Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2) (15 page)

She widens her eyes at me. “Are you serious? It’s definitely not terrible. You don’t owe either one of them anything.” She shrugs. “It’s not like you’re with either one of them. You’re just having fun.”

“I guess.” It makes sense when she says it like that.

She looks at me seriously. “Why, did one of them ask for more of a commitment or something?”

I shake my head.

“Then it’s fine. Why are you stressing it?”

“I don’t know, I feel guilty.”

She laughs. “You shouldn’t. You have no clue what either one of them are doing with other girls.”

Well that shuts me right up. Damn, another good point. I never even considered that Lorenzo or Pete would be dating other girls, but it makes a hell of a lot of sense.

Lexi places her hand on my arm. “Sorry, Mia. I didn’t mean that to sound super harsh. I guess I’m just pissed about the Pietro scenario.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re right. They could be dating other girls. Or whatever. I shouldn’t take it so seriously.”

Lexi smiles. “Enough about dumb boys. We’re only here for a couple more months. We should just enjoy ourselves, have a girls’ night.”

I nod in agreement.

Lexi tilts her head. “Shoot. Can you believe our time here is going by so quickly? It’s already October.”

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Counting down until we leave?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I am doing that, huh?”

“Yeah.” I laugh.

She sighs. “I don’t know. I guess because it’s all just so perfect. Like if I could freeze this moment in time, I would. I don’t want to go back home. I feel like if I leave, it will all change and I’ll never have this again.” She holds her arms out wide, gesturing to our surroundings.

I know what she means.

The cobblestones, the ancient structures, the old buildings. The fountains that carry water from the aqueducts of Ancient Rome. The fashion boutiques that hide amongst tiny meandering streets. The smell of fresh baked bread and tiny cups of espresso. It’s a simplicity that can’t be recreated, a beautiful effortlessness that is striking to experience. It’s difficult to explain, but the way I feel here, the way I think Lexi feels here, is something we will only experience in this moment in time. And once we board our flights back to the U.S., our moment will evaporate into thin air and all of this, the bright colors and bold tastes, the conversations that flow like music and the laughter that rings out with a genuine sincerity, the atmosphere heavy with history and culture and art, it will all disappear as if it never happened.

I nod my head solemnly. “I know what you mean.”

Lexi sighs, reaching into her shoulder bag and pulling out … a second bottle of wine.

“Are you kidding me?” I say.

She shrugs. “This conversation is getting too heavy. Time to lighten the mood.”

I shake my head and Lexi frowns. “It’s too cold,” I tell her. “Let’s go to a bar instead.”

A huge smile blossoms on Lexi’s face as she leans forward and wraps one arm around my shoulders in a hug. “I knew I would break you down!” She whoops loudly. “A bar it is.”

I laugh, standing and gathering up my purse. Lexi links her arm with mine and we set off to the nearest bar, happy hour about to begin.

* * *

Lyrics to Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer”, ring out and the crowd claps wildly, beer bottles held overhead in elation. Lexi jumps up on the bar, shaking her ass and encouraging more cheering and whistles from the crowd.

I laugh hysterically, tears burning my eyes as I watch her. I clap along with the guys jostling me on either side, and she smiles at me, reaching down to offer me a hand.

“No way,” I tell her.

She pulls harder as I resist. But then the guy behind me wraps his hands around my waist and gives me a boost up. Suddenly, I’m standing on a bar. On a freaking bar. Oh my God.

I look at Lexi in panic and she takes both of my hands in hers, tugging me closer. “Just dance,” she yells over the noise of the bar.

The music changes quickly, an Avicii song blaring from the speakers.

“Woo! I love this song,” Lexi declares, her hair spilling forward as she raises her arms and shakes to the beat.

Oh jeez. I close my eyes and focus on the music, swirling my hips. Oh my God, I think I just flipped my hair. I feel someone tug on the back of my jeans, just below my knee. Turning, I bend down as the bartender hands me a shot glass. He winks and throws back his own shot. I stare at the glass in my hand before smiling my thanks and toss it back. Lexi whoops again, slapping my ass hard with her hand. “Thatta girl!”

I turn toward her and we keep dancing, the guys below us yelling out declarations of love. Lexi and I crack up, laughter bubbling out of me like a volcano. The bar grows louder. And hotter. The colors are brighter, the beer is colder, the shots more frequent.

Another guy reaches up and wraps his hands around the backs of my thighs, pulling me forward until I fall off the bar and into his open arms. “Why don’t you dance for me babe?” he asks, his Australian accent thick.

Lexi hops off the bar, linking her arm through mine and tugging me away from the guy. “Sorry, dude. Your accent is delicious and all, but tonight is girls’ night.”

She winks at him and pulls me toward the back of the bar. We weave through the throngs of people until we reach a makeshift dance floor. Lexi pulls me through the gyrating bodies, the laughter, the strong stench of hard liquor until we’re in center of the floor. Then we dance, sweat running down my back, my hair sticking to my neck. Our laughter mingles, eyes closed to the music.

If I could freeze another moment in time, tuck it away to pull out every now and then and remember how I feel in this moment, right this second, it would be this one.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lorenzo

It’s late at night when I finally sit down in front of my computer. Today, Angelina’s catered a private event, an office party for some big shot’s retirement. The work was good for me; it was busy and hectic and I didn’t have a second to spare thinking about Rafaello’s confession, my long-lost brother, how this news will affect Claudia, how it will destroy Mama.

My room is dark, the only light coming from the screen of my Mac. I settle against the pillows lining my headboard and pull my laptop across my legs. Logging onto Facebook, I pause as my display photo appears on my page. It’s an action shot of me midair as I backflip off a yacht into the Mediterranean. It was taken this past summer when I went boating for a long weekend with Sandro and some friends. I study the picture as an outsider would, as someone who doesn’t know me. I look carefree, entitled, and spoiled. Arrogant. I slam my fist down next to me on the bed.

How did I go through life for this long without ever considering things like money? Budgeting? Earning a living? Sure, I have a savings account in my name. One where I deposited the tips and wages I earned from the summer shifts Papa demanded I work, but I’ve never even touched it. For years, the money just sat there as I racked up insane bills on the credit cards Mama slipped me behind Papa’s back. I always just took it for granted: the expensive cars, designer clothes, lavish vacations. It never occurred to me that one day, the money, the stability, the security wouldn’t be there, and I would be the one responsible for ensuring my family’s financial future.

Although Mama and Papa tried to instill a strong work ethic, with manners and values, with an appreciation for business, in Claudia and me, the only thing that really rubbed off was a strong proclivity toward partying, skeptical values, and an appreciation for thousand dollar bottles of champagne and five-star hotels. And fuck if I want to completely give those things up now.

Staring at the screen, I scroll down the home page. Slutty girl in a selfie, a guy from high school’s wedding photos, an old professor’s cats, slutty girl in a selfie. Diverting the arrow to the search box, I type in Anthony Casale. A slew of hits load on the page. I glance through them quickly but stop when I see location: Brooklyn, New York. Clicking on the thumbnail, the page loads. I suck in a breath as the man smiling in the photo bears an uncanny resemblance to Papa.

I have a brother.

And there’s only one person I want to see in this moment, laugh with to help soothe the unfamiliar feelings swirling around in my chest. I look at the clock; it’s way too late, or early, to disturb her.

Seconds pass and I tap my fingers against my desk.

Fuck it.

I pick up my phone and send her a text.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mia

It’s four in the morning when my phone chimes with a new message. The beep wiggles through my sub-consciousness, stirring me from sleep. I reach over to the bedside table and snatch up my glasses, pushing them high on my nose. Picking up my phone I see a message from Lorenzo and sit straight up in bed, instantly awake. Why would he be messaging me in the middle of the night? I waited for him to text me two days ago after I stopped at Angelina’s and never heard from him. Now, he decides to reach out? Is he drunk?

Lorenzo: Hi, Mia. What can you tell me about Brooklyn, NY?

Huh? Well that’s random. And cryptic.

Mia: Hey. I’m not sure where you’re going with this …

It’s the best I can do under the circumstances. What kind of answer is he looking for? I mean, just Wikipedia it.

My phone chimes again.

Lorenzo: Long story. Sorry to bother you so late.

Me: No worries. All OK?

Seconds tick by stretching into minutes. I snuggle deeper against the pillows and check my phone for other messages and emails. I’m surprised when I see three missed FaceTime calls from Maura. What the hell? I sit up again. Is she okay? It’s strange for her to call several times in a row. I’m just about to call her back when Lorenzo messages again.

Lorenzo: Not really. Can’t sleep. What are you doing awake so early?

I laugh out loud. Seriously? You woke me up! With your confusing messages about nothing! But of course I don’t tell him that.

Me: Nothing really.

I watch as the bubble message pops up, indicating that Lorenzo is typing.

Lorenzo: Want to get some breakfast?

I laugh again. Breakfast is an elusive concept in Italy. Nothing at all like the trays piled high with pancakes and waffles, the oversized mugs of steaming coffee, the plates of eggs and bacon that are breakfast staples in New York and Philly. Still, this is something I deeply appreciate about Rome since I don’t have to make excuses for why my breakfast plate only contains a miniscule amount of food compared to everyone else’s heaping seconds. Well, except for the chocolate cornetti which are quickly proving to be my downfall. I’ve had four since I’ve landed in Rome. Mainly because Lexi forces me to eat them with her. I’ve never finished one completely, but still … I know where those calories are going.

Lorenzo’s message waits patiently on my screen for a response.

Me: Sure.

Lorenzo: I’ll pick you up in 15.

Jeez, nothing like getting ready in a hurry. It’s like hanging out with Lexi.

Me: See you then.

I climb out of bed stretching my arms overhead. I tug on a pair of skinny, dark wash jeans and the brown leather boots with the chunky heel that Emma tossed in my suitcase. She was right, they are super comfy. I pull on a thick cream sweater; baggy and oversized, it hangs to my knees. I run a brush through my hair, clipping back the front pieces. I brush my teeth, pop in my contacts, and shove my notebook into my purse for my first class. Twenty minutes later, I walk out the front door and slide into the sleek leather seat of a red sports car.

“Buon giorno.” Lorenzo smiles at me mischievously. He looks tired, the skin under his eyes bruised from lack of sleep. His hair is messy and sticks out in various directions. Still, the stubble on his jawline is sexy. His white T-shirt pulls taunt across his chest. He wears a casual, hunter green zip-up hoodie over the T-shirt but left it unzipped. His jeans are ripped and frayed, but they’re not old. Nope, they’re definitely designer. Even disheveled and tired, this man is sexy. He doesn’t even have to try. He exudes confidence, a kind of assertiveness that is as attractive as it is menacing.

I swallow, my throat dry. “Ciao,” I whisper back.

He reaches over and places his palm on my thigh. “I meant to get in touch with you sooner. There really has been a lot going on, but I’ve been wanting to see you.”

“It’s fine, we can talk at breakfast.” And it really is fine. Lorenzo looks so exhausted that I know he hasn’t intentionally blown me off. Something must really be going on with his family.

“Thanks.” He smiles. “Ready?”

I nod.

The engine of the car revs loudly. “Buckle up,” he whispers.

I turn in my seat, finding the seatbelt. It barely clicks into place when Lorenzo releases the break and pulls out of the parking spot. The car lurches forward and Rome flies by outside my window.

* * *

Forty minutes pass before we turn off the Autostrade and drive for another five minutes in silence. Finally, Lorenzo makes a left turn, and we disappear down a narrow, winding road into a thick forest. The car slows considerably, and I take a moment to enjoy the scenery. The sun peeking through the trees, light filtering through thick branches and dancing off colorful leaves. Reds and yellows and oranges glimmering brightly. The land opens up into a clearing, the trees space out sparsely, and I learn that we are on a cliff, driving along the coast. The ocean glimmers before us, white foam dancing along the crests of curling waves. The sea beats dangerously against the jagged cliff rocks, spraying water and salt high into the air. Lorenzo turns right, his car hugging the road.

I sigh and he looks over at me sharply. “It’s beautiful.” I gesture toward the water with my hand.

“Isn’t it?” he says, his voice gruff, his eyes never leaving my face.