Hell. Pure, unadulterated hell.
You're a big girl, I thought, setting my phone to silent and stuffing it into my pocket, Deal with it like one.
I took my seat, squeezing between the backs of the chairs in front of me and the little folding desks behind me. Three rows from the front, dead center.
I'd remembered some Yahoo! news article I'd read a while back saying that, statistically speaking, the most successful students always sat in the first few rows. It couldn't hurt to try, I figured.
Dr. Giovanni Di Cenzo was the perfect specimen of an older Italian gentlemen. A proud patrician's nose that could have been at home in a piece of classical Greco-Roman art divided two deep-set eyes. Hair black like jet, only now graying at the temples, framed his strong face. And where Dr. Aretino was short, Professor Di Cenzo was tall. Nearly as tall as Liam.
He glanced up from studying his notes on the lectern as though he could feel my eyes on him. He swept the filling classroom with a quick gaze. I told myself that that gaze didn't linger on me momentarily, but I knew that it had.
If I'd been a superstitious person, I would have taken that as a bad omen.
Then he thumbed the power button on the projector and his usual PowerPoint template popped up.
My heart made a popping motion, too, when I saw that today's lecture was on Giulio Romano.
This is it, I thought. It was my chance to show him that I really did know what I was talking about. I'd prove it to him, and then maybe I'd impress him enough to give my essay another look.
I hadn't made a mistake like that since 9th grade, when I'd told me best friend at the time, Tina Clarke, that I had a crush on a boy named Ben James, thinking I could trust her with sacred knowledge like that.
She'd had a crush on him, too, it turned out. Before the end of the day, she'd had what seemed my entire middle school singing, "Emma and Ben sittin’ in a tree..."
Professor Di Cenzo also encouraged a more interactive classroom. It was some Socratic, European thing. Except he almost never gave me the chance to interact, calling other students ahead of me even when I'd raised my hand well before them.
Even my classmates had begun to exchange glances.
And when I did get to say my piece, he destroyed my answer. And by destroyed I mean annihilated. Even though I was right. It quickly led into a personal attack on my apparent inability to do even the barest of research on my chosen topic.
When he finished the rant, his arms waving like he was about to take off, he stared me down just to make sure I wouldn't gainsay him.
I spent the remainder of that lecture staring down at my notebook, fighting back against the pressure behind my eyes.
Mercifully, the lecture ended. I pushed my way to the front of the throng heading for the door and didn't stop until I'd gotten to the bus loop.
Then I tried Liam again.
Are you there? I really need to see you.
Five minutes passed without an answer. Then ten.
All I really wanted was some comfort, but he wasn't there to provide any. I sat on a bench in the bus loop, watching students pile on and pile off their respective busses.
It was like I'd been stopped dead, life moving on around me and my unable to do anything but observe.
Although I could look down at my phone. Which I did often. Why isn't he answering?
I knew that I should be able to sooth myself here, but it was just so easy having Liam there, always ready to listen and understand and empathize.
What happened to the new you? The girl ready to take on the department at school? The one Liam sees when he looks at you?
It was a voice I wanted to tell to shut up, but I couldn't because it was right.
Then I saw the pair walking towards me. A pretty, dark-haired young woman and an equally handsome guy. They both smiled and laughed. They both spooned ice cream from cups into their mouths.
Not ice cream, I knew. Gelato. That gave me the idea. If I could have Liam himself, I'd go someplace where I could at least feel the memory of him nearby.
From there it was just a matter of finding the correct busses, then trusting my memory to lead me down the narrow road.
Despite the lateness of the season, that day had been pretty hot. So when the sign for Fratelli's Confectionary swung and creaked in the breeze not far ahead, my pace quickened.
Then I noticed the grey BMW sedan parked just down the road.
He's here! I thought. My excitement at the surprise momentarily obscured my instinctual suspicion.
I saw him. Rather, I saw the back of him. He faced away from me. He sat at the same table we'd been at.
I smiled, the relief at seeing him palpable. It was only when I moved to knock on the window that I saw the other person. The other woman.
I stopped, hand half-raised in my aborted attempt to catch his attention.
She was beautiful. I only ever saw him with beautiful women. Dark hair loose about her shoulders, the ends rustling against her business jacket.
She was in that ageless phase some women slipped into where she could have been anywhere from 21 to 35. And from the way she leaned in, I knew what she thought of Liam.
He leaned back away from her, the back of his jacket ruffled from pressing into the backrest of the chair, his hands clasped firmly on the table.
It was then I took a deep breath and told myself this wasn't what it looked like. The leather folders and manila envelopes scattered across their table supported this conclusion.
This had to be the business thing he'd left early for.
It was clear that he knew her game, too. Every time her hand strayed towards his, every time he handed her a piece of paper, he was careful not to touch her. This was strictly professional. My initial worry and jealousy deflated.
I stood there, trying to figure out what to do, until someone tapped my shoulder. "Emma?"
I recognized the voice. I turned and saw Abigail. The secretary. She smiled, the too-red lipstick she wore giving the expression a particularly bloodthirsty aspect.
"What are you doing here?" I said.
"My job. You?" She wore the same outfit as she'd had on when we'd met at my flat. This time, she toted a small black briefcase with her.
"Liam took me here for gelato. It was good, so I thought I'd come back," I said, giving my head a little toss to get rid of a few strands of hair that threatened to fall into my eyes.
Why is she here, too? Why doesn't she go away? The answer was, of course, her job. That didn't make me wish that she'd been anywhere else but here, though.
She noticed my discomfort and took pleasure in it. "And I guess you didn't expect to see Mr. Montgomery here, did you? Especially not with her."
She leaned to the side to get a better view around me. "Liam has that sort of effect on women. I'm sure you've noticed. Look at the way she's smiling. Look at the way she's leaning in like that, like she wants to leap across the table at him."
I noticed that already, thanks. I didn't want to give her that satisfaction, too. "So what?" I said, flipping my hair again, "He's obviously not interested in her at all."
Abigail shrugged. "No, I suppose not. I guess he's still infatuated with you. For now." Her eyes crawled over me, appraising, disapproving. I had the urge to stand up straighter.
I knew that she was jealous, that she just wanted to get a rise out of me, but I couldn't help getting angry with her. Her insinuations hurt. All my frustration had to come out somewhere.
"I trust Liam," I said, meaning it, "He doesn't want anyone else. Not her. Not you, either."
"A bit testy, aren't we?" Abigail replied, "I used to think he wanted me. Probably just like you think he wants you. But I'm just a secretary, and you're just a..." she waved at me in a dismissive fashion that had me bristling. "Oh, don't take offense. I'm just trying to make a point."
"Well, will you get to it, then?"
"Fine. We're who we are. Do you know who she is?" Abigail said, nodding towards the beauty sat across from Liam. The one who'd begun twirling her finger in her dark locks like a schoolgirl talking to her first crush.
I shrugged, "Some business contact, I'm guessing?"
Abigail gave me a patronizing smile like I was a country bumpkin and she some high-falutin' city slicker. "Her name is Lisa di Firenze."
"Is that supposed to mean something?"
That earned me another tight, patronizing smile. "She's not just some bimbo, which I know is hard to believe given her dog dish eyes at the moment. When she doesn't have Cupid's arrow lodged firmly between her shoulder blades, she is the head of the largest media conglomerate in Italy."
"Good for her."
Abigail shook her head. "I'm going to slow-walk you through this. Who do you think is going to win him over, when it really comes down to it? You, a nobody from Boring, USA, or a beauty who can match him in every respect? Wealth, culture, pedigree, future. She has all that. What can you offer him that she can't?"
"Me. I can offer him me," I said.
Abigail tilted her head, the sunlight catching in the coppery strands of her strawberry blonde locks. "Aren't you hearing me? Or is that liberal arts education still telling you that being a special snowflake is enough? You aren't good enough for him. And if you want to save yourself some heartache, you'll get that through your head before he comes to his senses and drops you like a bad investment."
A lump started pushing its way up my throat. I wanted to slap that sly little grin right off her pointy, too-perfect face. But that would just prove her point, and we both knew that.
Still, it was a Herculean Labor to resist that impulse.