Chapter 4
We walked hand-in-hand down the broad hallway. It was a beautiful building, with marble floors and tall, arched windows that let in the light to play across the frescoes and decorations. But right then I only had eyes for Liam.
Other people had eyes for him, too, I noted. I squeezed his hand tighter and pressed my side against his while we walked, basking in the jealous gazes I felt from the other female students we passed.
Yes, he’s holding my hand. Yes, he’s as good a kisser as he looks. No, you can’t have him!
I put my giddiness down to the adrenaline rush of nearly being groped by my professor and then saved by the handsomest man in Rome. We continued down the hall, taking a turn that would lead us to one of the visitor parking lots.
“So, not that I’m not grateful, which I am. Very grateful, that is,” Stop babbling! The rational part of my mind said. But he’s so good looking. You should kiss him again! The rest of me replied. Liam pretended not to notice. “But why are you here?”
His eyebrows knitted together and he glanced at me. “To take you to lunch.”
“We never had a lunch date.”
“Yes, we do,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a tiny, sly smile. I couldn’t help returning the expression.
“I think I would have known. Since when did we have this date?”
“Since you agreed to it in the lecture hall, of course.”
“Ah. Sneaky. Lunch does sound good, though,” I said. The crowd in the hall began thinning enough so that I could hear the sound of our footsteps off the polished floor.
“Yes, I’m quite sly like that, aren’t I?”
***
Ten minutes later, I again found myself sitting outside of a small Roman café. A large umbrella protected out bistro table from the noontime sun, which beat down hard enough that heat radiated in undulating waves off the patio stones.
Except there were several key differences. First, I’d never been to this place before (though the aged Italian waiter with the silver platter looked rather like Giancarlo, so much that I thought they might be brothers).
Second, instead of a beautiful woman sat across from me, it was a handsome man. When we sat down, he’d undone the buttons of his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up almost to his elbows. I had to keep myself from openly admiring his muscular forearms.
And when he smiled and turned that full wattage on me, it was like the afternoon sun dimmed in comparison.
It took every last straining inch of my willpower to retain something like a level head. Besides, I didn’t think Liam was the type who appreciated googly-eyed airheads. And I wanted to be the kind of girl that he appreciated.
Horns honked down the street, and two men climbed out of their tiny Italian cars and began waving at each other. Some children kicked a soccer ball around down the other way, stopping their game briefly each time a car drove through.
For probably the first time since I’d come to Rome, I felt like I was in a movie. The streets looked exotic. The food smelled delicious. I was Audrey Hepburn having an adventure with a handsome man I’d just met.
“So I don’t want this to come across the wrong way,” I said, “But are you stalking me?”
Liam blinked. Then he smiled again. My heart jumped and a sudden heat blossomed very low in my stomach. “No, I’m not.”
“Then how did you find me?”
“Well, it’s not like you’re a spy trying to escape from me. You had me drop you off at the campus. I already knew you were a student of Dr. Aretino’s from our introduction at the fundraiser. All I needed to do was ask a few people where the pretty blonde American girl was and they pointed me right to the lecture hall.”
For a few seconds, my brain went haywire. He thinks I’m pretty! I kept thinking. Schoolgirl giggles attempted to burble up my throat, and it was all I could do to keep myself from melting into a giddy little puddle right there in front of him.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. I’d spent the night with a guy Hollywood would probably love to put in front of a camera. A guy who knew how to kiss. Who knew how to... well, do other things women like, who could (possibly?) cook up a frittata, and who had a smile like that. And now he wanted to spend more time with me.
It was too good to be true. I heard Isabella’s voice joking that he had to be married. And he had to be, right? There was no way a man of this caliber was just walking around single. No way a guy like this could show interest in a Plain Jane from St. Louis despite all the dark-haired Italian hotties wandering around.
“Are you married?” I blurted out. I wanted to gobble the words back down right away. But I wanted to know the answer more.
Liam held out his hands and examined them, showing two bare ring fingers. “Not last I checked. Why? Are you?” One corner of his mouth ticked up in another small smile. I couldn’t tell if he was amused at me or with me.
I couldn’t blame him, if we switched places I’d definitely be wondering about the sanity of the mousy blonde sat across from me. And how to make a quick escape.
I couldn’t let him escape!
“No! Definitely not,” I said, holding up my own hands for proof.
“Why do you ask?” Liam said.
“Well, because you are hot. I mean really smoking. Like habanero pepper hot.” I couldn’t look at him anymore, so my eyes drifted down to the round bistro tabletop. I could see a silhouette of my reflection in it, as well as various white puddles of nondescript light.
Liam chuckled. It was a rich, throaty sound. It suited him, and I liked hearing it. “Habanero pepper hot? I’ve never heard that one. Thanks, I guess. What does my apparent hotness have to do with anything?”
“It’s just that I’m... I’m like mild salsa hot. Maybe medium on a good day.”
Liam sighed. I glanced up long enough to see that those eyebrows of his had knit together again. My heart plummeted into my stomach, which in turn fell down through my feet. This is it, I thought. He saw it now, too. Saw that my lukewarm mild salsa hotness did not compare at all to his.
“You’re wrong,” he said, followed by “Grazie,” when the Giancarlo-clone waiter came and set our drinks (Americanos for both of us) on the table. I barely looked up, worried that the heat in my cheeks had my face glowing cherry red.
“You’re definitely much hotter than mild salsa. You’re beautiful and funny and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since our night together. I want to get to know you, Emma. Now, how about some lunch?”
“So long as it’s not frittata,” I said.
He snorted. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up!” He laughed again. It was an easy laugh. I think that laugh was what really did it for me. Not his looks, his smile, his kisses. It was because his eyes laughed, too. They scrunched up, made him look boyish and innocent. The eyes don’t lie, I remembered.
“How long have you been in Rome?” he asked.
“Two months,” I replied, “I’m here studying abroad for a year.” It was my first semester here. And, if I didn’t bring my grades back up, possibly my last. “Art history,” I volunteered.
“I’ve always loved Rome,” Liam said, “There’s just something about it...” He looked around at the old buildings, the narrow, winding streets, the fountain that burbled down in the middle of the intersection closest to the café. “So much history all in one place. Sometimes I think about it and it overwhelms me. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes!” I said, “If I think about it, it starts to make me feel smaller. But somehow better about myself, more secure. Kind of like looking up at the stars at night.”
“That’s it exactly!” Liam said.
At least, I used to feel that way. Before I came to Rome, before the reason for my coming to Rome, anyway. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. But I did know what he was talking about.
I wondered if he did actually have a real interest in the city, or real knowledge about its history. I wondered if maybe this was some kind of line he ran on girls, trying to sound romantic and mysterious. If it was a line, it worked very well for him.
“So how long have you been in Rome?” I said, tossing his own question back at him.
“Five days, so far.”
“And what are you? Some kind of businessman, I’m guessing. Here for some important meeting for your boss.”
Liam tugged at one rolled up sleeve that had begun falling back down. “Business, yes.”
The waiter came back and Liam ordered antipasto for the both of us.
“Bold,” I said. Something light like that had been what I’d been thinking of ordering.
“I’m good at reading people, remember? I figured out where you’re from, didn't I?. Don’t you think I can also guess what you like to eat?”
Still, I couldn’t let him have all the satisfaction. No matter how cute the dimples he got in his cheeks from smiling like that were. “Well, what if I told you I’m allergic to olives? Wouldn’t that have been good to know before you ordered something that has olives?”
“Oh God, you’re allergic? I’ll get the waiter,” he said, the grin disappearing, replaced with concern.
“Relax!” I said, “I’m not allergic. Not to olives, at least. You were just so smug is all.”