Enemies Abroad(59)

He gives me an extra orange I don’t ask for and then a banana too. I give him a few hearty thank-yous once he passes me my tray laden with so much food I’m worried I’ll drop it. I beeline straight for Noah with an aggressive stride. I only slow down when I’m about to reach him, realizing I should probably tone it down just a hair.

I’m a total cool girl as I gently set my tray down and take the seat across from him. Noah looks up and my expression says, Oh, you were sitting here? I didn’t even realize.

“Morning,” he says with a private little smile.

Dammit. I think he saw me running back there.

“Hi.”

His gaze falls to my plate. His expression is one of concern.

“That’s…quite a lot of syrup you’ve got there. It’s dribbling over the sides.”

“Yeah. I think the cook has a crush on me.” No matter that the cook in question is approaching his seventies.

Noah pretends to look crestfallen. “Damn. Stiff competition.”

It feels so good to laugh without having to suppress it.

And he must feel the same way because he’s looking at me with sheer wonder.

“I like hearing you laugh.”

“Well you’re in luck—you’re a funny guy. It’s the thing that attracts me to you the most.”

His eyebrow quirks in a cocky little gesture.

I look down at my food.

“You’re funny too.”

We might as well be confessing we love each other with how insanely serious this feels.

“So do you have a plan for Saturday?”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin then leans back. “Oh yeah. I have it completely mapped out.”

“Do tell.”

“I rented a moped with a sidecar attached. You’ll drive and I’ll ride shotgun, obviously. Dinner will be romantic. Candles. Ten courses. A man will stand beside our table—intimately close—and sing in Italian operetta the entire time. If you try to get up to go to the bathroom, he’ll follow you.”

“Sounds chaotic. I’m down.”

“Morning!” Ashley says, taking the seat beside me. “What’s the occasion? I don’t think I’ve ever seen the two of you willingly sitting at a table alone together. And smiling no less? Did they spike the syrup or something? Is that why you have so much of it, Audrey?”

“Us? We’re just two friends enjoying a friendly meal. Isn’t that right, Noah?”

“Oh sure. Friends.”

“Well I’m happy you guys are smiling now because word on the street is we’re headed to the Vatican today and tomorrow. Eight-hour tours, both days. We’re getting split up into two groups.”

Say it ain’t so!

If I were about to embark on a guided tour of the Vatican on my own, leisurely taking my time as I enjoyed all of Michelangelo’s creations, I have no doubt I would love every single second of it. I’d be awestruck and inspired. I’d quit my post at Lindale to pursue my rightful calling as a woman of the arts. I’d convert to Catholicism. I’d buy a mug with the pope’s face on it.

But this is not your grandma’s Italian holiday. This is boot camp. We’re split up in groups all right, and guess who ends up with Noah? Not me. Lorenzo says he wants there to be more mixing and mingling between the schools so the students get to know each other better, “to see how the other half lives”, and does that mean we’re the poor ones? So he sets up the groups to be a 50-50 split. I’m assigned to Group A with Ashley, and Noah is assigned to Group B with Lorenzo and Gabriella.

By Friday afternoon, we’re dead on our feet.

Nothing could have prepared us for the sheer number of people that flock to the Vatican during the summer season. And wouldn’t you know it? Thursday and Friday are the hottest days of the year in Rome so far! What luck!

And yes, while the Vatican was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before—art and architecture on a scale that’s hard to comprehend even when it’s staring you in the face—it’s not like I could truly step back and appreciate it all. I was too scared one of my students was going to somehow irrevocably tarnish ancient history. Oops, I spilled my Gatorade on this PRICELESS FRESCO.

I was on edge the whole time.

Friday evening, after I make sure the kids are settled for the night, I take a ridiculously long shower, wash my hair, and soap off all the sweat. Wanting to treat myself, I put on my best pair of pajamas, the shorts and tank top someone gifted to Kristen at her bridal shower that didn’t fit her so she passed them on to me. They’re decadent and expensive. 100% silk. I let my hair out of my towel and lather up my skin with moisturizer to try to combat the sun I’ve been getting since we arrived in Rome.

Out in the hall, I peer under Noah’s door, but the light’s off. He’s gone off somewhere without me. Oh well.

I go into my room and plop down on my bed. I swear to god, there’s never been a better feeling. Never.

I’m reading there for half an hour or so before Noah lets himself in and closes the door behind him.

He’s freshly showered too. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that make me want to bite down on my bottom lip and a white t-shirt that stretches over his muscles. He shouldn’t look as hot as he does. It’s criminal.

I drop my book onto my lap. “So comfortable with each other we’re not even knocking now? I could have been naked.”