. Aretino, but I couldn't. I was physically incapable of doing so until I'd had a taste of that pizza.

It was an aching wait for those pizzas. And when he finally put them on the table in front of us I barely remembered that here they ate their pizza with a fork and a knife.

I sawed off a portion and stuffed it into my mouth. Liam had done it again. First the gelato place, now the pizza place. The man knew his Italian foods.

It was rich tasting, as flavorful as it had been aromatic. Different, yet similar to the pizza back home in St. Louis. Though you could tell not a single ingredient in this pizza had come from a can or a freezer.

"Wow," I said.

"Glad you approve," he said, slicing off a piece of his own and plopping it into his mouth.

We didn't speak again until we'd cleared every morsel from our plates. It wasn't until the chef had put two tiny white mugs full of espresso down on the table that I marshaled the nerve to try and bring it up again.

"What do you think I should do about Dr. Aretino? Something that keeps me from sinking to his level. I'm not asking you to fix this for me. Only what you think," I said. I had to make that distinction clear.

My heart started pounding, and since all my blood was in my stomach in the first place, it gave me a dreamy, lightheaded sensation.

Liam sighed, then took a sip of his espresso. He stared back at the oven without really seeing it.

"I've dealt with lots of men like Aretino," Liam said, "There's not much that will get through to them. You have to beat him at his own game, use it against him somehow. That's the only way."

"But what about not wanting to be like him?"

He nodded at my concern, recognizing it. I loved that I didn't have to tell him, that he could just know me like that. No one, especially no guy, had ever been like that with me before.

"They sometimes fight forest fires by burning the trees before the fire can get to them. Stops it in its tracks."

"What if I don't want to burn myself in the process?"

"Look at it this way: if you stand up to him, put him in his place, then maybe he won't try this again with someone else."

That did make sense, but it still didn't feel entirely good. Two wrongs not adding up.

He saw my hesitation. "He's not going to understand anything else, Emma. It sounds to me like he has everything tied in a neat little bow, or at least he thinks he does. He thinks he's untouchable at the university. And he may be right."

"A vote of confidence if I ever heard one," I said. I wished then that there was more pizza.

It was no wonder some people liked to eat through their worries. Eating was easy and comforting (and tasty, you can't forget tasty) and perhaps most of all it was something you could accomplish. Something you can start and finish.

Instead, I took a sip of my espresso. It was powerful, bitter, and incredibly smooth. Sleep was something I wouldn't be doing that night if I drank much more of it.

"My point is that you attack him right where he thinks he's most invulnerable."

"I'll get right on that, right after I climb Everest and explore the Marianas Trench."

Liam lifted one hand and spread his fingers. "There's something, if you look hard enough. There always is. For instance, there was another fundraiser invitation for the Arts faculty left for me at the hotel. I'm sure Aretino will be there."

It was too frustrating. I didn't want to think anymore. In fact, mostly I could just think about dessert, and what I wanted for it. I'll give you a hint: it starts with L, ends with M, and has eyes the same blue as a midmorning sky.

And I wanted to enjoy my dessert all night long, which I fully intended to do.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

We did. I couldn't resist kissing him, and he kissing me right back, along our return trip to where he'd parked the BMW.

We got closer to the Capitoline Hill and its museums, stopping at a corner to let a little red Fiat run through the intersection without so much as a perfunctory tap to the breaks, right through a stop sign.

"Awesome driving," I said.

"The camera got him," Liam said, pointing up at said camera where it stood mounted to the top of a tall poll. There was another one on the other side of the intersection to catch bad drivers coming from the opposite direction.

Cameras, I thought. I remembered our little tryst in the staircase, noticing the camera watching us there. I remembered the way Liam said he didn't have anything to hide. And I knew he didn't.

But Dr. Aretino did, I was sure of that. It was only a matter of exposing it to the right people.

"You're a genius," I said, kissing Liam when he started to try and cross the street.