Wish You Were Italian (27 page)

“Miniature archaeologists,” I say with a tight-lipped smile, envious of the love and time his parents poured into creating such a memory for their boys. “What did they bury for you to find?”

“What
didn’t
they bury?” He laughs, stretching his legs out and crossing his feet. “Some of our old forgotten toys, some new
ones, plastic dinosaurs, matchbox cars—those were nearly impossible to get clean. They said they buried bones from dinner but some animal got to those first.”

“Is that when you knew that’s what you wanted to do?”

“Well, it definitely sparked something, but what eight-year-old wouldn’t like digging in the dirt?”

I timidly raise my hand.

“You didn’t play in the dirt?”

“I never really had any to play in. I guess I—”

“Hello. Sandbox?”

I shake my head. “I was prissy as a child. No dirt under these fingernails.”

“You were prissy? I don’t believe it.”

“If you knew my mother, it wouldn’t surprise you.” I raise both of my hands in surrender. “But I’ve grown up. I’m not afraid to get dirty anymore.”

A lone eyebrow skyrockets and color creeps up his neck. “Is that right?”

I drop my face into my hands and bump against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

His laughter is warm on the nape of my neck. “Don’t worry. I know.”

We stand to leave and I soak up the view one more time, taking a dozen more pictures before heading for the lift to go down. It’s all going too fast. The sun’s already descending on our last day. I’m not ready to go back.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Our south Italy excursion drawing to a close, we work our way back to Naples to catch the bigger train that will drop Darren, Tate, and Nina off in Florence—closest to their new dig site in Tuscany—leaving me to ride the rest of the way to Cinque Terre alone.

We settle into our seats around lunchtime, and after snacking on bread and fruit, it doesn’t take long for Nina to curl up against Tate, whispering something in his ear. They’re both asleep within minutes. What is it about traveling that makes everyone want to sleep all the time?

I suppress a yawn myself and look at Darren next to me, his head lolling over to the side and popping back up. A sigh escapes my lips. This is not how I wanted to spend my last couple of hours with him.

He sinks down farther into his seat and his head slams
against my shoulder, bobs back up for a second, and falls again. His dark curls brush against my cheek.

Do I move him? Do I wake him up so I can talk to him? I’m not particularly tired, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to rest my head on top of his. It would fit perfectly if I just … leaned down a little.…

His hair is soft as any pillow, and I breathe deeper, memorizing his clean scent. Citrus and maybe a hint of rosemary. Probably whatever shampoo the hotel had.

Darren shifts and I freeze. He adjusts the placement on my shoulder and stills again, his breathing evening out to a slow rhythm. I let myself relax against him, enjoying the unconscious affection. It might be all I ever get, so I’ll take it.

My eyes flutter open at the sound of rolling luggage wheels. Through my jeans I feel a light pressure on my thigh and look down to find Darren’s hand resting near my knee. My face is still buried in his hair. I can’t help smiling.

But my smile fades as soon as I piece together the noises I’m hearing with the people I can see walking outside the window. We’ve stopped.

I place my hand on Darren’s shoulder to prop him up. “Darren. Wake up.” I shake him.

“Hmm?” He licks his lips and slowly sits up on his own, opening his eyes cautiously as if the daylight is too much.

“We’re at a train station,” I say in a mild panic. “I’m not sure which one.”

“What?” Nina jumps out of her seat, causing Tate to slump over before he jolts awake.

“What’s going on?” Tate mumbles.

A few people board the train and stow their luggage. Darren looks out the window and frowns.

“We’re in Florence.” He looks at Tate and Nina with wide eyes. “We have to go. Now!”

They all scramble to gather their things, and I move to stand in the aisle. Tate’s ready first and he gives me the one-armed side-hug thing, but he closes us in with his hand on my other shoulder, tapping it a few times.

“I’m glad you came with us. It’s been fun,” he says.

“Thanks for inviting me. It was good getting to know you guys.”

Tate steps aside and Nina gives me a quick squeeze. “You’re sweet, Pippa. I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime.” She pulls away and winks at me before following Tate off the train.

Darren holds the handle to his backpack on the seat. My heart is in my ears, my throat, exploding out of my chest, like waking up from a nightmare.

I force a smile. “I’m glad you asked me to come along. Well, Nina asked, technically, but—”

“It was my idea,” he says. “To ask you to come. I wanted you to.”

My face warms.

“Pippa, I—”

“Darren,” Tate calls from the door behind me, “this train is about to leave.”

Darren looks over my shoulder and nods, eyebrows tense, before he opens his arms and I walk into his embrace. Our chins sit on each other’s shoulders, my cheek against his warm, scruffy one.

I try to ignore the sting in my eyes. I don’t know how to say good-bye. I don’t know what to say at all.

“Seriously,” Tate calls again. “We’ve gotta go, bro.”

We break apart and he’s about to slip his arms through the straps to his backpack when he digs in the front pouch and pulls out a paper sack.

“I almost forgot,” he says, handing it to me. “For you.”

“What is it?”

“Just some things I found here and there.” Darren smiles and I turn to mush. “I’ll see you soon,” he says as we change places in the aisle and he backs toward the door.

I manage a smile. “Promise?”

He flashes his twisted tooth in a wide grin. “I promise. Bye, Pippa.”

I raise my hand to wave at the same time he does, and he hops down the steps to the platform.

I rush to my seat and watch the three of them through the window as they wave, then disappear into the crowded station. I reach into the little bag and pull out three refrigerator magnets: Pompeii, Positano, and Capri.

“Pippa!” Chiara excuses herself from the table she’s waiting on and flings her arms around me. “You are back!”

“Chiara! I missed you.”

She screws up her face like she doesn’t believe me before letting a smile take over. “I missed
you!
Come, I want to hear everything.”

Matilde fires up a couple of pizzas for us to take back to the apartment, and Chiara and I light a few candles out on the terrace.
Since I didn’t eat much today, I inhale the mushroom half of mine at breakneck speed.

“Impressive eating,” Chiara teases. “Did you forget to eat while you were away?”

“Just today,” I say, picking up another piece and taking a bite. I’m determined to eat the whole thing and cross that goal off my list for Morgan. It’s the easiest one. Not
impossible
like falling in love with an Italian and bringing him home with me to live happily ever after.

“How was it?” she asks.

“It’s delicious. Chicago has nothing on this.” I dab my mouth with a napkin.

“No.” She laughs, facing me. “How was your trip south? With Darren?”

My heart sinks a little. Morgan’s always had first dibs on boy talk. I miss being able to call her whenever I want.

“We had fun. I got some great pictures too. We stayed in Positano and took day trips from there to Pompeii and Capri. It was amazing. Did you know they had theaters even two thousand years ago? Of course you do, you live here, right in the middle of all this ancient history. I’m sure you already know everything about—”

“Pippa!” Chiara says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Ah, but you are a master at avoiding.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not avoiding anything.” I shove a huge piece of the last slice into my mouth, feeling sick but still determined.

“Why do you not want to talk about Darren? What happened?”

I force the bite down. “Nothing happened.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes.

“Well, he sort of held my hand for a few seconds, maybe.” Her eyes brighten so I continue, “And he fell asleep with his head on my shoulder on the train today.”

Her expression falls. “
Questo è tutto?
”

“Isn’t that enough? I’m leaving in, like, a month and a half. It’s better that nothing happened,” I lie. One little kiss wouldn’t have killed anyone.

“When will you see him again?”

My shoulders slump. “I don’t know. He promised he’d see me soon, but we sort of … forgot to exchange info. I don’t have a way to get in touch with him.”

I realized it around the time I got to La Spezia to change trains. But I don’t have a working phone here in Italy anyway, and I don’t know if Darren has access to e-mail or not. It’s just never come up. And maybe somewhere inside I was hoping he’d be the one to ask.

“He will be back,” she says, relaxing into her lounge chair and gazing up at the dark sky.

I do the same, letting out a long sigh.
I hope so
.

When my eyes start to drift closed, I stretch and rise to my feet. “I think I’m going to get ready for bed.”

Chiara gathers our trash and follows me downstairs. I head straight for my luggage in the closet of Bruno’s room. Kneeling to unzip my bag, I’m puzzled to find my computer lying on top of my clothes. I could have sworn I’d stowed it between layers. I look around the rest of my bag and my stomach drops. Something’s off. This isn’t how I left it.

Chiara comes in and plops down on my bed. “I slept here
while you were gone, but I washed the sheets for you. I did not want to climb the ladder when I did not have to.”

“I don’t blame you,” I say, distracted, digging for my money envelope.

Chiara falls onto her back. “I should tell you about Bruno before you see him.”

I count through my euros. “Yeah, what’s going on with him? He had a black eye when I left.”

I’m six hundred short.

“Now it is his nose.” I hear a noise that sounds like her fist slamming into the palm of her other hand.

“What happened to his nose? Is he a fighter or something?” I ask, half listening, though I can’t help picturing Bruno bobbing and weaving in shiny little boxing shorts.

“Not a very good one, obviously,” she mutters.

Anxiety floods through me as I count the money again. Could I have gotten the math wrong before I left on Monday?

“Does he fight with that Mauro guy?” I ask, trying not to let on that I’m in panic mode.

She rolls onto her side, propping her head up. Her voice is low, all humor gone. “It is not about fighting. He owes Mauro money. His latest installment was due yesterday.”

I count the money a third time, and snap my head up to meet her eyes. “Let me guess. Six hundred euros?”

Her eyebrows pinch together above her nose. “How did you know that?”

“Because that’s how much I’m missing.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Bruno bounds into the room. “
Pippas è qui?
”

“Oh, I’m here, all right,” I mutter, tossing the envelope back into my suitcase.

Bruno’s arms loop around my middle and he hoists me from the floor. He rotates me to face him and crushes his lips against mine right in front of Chiara. I can hear her draw in a breath as she rises to her feet.

I dig my knuckles into Bruno’s shoulder before I slap him across the face, making sure to strike his injured nose.

“
Uffa! Che cosa?
” His hand flies to his face as a fresh bead of blood sneaks out of a nostril.

“Pippa!” Chiara shrieks, rushing to Bruno.

My palm stings but I shake it off. “That’s for kissing me when I told you last time to stop! And for stealing money from me!”

“Pippas,” Bruno pleads, hand still covering his nose. “I will explain.”

Chiara’s eyes widen and she glares at him. “Bruno?
È vero?
”

He ignores her and chases after me as I head to the door and cram my feet into my sneakers. “I will explain. Give me a chance,
per favore
. I did not steal. I, ah, ah—”

“You what?” My hand turns the knob. “
Borrowed
it without asking?”

“How could I ask? You were away.”

I shake my head and take off down the stairs and through the gate to the street. My recently recovered ankle starts to burn so I’m forced to slow down.

“Pippas!” he calls after me, right on my heels. “I was to repay you—”

“With what, money you stole from someone else?” I ask without looking at him. I keep marching straight ahead toward the marina.

He doesn’t answer, but I can hear him behind me, no doubt angry he got caught. He probably doesn’t even know how to be remorseful.

Once we’re at the marina, I climb over a railing to sit on the giant rocks protruding out to the sea. I’d seen an artist out here before, sketching with colored pencils, so I know it’s not entirely off limits. It’s dark out, but I aim my feet for the sections of rock reflecting light from the moon, avoiding the dark spaces for fear of disappearing into a cranny.

“Be careful, Pippa
mia.
” Bruno scrambles over the railing after me and snatches my hand, guiding me to a mostly flat rock and pulling me down to sit next to him.

For a few minutes we don’t speak. I focus on the sounds of late evening. Someone stacks plates at one of the cafés up the hill behind us while someone else whistles on the other side of
the boat slip. A woman’s laughter echoes around us and drifts out to sea. All to the constant soundtrack of waves pulsing between the rocks below.

“I was not stealing,” Bruno finally says. “I was to repay you before you returned. You were not to know.”

I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose. “What’s going on, Bruno?”

“It is nothing—”

“Nothing? I don’t think nothing would give you a black eye and a busted nose within a week’s time.”