Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2) (7 page)

“Yes. Have you read Dante?”

“
In that book which is my memory / On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you / Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life
,’” he quotes slowly and winks again before adding, “I’ll be right back with your water.”

As soon as he is back in the restaurant, I thumb through my paperback copy of
Il Inferno
looking for the quote.

Lorenzo sets down a water glass moments later and smiles at me. “You won’t find it in there.”

I look up at him, confused, my finger bookmarking my page. “What do you mean? I thought it was Dante.”

His eyes brighten, a deep azure. “It is.” He laughs lightly, sitting down across from me and pulling
Il Inferno
from my hand, effectively losing my page. “It’s from an earlier work,
La Vita Nuova
. You should read that first. It’s a beautiful collection of poetry, all love and romance, for his muse Beatrice.”

“And you’ve read it?” I can’t keep the edge of sarcasm from my voice as I study him carefully. He seems sincere enough, but the small dimple winking from his cheek makes me feel like he’s somehow teasing me.

“I’ve read all the classics.”

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously.

“You know, ‘
books have led some to learning and others to madness
.’” He smiles broadly.

“That’s not Dante.” I guess, even though I’m not sure.

He shakes his head. “It’s not.”

Several seconds pass. “Well…” I dip my head toward him “…are you going to tell me who said it?”

He points to my syllabus, lying on top of my notebook. “Petrarca,” he says, pronouncing the poet’s name in Italian.

“Petrarch said that? Are you sure? Doesn’t he only write about love?”

He shakes his head. “If that’s what you think, then I really better leave you to study.” He laughs softly, low and husky. “Of course, I could always help you. I’m Lorenzo,” he adds, leaning forward and taking my hand in his.

Lorenzo. Of course Lexi was right.

“Mia,” I say, squeezing back. “Amelia Petrella, but my friends call me Mia.”

“So we will be friends then?” he asks, continuing before I can respond. “Good, I was hoping you would say that.”

I blush, averting my gaze, my hand still trapped in his.

His eyes scan over my syllabus. “I see you also have readings by Boccaccio.” He looks up and smiles. “It will be a busy semester for you.”

I nod.

“You will enjoy it. Girls always love the Petrarca readings best and his unyielding love and passion for Laura.”

I smile. “I haven’t read much by him, but I saw several of his quotes in my mom’s journal. My favorite was ‘
To be able to say how much you love is to love but little
.’”

Lorenzo pauses for a moment, holding my gaze, his eyes searing into mine. I shift uncomfortably, feeling as though he’s seeing straight through me, right to my core. Is he picturing me naked? “Si, I’d have to agree with him.” He blinks, breaking the moment. “And did you get caught reading her journal?” he whispers, leaning closer to me conspiratorially, his hand dropping my fingers to rest on my notebook.

I laugh, shaking my head. “No. My mom passed away when I was nine.”

A shadow falls over his face as he quickly averts his gaze. “I’m sorry. Excuse me for joking around.”

I reach out and place my hand on his forearm. His skin is hot against my hand, and I can feel the thick cords of muscle in his forearm. He doesn’t pull away and for a moment I stare at my hand on his arm, my pale skin contrasting against his warm olive tones. “It’s okay. Really. It’s nice to talk about her sometimes.” He looks up, and I smile when he meets my eyes to reassure him.

He sighs heavily. “My papa passed about six months back. Pulmonary Fibrosis.” He rubs a hand over his forehead, momentarily shielding his eyes from view.

“Oh, Lorenzo, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head slightly. “No, it’s okay. You are right. Sometimes it is nice to talk about him, to still have him as part of my normal day, a part of my life.”

I nod, understanding his desire to share details about his father but at the same time keeping them all for himself. “Was this his restaurant?” I ask lightly, nodding toward the open restaurant door behind him.

He turns and takes in Angelina’s Ristorante for a moment. “No…” he shakes his head turning back to me “…this was my great-grandfather’s restaurant. He started it in 1907. Then it passed to my grandfather who didn’t have any sons. So now, it belongs to Mama.” He smiles suddenly. “And she loves this place. Especially since my papa’s passing, the restaurant has become like a sanctuary of sorts for her.”

“Oh. Is that why you work here?”

He shrugs. “I guess so. I’m not exactly sure why I’m spending so much time here lately. It just seems important to my mama that my sister Claudia and I help out at the restaurant right now. She asked and …” He shakes his head, trailing off.

“You can’t say no.” I finish.

“Exactly. Although, it’s not too bad.” He smirks at me, a hidden meaning in his words.

A couple walks onto the patio and takes a seat a few tables over from me.

Lorenzo stands and indicates that he will be with them in a moment. “It was a pleasure discussing Dante with you Mia.” He smiles again. “And you did great carrying our conversation in Italian. You’ll be fluent before you leave Rome.” He turns to greet the couple.

I stare at his back and watch his hands gesture with the different dishes he describes. The woman at the table stares at him, enthralled. Her husband chuckles suddenly at something Lorenzo says. Then I realize what he said to me and touch my fingers to my lips. I talked. To an Italian. In Italian. I laugh to myself. I’m such a local. I have a spot and I’ll be fluent in no time.

* * *

The rest of the week passes quickly as I start to settle into a routine. Although I emailed the girls my first week here, I finally get around to writing follow up emails, letting them know more about Gianluca and Paola, Lexi, my classes, and sightseeing in Rome. Later in the week, I mail off the postcards I purchased. I send Dad one of the Colosseum—one of his favorite sights in Rome.

On Friday, even though I don’t have any classes, I debate whether or not I should message Pete about our partner project. I mean, it’s still way too early to be so invested in a project, isn’t it? But I hate the uncertainty of not knowing what our topic will be, how we will deliver our project, when we will meet, etc. I’d rather just start nipping the different aspects in the bud now instead of waiting for the semester to be half over and having an anxiety attack. Because that would be the worst.

Before I join Lexi on her “friendly neighborhood walk,” which she informed me is code for “scoping out the hot guys that live near us,” I send Pete a text message.

Me: Hey, Pete. It’s Mia from Italian class. Just wanted to get a jumpstart on the partner project. Are you free to meet up next week?

I’m pleasantly surprised when he responds minutes later.

Pete: Hi, Mia. Sure, how about Wednesday? We could get lunch after class.

Me: Okay, sounds good.

Pete: Cool, see you then.

Lunch? Is that a date? Or a friendly invitation to eat together while we work? Or nothing at all? Oh jeez, who cares?

Chapter Thirteen

Lorenzo

My eyes close as Francesca bobs her mouth up and down, up and down, over my dick. I run my fingers through her hair, clenching it tightly in my fists. She’s a fucking pro. Should have done this months ago. But Sandro was still fucking her in July and it seemed best to wait a few weeks, make sure he didn’t catch anything before I messed around with her.

Not that I’ll fuck her. I’ve never been into sloppy seconds, but if she wants to swing by to get me off, who am I to stop her? She groans loudly, her palms gliding up my thighs, her right hand fisting in the hem of my T-shirt. She moans again. I roll my eyes. Stop with the fucking show and just suck, sweetheart.

Francesca’s downright slamming, even though she’s nearing thirty. She’s got a great set of tits and a tight ass. Too bad she’s got such a reputation; despite her many talents, no one in my circle would ever take her seriously. Too much drama, too much baggage, too many stories.

The one thing she’s really got going for her today is she’s a brunette, which beckons a flood of unintended, yet always welcomed thoughts of another brunette. Mia. She was so sweet at Angelina’s last week. The way she murmurs words to herself when she reads, the intensity in her eyes as she loses herself in Dante’s Canti, her furious scribbles in her notebook. I shake my head, a smile forming on my lips just from thinking of her.

I look down at the top of Francesca’s head. Placing my hand at the back of her neck, I encourage her to move faster. Ah, that’s it. I close my eyes and pretend she’s Mia. That the noises falling from her lips are the sounds Mia would make. That the scrape of her nails against my inner thighs are Mia’s nails. That the hair tangled around my knuckles is Mia’s hair.

And I come.

Hard and fast.

Mia’s name on my lips.

* * *

“You’re sick.” Claudia tells me as she watches Francesca sashay out of our home a little while later.

I crane my neck to watch Francesca’s ass as she walks down the steps leading from the main entrance of our home to her car. “Why?”

Claudia rolls her eyes. “That…” she waves her palm in circles, gesturing to the front door, to Francesca “…is gross. That girl has slept with every guy I know.”

I laugh. “I didn’t bang her.” I shake my head. “Not after Sandro.”

Claudia makes a choking sound in her throat and coughs loudly.

“You okay?” I smack her on the back.

She nods after several seconds, her cheeks red and her eyes watering. “You guys are disgusting.” She grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator and disappears from the kitchen.

I laugh. “Claudia, don’t judge,” I call after her.

Her bedroom door slams in response.

Ah, well, what to do now? I pick up my car keys and dial Sandro’s number as I walk out of the house to my car.

“Yeah?” he answers.

“Want to go grab a few beers? There’s a game on tonight.” I mention, knowing Sandro prefers to watch the AS Roma games at bars with people instead of alone at his home. He likes the atmosphere better.

“Sure. But first I’ve got a better idea.”

“What is it?”

“Come get me. I’ll explain on the way.”

“See you in a few.” I end the call and slide behind the wheel of my car, pulling onto the main street and turning right to take a shortcut to Sandro’s place.

When I pull up to Sandro’s, he’s already waiting outside.

“Hey,” he says, opening the car door and sliding onto the seat. “Heard you hooked up with Francesca.”

I nod. “Kind of.”

He chuckles, slapping me on the shoulder. “
Che bella gnocca
.”

I snort in agreement. “Where are we going?”

“Take a right here, then hang a left at the light.”

I follow his directions, looking straight ahead for any clues as to where we’re headed. A huge grin splits my face when I see the cars lining up.

“Good call,” I nod at Sandro.

He punches my arm. “Knew you’d be up for it.”

“Hell yeah.”

I roll down my window. “I’m in,” I tell a hot, scantily-clad girl with long blond hair. Reaching into my wallet, I pull out a stack of bills and hand them to her. She blows me a kiss.

“Man…” I look at Sandro “…I haven’t done a dig in ages.”

He nods. “I know. You’ve been working too much.”

I roll closer to the line, anticipation building, adrenaline beginning to churn. I fucking love racing.

Especially street racing.

* * *

“I knew you’d kill it, Enzo,” Sandro says, bending down to lean his upper body through my car window. He bangs his palm flat against the top of the car door. “Solid run.”

I fan a large stack of bills at him. I picked up two grand in that dig. Easy as fuck. “Get in.”

He sits in the passenger seat, shutting the door and grabbing the cash from my hand. He shoves it into the center console.

“Want to go watch the game?” I ask, checking the time. If we hurry, we can still watch the second half and have a few beers. And maybe a steak. My stomach growls and I realize I’m hungry.

“Want to hit some casinos in Sanremo instead?” Sandro asks, looking bored.

I laugh good-naturedly. Sanremo is hours away; we’ll definitely have to crash there for the night. Sandro always knows how to have a good time, how to party. And how to keep his mouth shut. That’s why he’s my best friend.

“Fuck yeah. Let’s go. But I need to eat something first.” I make a hard right, shifting gears as I coast onto the Autostrade.

“Yeah, okay. There’s a good steak place my papa likes on the way there.”

“You’re reading my mind,” I tell him, thinking about the T-bone I’m going to order.

He shrugs, changing the music to some house beats and increasing the volume.

Changing lanes quickly, I pop into the fast lane and open my baby up, adrenaline coursing through my veins once more.

Chapter Fourteen

Mia

The weekend passes in a blur, with Lexi dragging me to museums, cafes, and bars. On Sunday night, I FaceTime with my dad.

“Hi, Mia.” He grins at me from the screen of my laptop. “How are classes going?”

“Hi, Dad. Great, thanks. I really like this one class I have on Italian Literature. We’re reading the classics, starting with Dante.”

He nods. “That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah. How are you?”

“Good. Not too much happening over here. Claire and I are going to a Broadway play next weekend.
The Book of Mormon
.”

“That’s cool. I heard it’s amazing; it got rave reviews.”

“Hi, Mia.” Claire’s face pops onto the screen. “How’s Rome? Did you go to Villa Borghese yet?” She smiles pleasantly enough, tucking a piece of her golden hair behind her ear.

Why can’t I warm up to her? Even after all these years, I still feel like she’s a stranger.