The Italian

God, Olivia, can you hear yourself right now? Stop being pathetic.

He hasn’t called.

He doesn’t care. Onward and upward.

Enrico Ferrara who?

* * *

I stand at the luggage carousal in Rome and wait for my suitcase. I watch as, one by one, the travelers collect their belongings and make their way out of the airport.

Why is mine taking so long?

Damn it, I knew I should have changed my flight and flew home from Sorrento. It was going to cost me an extra thousand dollars. I need to get on top of my finances, and putting a thousand dollars onto my credit card just because I didn’t want to accidently run into a man seemed so stupid at the time.

Now, not so much.

I find myself keep looking around, scared that I’m going to see him.

I’m embarrassed that I kept calling him. I was sure something must have been wrong for him not to call me. It didn’t occur to me that he just didn’t want to speak to me until I had already called him six times. Then it was too late to take them back.

r />

What a loser I am.

I stare at the rotating carousal. For fuck’s sake, where is my bag? I’m not in the mood for this shit. It’s going around empty now. Have they lost it?

It’s probably on its way to Antarctica or some shit.

Ugg, this is typical.

Another round of bags roll out, and I finally see mine. Oh, thank God. False alarm. I drag it off the carousel, pop the handle up, and make my way outside to the cab rank.

“Excuse me, signore,” a voice says.

I turn toward him. “Yes?”

“Is this your suitcase?” He gestures to my luggage. He has a very strong accent—so strong that I can hardly understand him.

I frown as I look down at it. Don’t tell me I picked up the wrong bag. I quickly check the luggage tag.

Olivia Reynolds

“Yes, this is my bag,” I say.

He exchanges looks with a man. “Come with me, please.”

“What?” I glance up to see that I am surrounded by airport security. There are five of them in total. “Why?”

“Come into the office.” He picks my bag up and begins to wheel it back into the airport. “Hey, what are you doing?” I ask. “I don’t have time. I have to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he tells me.

“What? Why not?”

A strong hand grabs my elbow. “Into the security office… now.”

“W-what’s going on?” I stammer as I look between them. They all remain silent as the man on either side of me pulls me along. “I don’t understand. Do you speak English?” I ask, desperate for answers. We walk past a woman on the help desk. “Excuse me!” I call to her. “Do you speak English? What’s going on here?”