Enemies Abroad

His brows furrow in confusion. “So then how did you two get paired together for this trip?”

“Bad luck.”

He nods, beginning to understand. “Well, tomorrow morning, if you’re free, I was thinking you and I could go out for a walk? Maybe get breakfast? I can show you around the neighborhood.”

“Oh, yes! That would be so helpful.”

“It’s a date,” he says with a confident grin before stepping back to get the group’s attention.

Butterflies dance around in my stomach. I can barely contain my excitement.

Lorenzo is everything I could want in a man, and I know this because I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.

A lot of time.

In high school, boys looked right over me. My big eyes and big lips weren’t in vogue then. I looked like an alien life-form compared to cute little Susie So-and-So.

Cut to college. Everyone who didn’t peak in high school peaks in college; that’s the promise we’re made. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. I lived off campus and had a job at a library with a bunch of older women. My English and poetry classes were filled with a lot of ladies and a few gay men. If I peaked, I didn’t know it.

I did eventually get asked out, and I did eventually date here and there.

Jeff was a serious contender for my heart, or so I thought.

Looking back, I might have just been with him for the perks. He was an engineer (mechanical or electrical, I can’t remember), and the guy could hang a TV, optimize my Wi-Fi range, replace my broken iPhone screen (twice)—no problem. I never had to worry about what weird thing my computer was doing because he could always fix it. And he was nice enough. It wasn’t a bad relationship all in all, but in the end, Jeff said it was too painful to love me and realize that in return, I only ever just liked him. It was true of course. A few times after we broke up, I almost drunk texted him looking for broken printer advice. “You up?” I’d type, followed by “If so, what does it mean by Error: PC load letter?”

Lorenzo has real potential.

Looks-wise, he’s got it all. Personality-wise, check-check. The Italian accent doesn’t hurt, and his knowledge of Rome is an added bonus too. It would only be a fling since I’m headed back to the States in three weeks, but that’s okay. A little romance is better than none at all.

I’m gloating already when I look up to see Noah staring at me.

He has his detective cap on. His eyes are narrowed and assessing.

I ignore him.

We’re at our destination now and we’re supposed to be listening to Lorenzo talk about the Marcus Aurelius Column. I do just that. Oh yes, Doric column. Modeled after Trajan’s Column. Completed in year 193.

“What?” I hiss at Noah, who’s come to stand right beside me, casting me in his shadow.

“Oh nothing…”

“Spit it out.”

“Fine.” He turns to face me, blocking me from view of the rest of the group. “I was wondering if you want to get coffee with me in the morning.”

“Pah.”

“What?”

“You’re hilarious. You got me good. Coffee—yeah, right. Would you have laced my drink with poison? Had the barista double-dose me with four espresso shots so I’d be jittery the rest of the day?”

“I’m being serious.”

For an instant, I think I see an expression on Noah’s face I’ve never seen before: earnestness.

It quite simply takes my breath away.

Spiteful Noah I can handle. Aggressive, cunning, rude Noah? Sure.

But not this.

His brown eyes are puppy-dog sweet.

My eyebrows furrow and I take a step closer, poking my finger into his chest. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I want to have coffee with you.”

His expression doesn’t crack.

Wow. He must have practiced this in front of the mirror earlier.

Or…gulp…he’s being honest.

My heart beats double time. My soft nougaty center cannot handle the possibility that Noah has real human feelings. That deep down, he might be just like the rest of us.

“I can’t tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Lorenzo asked me to get breakfast with him.”

And in that instant, Noah’s eyes spark with achievement.

He’s accomplished his goal and we both know it.

I roll my eyes. “You’re the worst.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “I just wanted to see if you were going to adhere to the ground rules, and clearly, you aren’t.”

“Go to hell.”

He stretches his hand out for me to take. “Gladly, if only you’ll come with me.”

I wish I could strangle him right here and now, just have it out and be done. As the Italian police carted me away, I’d scream that it was worth it, that I’d do it again if I had the chance.

I shove past him and scoot closer to the group so I can listen to the tail end of Lorenzo’s discussion about the Marcus Aurelius Column. He opens it up to a question-and-answer session, and my students don’t let the opportunity pass them by.