Текст книги "Italian Kisses"

Автор книги: Lucy Lambert

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Chapter 17

The following day, I took the bus back from Liam's hotel to my little flat above Mrs. Rosselini's bakery.

He'd offered me a ride back, of course, but I didn't take him up on it. Even though we were entering into Rome's rather rainy fall, the day had started off beautifully. Skies so clear and blue that you could see the moon hanging over the earth.

I thought that if Liam took me up in another hot air balloon that I'd be able to see the ancient volcano Mount Vesuvius brooding and ominous far to the south, it was so crystal clear that day.

The city looked golden and bright and somehow quaint and old fashioned in that light. I watched the sidewalks go by as the bus swayed gently beneath me, hardly even noticing the hard "padding" and the way it failed to cushion me.

I touched the thin wall of glass separating me from the golden world. Despite the apparent warmth of the sun, it was cool and smooth against my fingertips.

Though I do have to say that I had some difficulty concentrating on the present moment when the recent past had been so very pleasant.

A blush rose into my cheeks when I thought about it. I even crossed my legs and glanced around at the other passengers on the bus as though they could somehow sense my thoughts.

It took no effort at all to remember the way Liam's hands had felt on me. He'd had them on my bare waist, our bodies glistening in the dim light coming in through the cracks in the drapes.

No, it took no effort at all to recall how I'd gripped the headboard while I lifted my hips and then drove our bodies together, again and again until neither of us could take it anymore.

In fact, a warm tingle started racing up the front of my stomach at the memory.

Then there was falling asleep in his arms. I thought that I could fall asleep on a cold slab of concrete if I had his arms around me and the steady rhythm of his heart to soothe me while I rested my head on his chest.

And that those were the memories I used to strengthen my resolve when I thought about what I wanted to do that day.

Because it hadn't been the whole truth when I told Liam that I wanted to see the city in this golden morning light. I'd also wanted to steer clear of that psychic way he had with me.

He'd suss out what I meant to do, and he'd probably try and stop me. And since I knew he'd probably succeed (when didn't he?) I knew the best way to avoid that solution was to cut him from the equation.

I meant to go see Dr. Aretino at his office hours today. I wanted to give him one last chance before I put match to kindling and stopped his fire in its tracks.

Liam would tell me that it was pointless. Dr. Aretino wouldn't budge. And I had the strong inkling that he was right. But I still had to try, if only for the sake of my conscience.

Though when Liam had caught me up and gave me a long, deep kiss goodbye I thought he suspected my true reasons.

Maybe he knew it was something I had to do.

And that made me wish all this drama was all over so that I could get down to the real business of being with him. Soon, I told myself. Soon.

From there, I took a quick stop at my flat to pull on some clothes that weren't wrinkled and then it was another bus ride to the Sapienza campus.

I arrived outside Dr. Aretino's office in time to see a young woman step out. I recognized her from class. Angelina or Annalisa, I couldn't remember which. She was normally quiet in class, but when she did speak she always had something insightful to say.

And she was quite pretty. Dark hair that spilled in springy ringlets to her shoulders, doe eyes and full lips accentuating her heart-shaped face.

"Hey!" I said.

She either didn't notice me or deliberately ignored me, quickly disappearing down a bend in the hall. I frowned after her.

A pretty, young woman stepping out of Dr. Aretino's office with a troubled look on her face? It wasn't hard to see the good professor's modus operandi.

I wanted to go back, then. Maybe spend the rest of the day with Liam. I could hear Dr. Aretino rustling papers on his desk, hear the squeak of his office chair as he rotated it.

Just clear your conscience, at least, I thought.

So for once I swallowed my fear and knocked on his partially closed door. Angelina (Annalisa?) had swung it most of the way shut on her way out.

"Ci?" Dr. Aretino said from within.

"It's me, Emma," I said.

"Emma? Come, come. Yes, come in," he said, standing up and then opening the door the rest of the way. He waved me to the padded chair in front of his desk and then sat in his on the other side.

The back wall of his office was a large window that looked out across a quad lined with trees. It was a spacious room, not like the janitor's closets-turned-offices of professors I'd had back in the States.

Bookcases lined both side walls, filled mostly with volumes on European art of the last 700 years or so. On his desk he had a plaque with his name on it, a slim computer monitor and keyboard, and a golden miniature of Atlas shrugging beneath the weight of a wireframe world.

And a picture frame, facing away from me. I suddenly wanted to know whose picture sat in that frame.

Dr. Aretino put his elbows on his desktop and clapped his hands together, the tips of his fingers tapping against each other. "What is it I can do for you, Ragazza D'oro? You look quite concerned. Have you perhaps come to realize the truth?"

I shifted in my seat, instinctively crossing my thighs. This close to him, I could smell the pungent oil he used to keep his thin, dark hair slicked back from his forehead. The glare from the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling dazzled on that shiny expanse of skin over his eyes.

"Dr. Aretino, I'm not changing my answer. I know that for a while, I let my schoolwork slip. I was dealing with some personal things. You must have seen how much I've improved over the past couple weeks alone?"

"Oh, yes, a great deal of improvement," he said.

"Then maybe you can do the right thing and give me the marks we both know I deserve."

Dr. Aretino shook his head, that splotch of light on his forehead shifting back and forth. "Such a pity that you are not willing to do what needs to be done to stay. And just as you are beginning to come into your own here in Rome. Exams are coming soon. I'm sure if you got the chance to take them, you would do quite well. A pity," he said, tsk-ing and clicking his tongue.

"You're going to force me to take matters into my own hands, professor," I said.

A shot of cold fear ran through me when I said that. I could hardly believe that I'd been able to get the words out.

The fear was there, but something else, too. Excitement, exhilaration. Was this how it always felt to stand up for yourself?

I could get used to that.

"I invite you to try," Dr. Aretino said. He waved at the walls, indicating the university as a whole, indicating that he had the faculty on his side. Indicating that he saw nothing I could do against him.

"So you're not going to change your mind?" I said. I wanted this absolutely clear. I couldn't go through with anything without that clarity.

That was why Liam hadn't tried to keep me from this, I knew.

He spread his fingers out and looked at me with the corners of his mouth downturned, as though his hands were tied.

My skin crawled. I'd heard people use that expression before, but never really understood what they meant. Then I did. It had me squirming, had me wanting to run out like Annalisa (Angelina?) had done only a few minutes earlier.

I made myself stay. If you want to catch a rat in a trap, you had to bait it, after all.

"I heard that there's another fundraiser coming up," I said. Did that sound casual enough? I hoped so.

Dr. Aretino smiled, and I realized that he must think that I'd finally begun to bend, finally seen the futility of my resistance. Yes, I definitely needed to see Liam after this. I'd have him wrap his arms around me and hold me until I forgot all about the good professor.

"Yes, there is," he said, "I had almost forgotten about it," Sure you did. He continued, "Perhaps you would allow me to escort you there?"

I made as good a show of it as I could, letting my eyes run across his desk, working my jaw, ending it all with a reluctant sigh, "Yes." Who knew that it could be so difficult to get a single syllable out?

Think of Liam. Think of talking to him. Think of looking into his eyes, I kept repeating.

"Good. Very good," he said, clapping his palms together, "You won't need your dance instructor this time, either. I will email you the details. Is there anything else?"

He seemed so very pleased with himself, as though he saw victory approaching fast. The crawling feeling worsened, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

There was one more thing I needed to do before I got out of there. So I smiled, hoping my lips didn't look too bloodless. "You have a great view of the campus!"

"What? Yes, I suppose," he said, standing up as I did.

I slipped between his desk and the bookcase and went up to the window. It actually was a nice view, but I couldn't enjoy it.

"A lovely view, yes," Dr. Aretino said. I could feel him standing behind me.

I counted to five in my head (five seconds never felt more like five minutes in my life) and turned around. I dodged around him, my eyes searching for that picture.

It was a portrait of an older woman. Still pretty, the age just beginning to show in the corners of his eyes. I wondered how Dr. Aretino could sit behind his desk and talk the way he did to his female students with the eyes of that woman watching him the whole time.

"Your wife?" I said.

"Yes. Do not worry; she won't be at the fundraiser," Dr. Aretino said.

"Good to know," I said.

Then I excused myself, pulling his office door closed behind me. I understood now why Angelina (I was 90% certain it was Angelina, now) had done it. Who wanted to feel those eyes of his following you down the hall?

I took a few turns, found the staircase, and then stopped on the landing. The excitement and fear mingling in my stomach had stirred themselves into a sick sensation, and my knees kept trembling.

I did it! Dr. Aretino wasn't going to give up. So that was it. I committed myself to bringing him down. Now all I needed to do was figure out the how of it. I knew the where and the when, with the fundraiser.

Also to start studying for my exams. I'd nearly forgotten how close they were, and for a time there they hadn't seemed that important what with being on the verge of deportation and all.

But what I really needed was a shower. And Liam. A shower and Liam at the same time. That sounded nice.

Chapter 18

"I'm going to steal you away for the day," Liam said. He sat on the edge of his bed, nothing but the fluffy white hotel towel wrapped around his waist.

It was more than enough to tear my eyes away from the screen of my laptop. He'd dried himself almost completely, and he smelled so fresh from his shower.

A bead of moisture he'd missed slithered its way down the shallow cleft dividing the two columns of his abdominal muscles. I wanted to go lick it off him.

"You know that I can't," I said, trying to tear my eyes away from his sculpted torso and failing. He leaned in closer, the movement wafting his aftershave my way. I almost fainted.

"I know that you can. Can and will," he said. He stole a kiss, leaving my lips tingling and my throat dry. I tingled all the way down to my toes.

I'd spent the morning here with Liam. Studying, or trying to. I had my browser open to a digital version of a Renaissance art journal and I'd barely managed to make my way through the abstract.

The fundraiser raced towards me, and exams, and final assignments for my classes I knew I'd at best get Ds on if I didn't fix this whole thing with Dr. Aretino.

It would be nice to get away from it all, but I knew I couldn't. I resolved not to let Liam sway me, no matter what method of persuasion he chose (I hoped it would involve him dropping that towel to the floor and putting this bed to better use).

Somehow he'd managed to read my mind again.

"One thing no one seems to remember in this age of constant effort and work," he said, nudging my laptop closed with his fingertips, "Is that taking enough rest and breaks is just as important."

"Is that so?" I said. His cheeks and chin looked so smooth from his shave. I kept wanting to see just how smooth by pressing my lips to them. It wasn't fair at all. I wanted to get work done and all he needed to do to distract me was to exist and to be close by.

Not fair at all. I found myself wishing I was a better artist so that I could sketch him, paint him, sculpt him.

"It is," he said. He leaned over my closed laptop and kissed me, gently, carefully, so that only our lips touched. His lips were soft and supple and tempting.

Resolve. Failing. I thought.

Then he pulled back. "Tease," I said.

He shrugged. I watched the interplay of the muscles under his skin involved in the movement, some of my own muscles twitching and quivering in response.

"Just a little. Have I convinced you? Say yes," Liam said.

"But... Studying..." I said, reaching out for my laptop like a drowning man straining for something, anything to keep from slipping below the surface of the water.

Liam got it first, pulling it back so that my fingertips touched nothing but the smoothness of the high thread count duvet.

"Cruel, so cruel," I said.

"So?" he said. Then, almost like he didn't mean to do it (almost) he clasped his fingers behind his head and stretched.

I couldn't help the little animal noise that escaped through my lips, my eyes drinking him in, devouring the sight of his flexing biceps, the tightening of his abs, the V-shape of his torso. That strand of muscle that ran down from his hips, leading beneath the towel. Many women referred to it simply as “the V.” I’d learned long ago from an art text that it was actually called the Belt of Adonis.

"That's no fair," I said.

"If it's a fair fight you're doing something wrong," Liam replied.

"Fine. What is it?"

He glanced at the designer digital clock on the nightstand. "Looks like I've got just enough time to get dressed and get us over there."

"Over where?"

"The train terminal. I have our tickets in an envelope by the door."

"Train?"

***

It wasn't just any train, either. It was the Frecciarossa, or Red Arrow. A bullet train. It was long and sleek and smooth, its aerodynamic exterior hinting at just how fast it could go.

We caught it via the Roma Termini, the first of two central transit hubs in Rome.

I wished we could have stayed there longer, but we were in something of a rush.

It was a rather modern, even futuristic looking building set in sharp relief with the classical architecture of the city around it.

The roof caught my eye first, looking something like the cross section of a low wave traveling across the water. From inside, the rake of the ceiling gave the whole space an incredible sense of depth.

Sleek fashion advertisements dotted the polished floor. All sorts of stores from newspaper stands to little cafes and restaurants lined the walls.

And there were people everywhere. Children marveling at the ultramodern look of the space, men and women in business wear rushing around, a few tourists taking everything in, camera flashes blinking.

I would have been happy spending the whole day there exploring with Liam.

He led me down to the train platform, where we found the Frecciarossa waiting for us. Like its name suggested, it was a speedy-looking shade of red. Except it had a streak of grey running between those strips of red.

"Where are we going?" I asked while Liam pulled out the tickets to scan them into the machine so we could board.

"Rome is nice and all," Liam said, he took my hand and led me into the train. It was wider inside than I would have thought. The windows looked slightly tinted, shading the outside world, the platform on the other side and the people there waiting for a different train.

Groups of four wide-backed, comfy looking seats took up the sides of the aisle.

"However," Liam continued, checking seat numbers against the tickets, "If you really want to experience Italian art, there's really only one place you absolutely must go."

The operator's voice came on. I heard the word Firenze and my heart sped up.

"We're going to Florence?" I said. I'd wanted to go to Florence, had been planning to go when I'd been planning my Rome trip before my dad got sick. But when I'd lost the will to study, to see Rome even though I lived in it, the idea of going to Florence had died as well.

"And at 300 kilometers per hour, we'll be there in an hour and a half," Liam said, "Here we go." He motioned to an empty set of seats.

There was a lot of legroom, as well as a selection of new magazines on the thin table in the middle of our little group of seats. The Europeans knew how to travel in comfort and style.

They were as comfy as they looked, and I sighed as I sat. Liam sat across from me. We took the window seats, leaving the two by the aisle empty.

Soon, a man wearing the uniform of the line came over to us and asked us if we'd like any of the national papers for that day, and if we'd like any refreshments.

"Premium class," Liam said, "I know you don't like me spending money on you, but I decided to get the nicer seats anyway."

"I'll forgive you, this time," I said.

Other people had begun to board as well, filling in the seats around us. Though no one sat in the two empty chairs in our little group. I gave Liam another look.

He shrugged, not apologetic in the least. "I wanted you all to myself. What's the point of having money if you can't have nice things?"

It was sweet, and I had to admit I'd been feeling a little anxious about sitting so close to a pair of strangers the whole ride up.

I had just picked up an Italian edition of InStyle magazine when the train started humming. Although it was less a sound and more a feeling. It started moving away from the platform. Gliding described it better. Like we floated above the ground, it was so smooth.

And it picked up speed with deceptive quickness. I barely felt the inertia pushing me back into the comfortable padding of my seat.

Yet when I looked out the window Rome had already disappeared, replaced by the rolling fields of the rich vineyards and farmland around the city.

And even that flashed by in a blur. If I wanted to look at any one thing, I had to focus on it and turn my head as fast as I could to get rid of some of the haze of speed.

"Wow," I said again. I'd lost count of times Liam had done something to make me utter that exclamation.

"I never get tired of hearing you say that," Liam said.

"Well it seems like every time I see you, you feed me some amazing food or show me some incredible thing." Or come out of the shower with that body of yours still flushed from the heat of it and nothing but a towel to cover it. I didn't voice that last bit out loud.

"I can't help it. You make everything feel new to me, like it's the first time I'm seeing it, too," he said.

The way he looked at me across the table, those baby blues fixed so intensely on my face, made me blush and look down at my hands, which I had clasped in my lap over the forgotten and glossy cover of InStyle.

I could sense something from him, some desire to say something, to express something, that he struggled with. What sort of thing did a man like Liam have to struggle with, especially involving me?

"Stop," I said, my cheeks so hot that if they started smoking I wouldn't have been surprised.

"You know that I won't," he said, "You should have learned then when I chased you to the airport."

"So we're going to the Uffizi?" I said, trying to change the subject. The Uffizi Gallery was the foremost museum of art in all of Italy. Perhaps all of Europe.

"That's not what I want to talk about right now," Liam said.

I'd begun shaking a little. I clenched my hands into sweaty fists, crinkling the cover of the magazine. Had our train car heated up?

"Work, then?" I said, "How's your business stuff going? That merger or whatever go through?"

"Emma, look at me. Please, look at me."

I swallowed against a lump in my throat. It wasn't the train car that felt hot. It was me. I burned. It took every last ounce of willpower I had to drag my eyes away from the smiling model on the cover of the magazine to Liam.

He'd leaned his elbows on the table. His eyes kept flicking between my eyes, searching. He licked his lips as though nervous. My trembling intensified, seeing him like that.

"Yeah?" I said, my voice small.

"My business trip has been over for the last week," he said.

"Then why are you still here? Don't you have a huge international corporation to run?" I knew the answer to my question. I just wasn't sure I could accept it.

"Business can wait."

"Said no successful CEO ever," I broke in. I tried to smile, but my lips refused to stop quivering.

"You're the reason I'm still in Rome. Well," he said, glancing at the blurred landscape on the other side of the glass, "Italy, at least."

"Seems like a silly reason to me."

He sighed. "I've known it for a while now. Maybe even that first night we met. The fundraiser. I've just been trying to find the right place, the right way to say it. I thought maybe in Florence, surrounded by all the art you love so much. But I can't wait. I can't hold it in any longer."

"Are you sure? How can you be sure?" I said, my voice very small, so quiet I thought even the low thrum of the train might cover it up.

"I've fallen in love with you, Emma."

My throat started closing up. I couldn't breathe. My lungs started burning with the rest of me.

My heart did its best to beat its way through my ribs. Alternating waves of hot and cold washed over me. This incredible joy started pulsing through me, along with an unbearable fear tinted with guilt.

"You can't be," I said.

"I am, though. I love you," he returned without hesitation.

It was then I noticed the little tissue dispenser on my seat. They'd thought of everything, it seemed. I pulled one out. Then another, for good measure. I dabbed at my eyes.

"Are you sure?" I said. I didn't feel worthy of his love, like I'd tricked him into believing it. Like it was some magical charm that would fade as soon as the potion wore off.

I hadn't let anyone love me for a long time. I didn't think I was worthy of such powerful emotion. Who was I to make someone feel that strongly? No one, that was who.

"As sure as a person can be about anything in this crazy, uncertain world and life."

He stood up and shimmied his way around the table, then sat in the aisle chair beside me. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly. Even though it felt like I burned, he was still hotter.

"You make me see things in a whole new light. It feels like my stomach does a somersault every time you smile. I can't get you out of my head, and I never want you to leave. Tell me you feel the same way. Tell me you feel something. Just tell me before I say something stupid and mess this whole thing up.

"I'm trying to put how I feel into words, but there aren't any words that truly describe how you make me feel, that will let me tell you what I want you to know."

He waited, his eyes searching. The tension in him kept building. I could feel it in the way his fingers squeezed mine, in the way his whole hand and the body attached to it started trembling.

I searched myself and knew it was true. "I..."

Liam's shoulders rose and fell in a great, shuddering sigh. He thought I was going to say no. He thought I was about to tell him that he'd let himself open up to me for nothing.

I couldn't let that happen. I squeezed his hand hard, forced my eyes to his. "I do, too."

"Yeah?" he said, the tension started visibly draining from him.

I smiled, even with the tears building up in the corners of my eyes. "I do. I'm in love with you!"

The tension had dissipated enough that he could return my smile. "You make it sound like that surprises you."

"It does, though," I said, "I never thought I'd feel this way about another person. Except I can't help it with you. Does that make sense? I feel like I'm babbling."

"It makes perfect sense," he replied. Then he slipped his hands from mine and cupped my face. He drew me forward and kissed me, not caring about how the few tears I couldn't stop escaping from my eyes wet his cheeks, too.

"You're really staying in Italy just for me?" I said.

"Not 'just' for you. Only for you. There's a difference, don't you see?" He said, his thumbs sweeping beneath my eyes, collecting any more tears that tried tumbling their way to freedom.

Every other part of my life shrank, became less important. Trivial, even.

I was just a girl who loved a boy. A boy who, incredibly, loved me back even though he knew about my faults and my baggage. But wasn't that one of the definitions of love, someone who not only didn't care that you had baggage, but who also helped you to shoulder it?

I laughed, unable to express my relief, my shock and incredulity and joy in any other way. It was catching, it seemed, because Liam laughed, too.

We laughed so much that the people sat in the group of chairs on the other side of the aisle kept glancing our way.

Liam didn't move back to his chair across from me, apparently unwilling to let go of my hand.

And then I looked up through the window. "Hey, is that it?"

A city astride a river started speeding towards us, the buildings growing in scale with each breath I took. I recognized the enormous home of the ancient and extinct Medici family and knew.

"Welcome to Florence," Liam said.

We'd arrived in the historic city, but Liam and I had arrived at a destination I'd never let myself dream of reaching.