The officers glance at one another.
“The paperwork would be endless,” Ava says.
And that does it. The dreaded P word.
“Va bene, Signorina. You may have him.” The middle officer stands and makes his way to the door behind him, unlocking it and pulling it open. Steven is curled up in the fetal position on a bench, with red-rimmed swollen eyes, looking almost pathetic enough to make me feel bad.
“Let’s go, Steven,” I say, and I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. He scurries out of the cell and makes it to the door when I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Apologize,” I say, as one officer pushes a pile of Steven’s belongings across the counter.
Steven nods and sniffles, grabs his things, then looks up and says he’s sorry to the officers, who tip up their chins in a fuck-off signal.
“Grazie, signori. Tanti grazie,” Ava says, tipping her blonde head forward, and the officers start their choral murmuring again.Niente, bella. Certo. Prego.
I shake my head and wave goodbye to them, then open the door for everyone to hustle the hell out of here before they change their mind. When we are out in the street I turn to Luca and say, “Are you okay to drive your car?”
“Sì. Sì. I did not drink. Only,” he inclines his head toward Steven.
I nod. “Okay. Get him back to the dorm so he can pack.” I turn to Steven, take out my phone, and check the details of what Leo arranged while we drove. “You have a flight home at seven tomorrow morning. A car will gather you at two from the university and take you to Bologna. Your parents have been notified, but I think you owe them a call.”
Steven just stares at me with glassy eyes.
“If you are late or you don’t show up, I will personally drive you back to these officers and hand you over.”
This time he nods his understanding.
“What happens at home will be up to your college,” I tell him. “Now thank Miss Graham for saving your ass.”
Steven turns to her and looks like he’s about to start crying again. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
She waves it off.
“Drive safe, Luca,” I say and take Ava’s hand and pull her toward my car.
We slip inside and I wait until her door closes to turn to her and say, “Proud of yourself?”
“Very,” she says.
I try not to smile, but the smug satisfaction on her face defeats me.
“You are impossible,” I tell her, reaching out to trace the three freckles on her chin. “Impressive but impossible.”
She shuts her eyes and leans into my touch.
“You can’t ask me to remain quiet when I’m more persuasive than you,” she whispers, turning her face so her lips brush my palm
“You don’t think I’m persuasive?” I ask, trailing my fingers below her ear and then winding them in her hair. I lean in so my mouth is a breath away from hers.
“You are persuasive. But I’m more persuasive.”
“What did he steal, anyway?”
She lets out a throaty laugh and smiles wide, opening her eyes.
“A fertility statue.”
My laugh escapes me in a blast.
