Enemies Abroad(18)

We all survive the first night in Rome, no thanks to Noah.

Apparently, the security guard did a few rounds to ensure the kids were all where they were supposed to be. There were no reports of mischief, which Noah gloats about in the dining hall the next morning. I take my muffin and coffee as far from him as possible and stake out a table all to myself.

Lorenzo walks into the dining hall and makes a beeline for me, and I immediately pretend I wasn’t reading a Bravolebrity gossip blog, quickly Googling “BBC World News” and angling my phone screen toward him so he’ll be thoroughly impressed.

“I thought I was taking you to coffee this morning,” he says when he reaches me.

He has a sweet look of dejection on his face that breaks my heart in two.

“You are!” I assure him before pointing to my muffin. “This…this is just first breakfast. I’m like Bilbo. I like to have breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses…”

He laughs halfheartedly, and I know he has no idea what I’m referring to.

Right, well… I awkwardly pick at my muffin.

“Listen, I have a few things I need to see to this morning, and I know you need to check in with your students and make sure they get to their class.” He checks his watch. “Want to meet me in the courtyard in an hour?”

“Okay, sure. Yes.”

He walks away and my gaze flits compulsively to Noah. It’s not that I want him to know Lorenzo was talking to me. It’s just…

Wait. Why is Gabriella at his table, leaning over to talk to him like that? His face is level with her chest. He’s liable to get poked in the eye by a nipple. Oh and now he’s laughing. Well isn’t that nice. What could possibly be so funny, Noah? Let’s hear it!

I stand and decide to take my coffee and muffin to-go. Though I’m mere steps from an exit, I decide I’d like to go a different way for no reason. I skirt around the tables until my path takes me right behind Gabriella.

“So anyway…if you’re down, we could totally check it out. You and me—”

That’s what I hear her say, and though I reduce my pace to an abnormally slow crawl—like somewhere a panel of snails is giving me perfect 10s—I can only do so much before I’m out of earshot again. I don’t catch Noah’s reply.

Well, well, well.

I think they do something different with coffee here in Italy because when I make it back to my room, I’m at level 11 out of 10. I feel like I could tear a textbook right down the middle with my bare hands. I air out my shirt and pace like a tiger. I drop my half-eaten, mostly crushed muffin into the trash and continue pacing.

So is Gabriella his type? Interesting. Okay. So he likes them beautiful. Wow. Groundbreaking, Noah. You are so UNIQUE. Not like the other boys!

I tug off my perfectly good dress and don another. This one is red, bright, short. I pick up a tube of lipstick and apply it with precision, checking my reflection in the natural light from my window. I look nothing like Gabriella. My eyes fill half my face. My features aren’t demure and subtle like hers. They scream at you to take notice. To that point, nothing about me is meek and small. My personality is like a gas, filling any room I’m placed in.

I don’t know why I care about Noah’s type all of a sudden.

It’s the coffee, I remind myself.

They make it stronger here.

And I’m jet-lagged.

Sleep didn’t come easy last night and Jesus, where are they even going to go together?

I need to clear my head. I spend ten minutes getting my room perfectly in order. My bed is made to Waldorf Astoria standards. My panties are neatly folded in my dresser drawers. My shoes are lined up from most to least comfortable. I check my email and get my inbox back down to a gold-star zero. I consult my itinerary for the day and feel my life slip back into place. Everything is neat now, including my emotions.

It’s time to go check on the students and walk them to class. I won’t do this every day, but I want to make sure they know where they’re headed, and I want to confirm they make it to the classroom on time.

Outside my door, Noah’s waiting for me.

He looks up as I step out of my room and his eyes pinball over every inch of me, taking in my dress, my lipstick, my bare legs.

I know he won’t keep his lips zipped.

“A little much for a Monday, no?”

Ah, there it is.

“When in Rome…”

I carefully lock up my room and drop my key in my crossbody purse. I skipped the moneybag today so it wouldn’t clash with my outfit. I’m trying to look my best for Lorenzo.

“You forgot your pants.”

“Ha ha ha. Noah, you’re so funny. I don’t tell you that enough. You’re such a funny guy.”

His eyebrows furrow into one disapproving line.

“So you’re going through with this?”

I act like I haven’t the faintest clue what he’s referring to. I start to walk down the hall and he follows after me, a beat behind. I don’t need eyes on the back of my head to know his attention is on my legs. They’re great legs. Distracting legs. Eat your heart out legs.

“Lorenzo is a little old for you,” he says from behind me. Apparently, he’s in no hurry to catch up.

“I happen to prefer older men,” I toss back. “They’re so mature. They know what they want. They have…experience.”