“I actually didn’t come in here to fight, dolcezza. I really just came in here to help grade,” he admits, stepping away.
My muscles relax—a snake finally uncoiling after a threat. I watch him run his hand along my perfectly tucked sheets and my abdomen tightens. The sight of his fingers on the thin white cotton. Threat! Threat! What is wrong with my libido tonight?
“With what happened the other night—” He lifts his brows and looks me over. “Just let me grade with you. I swear we don’t have to talk. You’d be saving me from the wrath of Zia. If she finds you in here grading when they get back from date night—” He gives a fake shudder, lifting the stack of papers off the ground and splitting them into two piles.
I look down at the two stacks, each pile still too thick for my liking, then back up at his lifted brow. I don’t want to accept his help. It feels like admitting defeat, and I should send him back into hiding.
But instead I let out a long breath that almost blows the top paper from the pile on the right. I take the smaller stack and try not to smile when he laughs at my choice, then I sit at my desk with my back to him and attempt to settle in. But the truth is, there is no settling when James is around. My body does the opposite of settle. It perks up, wiry and alert and on edge. Even in class, I’ve been hyperaware of every move he makes. Every passionate explanation of Urbino’s art. Every angry look he sends my way. It’s maddening. And I need it to go away.
I pretend to focus on this student’s experience at the botanical gardens. But focus is a pipe dream. The scratch and scrape of his pen on paper. The pensive sounds he makes from the back of his throat. The swoosh of every page turned makes me more aware that he’s here, sharing this tiny space with me, tasting the same air as Iam, smelling the same scent of lavender from the open curtain of my glorious shower.
I force myself to reread the paragraph about the composition of the three-tiered landscape. But the words just flit and float over where they need to reach. Because my entire body is humming, like a swarm of monarchs flapping their wings all at once, trying to keep warm.
Maybe I’m just lonely. That’s all this is. Or maybe I do have oats. Obviously, the man is attractive. I’m attracted to him. Ugh. I hate that I’m admitting that—even if it’s just to myself. But it’s not like it means anything. It’s all chemicals. It’s just science.
Or maybe it’s a bit of culture shock coupled with some loneliness. Nothing to write home about on my postcard. My plan is just buried under Italy’s mayhem and madness right now. I’ll dig through the shitheap and dust off the plan when it’s time to go home. Get right down to it. Back in the game.
James lets out a low chuckle at something he’s read. I cross my legs tighter and force myself to work.
VENTI
Ava
I wake up with a note taped to my face.
Kindly, the taper of the note avoided my eyebrow and I lose only a few ungainly chin hairs in the process of ripping it off. The handwriting is a work of art, a study in calligraphy—it’s the same perfectly crafted cursive from the MacBook note. And when I see his signature swirling beneath the dips and loops of the word “Fondly,” I find my fingers tracing the word like a child learning to write for the first time. Who makes F’s like that?
Fondly. I snort. Since when?
I type it into the address line on his MacBook, ignoring the annoying picture of Ethan and his temptress (unfair I know, she could be a perfectly lovely woman) that I’ve tortured myself with since Tuesday. Fondly. Adverb. 1. With affection or liking. Hmmm. Really? James hasn’t really been tossing the affection and likingaround the court. He did help me grade last night, though, but that was more out of guilt or fear of Nina.
Second definition. With foolishly optimistic hope or belief. Oooh. I like that one. What is that fool hoping for optimistically?
My lower back sends a piercing pain up into my shoulder blade and I realize what the note had distracted me from at first. I’ve fallen asleep at my desk. While grading. Papers with James. My eyes go to the empty space where those papers once were, and I turn, half believing that he might still be there on my floor, hair still damp, eyes intent on students’ work. Or me.
But he’s gone. Hence the note that dangles between my fingers. I hold it back under the desk lamp.
Ava,
Please don’t forget that tomorrow is a “field day” for the students. I’ve arranged a tour of the Palazzo Ducale for them, but I’d like it if you did NOT attend. I’ll be out of town at a shoot until Saturday, but I’d like to take you to the palace myself …
I let out a breath that I’d been holding. Do I always hold my breath when reading? Weird. A shoot? What kind of shoot? Is James a Calvin Klein model? Also, has a man ever asked me to go to a palace alone with him? Aladdin did once in a dream I had, but I suppose that doesn’t count.
Before you let that overactive brain off the leash and start telling me you have a boyfriend again, I’d like to show you the art and architecture myself so that you cantranscribe and synopsize my lectures next week so that the students can have them for the final exam. I am not trying to impress you with a palace I do not own. This is not a date …
Asshole. Like I’d say yes if it was a date. Aladdin is hotter than you anyway. I realize I’m speaking out loud when the words drift out the still open door of the guest house and mingle with the crickets’ chirps before fading into the darkness. What time is it anyway? The MacBook tells me it’s one somethingAM.
I stand from the desk and stretch, the note still held between my fingers, then plop into my new favorite place without bothering to change. All clothes worn after midnight become pajamas.
There’s an illustration beneath the last paragraph. A makeshift map of the Piazza della Repubblica with two stars hovering over buildings that live on opposite sides of the rectangle, labeled Café Aldo and Macelleria Uvaldi.
The stars are two buildings that I know house your mother’s work. Aldo, owner of the café and old friend of Leo, knew her. You could have a coffee there, then head to Uvaldi’s for a quick visit …
Look at this man planning my day for me. I’m definitely gonna start at Uvaldi’s.
Or start at Uvaldi’s. Whatever you want. I know your eyebrows are in your hair right now because you hate being told what to do. And your jaw is locked …
I rub my jaw so it relaxes then lower my brows.
