Enemies Abroad(22)

I take the stationery with the embossed N and flip it around.

Lorenzo tells me the store can package and ship my souvenirs for me for a small fee. I pay it, glad to skip a trip to the post office.

“Should we walk some more?” Lorenzo asks as we head outside.

“For a bit, but then I should head back just to make sure everything is okay with the kids. They’ll be on lunch break soon.”

The morning plays out like no date I’ve been on before. Lorenzo isn’t a common love interest so much as an experienced tour guide. As someone who knows so little about history, especially European history, I soak in every word he says like a sponge.

We’re almost back to the school when he insists we stop over at a church. It’s not open to the public yet, but he pays a security guard to let us sneak in for a few minutes before the crowds descend. I know there have to be hundreds of churches in Rome, but when we walk into the dark chapel, I realize immediately why Lorenzo has brought me to this one. I’m struck by the most astounding sculpture. The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa by Bernini, he tells me. One of the most important examples of Baroque art in Rome.

The sculpture actually consists of two figures sculpted in white marble: a woman shown lying on a cloud, and an angel standing above her, holding a golden spear aimed at her heart.

“It depicts Teresa of Avila and her encounter with an angel,” Lorenzo explains. “Bernini captured the exact moment of her religious ecstasy, the second before the angel pierces her heart and leaves her with a great love of God.”

The sculpture is dramatic and lifelike. Saint Teresa’s dress is made of draped silk, intricately carved by Bernini’s masterful hands.

“It’s a little controversial too. Art critics are divided about Teresa’s expression, whether she’s experiencing an intense state of divine joy, or…” Lorenzo clears his throat and wipes a hand across his lips, trying to stifle a smile. I suddenly get it. An orgasm. Teresa very nearly looks like she’s moaning with pleasure. Damn Bernini.

“Some devout Catholics expressed outrage that Bernini would debase such a holy experience by depicting it this way. Others argue that it’s merely a spiritual awakening.”

I study Saint Teresa’s face, trying to look for some hidden clue in the stone, but even then, I can’t make up my mind. “It’s beautiful either way. And I like to think Bernini knew exactly what he was doing. Look at us, talking about his work some three hundred years later.”

It’s hard to extricate my fledgling love for Rome from my fledgling interest in Lorenzo. The city has so much to offer someone who’s willing to look. Around every corner, there’s a piece of history, a public garden, a shop tempting you inside. At the same time, Lorenzo is so good at what he does. He’s clearly led a lot of tours around the city and knows his stuff. I’m inspired by him. Awestruck, really.

After we leave the church, we walk slowly back to the school, and he deposits me just outside the gate with an easygoing smile. He lifts my left hand, delicately clutching it so he can see the gold signet ring I bought off a street vendor a few minutes ago. It’s antique and a little tarnished, but it was too cheap to pass up.

“You enjoyed today?” he asks, dropping my hand and looking up at me.

“Loved it.”

“Good. We’ll do it again.”

I’m not even sure what I’ve agreed to—a date or another tour of the city?

I’m in a good mood as I head into the school. It’s getting close to lunch, so I head straight for the Latin classroom to check in on the students. I round the corner, unable to suppress my cheesy smile, and almost trip when I see Noah leaning against the wall, listening in on the class.





Chapter Eight





Noah’s wearing athletic clothes. Sweat stains the collar of his gray t-shirt. His hair is damp and curled at the ends. Dark brown tendrils as beautiful as Bernini’s sculpture.

He hears me approach and turns slowly to glance back over his shoulder.

His gaze sears.

I wobble on my next step, then recover, annoyed with myself for having any sort of reaction to Noah, let alone one like this.

I have my postcards in hand along with the chocolate bar I couldn’t pass up.

It’s the almond one I knew he’d like. The heat’s melted the edges, but I lift it up and show him.

He doesn’t look the least bit impressed with it or me.

His tone is acerbic when he asks, “How was your date?”

I almost tell him it wasn’t a date, not really, but then why bother? What does it matter if Noah knows the truth?

“It was fine.”

“Planning to leave your post at Lindale to move to Rome for good?”

“Why? Thinking of knocking down our connecting wall so you can take over my classroom?”

“It would be nice.” He acts like he’s mulling it over. “I’ll help you pack.”

“So quick to be rid of me? Who will you annoy when I’m gone?”

He turns and, in doing so, invades my space. “I don’t annoy you.”

The snort I produce is so loud it could wake the dead.

“So what’d you guys do?” he asks.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Stared into each other’s eyes. Played tonsil hockey.”