Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story (11 page)

Finally, I slumped back down into the water, telling him it was okay.

He must think I'm crazy
, I knew. What else could he think? One second I was making a joke and laughing, the next and been on the verge of bawling my eyes right out of their sockets.

That was how I knew this wasn't heaven. Things wouldn't hurt like this if I'd died and gone to heaven.

"I'm sorry..." I said, feeling self conscious. I gathered what was left of the foam around me so that I wasn't totally naked anymore.

"Don't be. Tell me what it was. What did I say?"

I glanced at him and saw the concern naked on his face. And that just cut me deeper.
He thinks it's something he said! He thinks it's his fault!

"It's not anything you said. It's me. It's my fault, not yours... God, I must sound so crazy right now."

He reached out and wiped a fleck of bath foam off my cheek. "No, you don't. I know that something is wrong. Something's been wrong for a long time now, hasn't it? Something inside, eating away at you?"

I sat back against that nice slope in the tub, leaning my head back against the lip and covering my eyes with my forearm. The inky black darkness of my eyelids kept me from having to look at Liam.

The cynic in me told he was just being nice until he could get me out of this tub and then out of his life. I ignored that impulse, telling myself that he really was concerned.

Again, I felt the urge to spill everything to him. Everything about how I'd ended up unhappy in Rome. But once again it met that block in my throat before I could actually say the words.

The block seemed to consist mostly of fear. Fear that he might call me stupid or crazy or otherwise invalidate my feelings. There was also that lingering knowledge that despite how well I felt I knew Liam, I really didn't.

Could I trust someone enough who in all practical terms was pretty much a stranger to reveal that part of myself?

All my concerns must have been written across my face. Liam came to a decision.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I said.

"Getting in."

And so he did. Pants and all. He climbed in, the water and remaining suds sloshing against the sides. Some of the waves managed to crest the lip, where they splattered noisily on the step and the floor. Liam ignored it.

Instead he shifted in beside me, wrapping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me close. "Just tell me. You'll feel better."

"You promise?" I said, trying to regain some sense of humor.

"I thought that part was implied," he said through a smile. It was a warm smile, though. Not a hungry, wolfish grin. And the eyes, they don't lie. Right then, his eyes told me that he wasn't lying.

So I swallowed and took a deep breath. Despite the warmth in the water, a chill shivered up and down my spine. When Liam felt that, he held me closer. "It's safe here. You know that, right? It will always be safe with me."

He gave me all the time I needed to gather myself, my hands and feet going pruny. The water never got colder, though. It had to be a heated tub, too.

Even though I didn't feel ready, I launched into a story I'd never told anyone before. I launched into it then because I knew that I'd never feel ready.

"Last November, right after Thanksgiving, my dad got diagnosed with lung cancer. He'd been a roofer all his life, and the doctor said it was probably from handling asbestos. I remember that..."

I remembered everything about that day, actually. I remembered how the maple in our front yard had lost only half its leaves, leaving the top half of the tree covered in rusty shades of orange. I remember how the mail had come late that day, and thinking that was why dad had been upset. He always had little parcels coming from here or there and didn't like it when they ran late.

I remember that my mom had squeezed my hand so hard while we sat on the couch, my dad in the recliner across from us, leaning forward with his hands gripping his knees so that his knuckles were pasty and white.

Liam took the wine glass and handed it to me. I took a nervous swallow. It was good wine, sweet, but not sickly so. Probably expensive. But I couldn't bring myself to try and sort through all the little hints within the wine.

"He was always buying me books and magazines about Rome and Italy. He knew I loved it... At the start, his prognosis was good. But then the chemo stopped working... I remember one morning when I saw him, it was like he was a different person. He used to be big and strong but he could barely sit up. His wrists... they were thinner than mine."

Liam held me close again when a sob wracked me.

I'd gotten this far, I had to finish. Somehow, if I could just finish, I could tell that it would feel better. No matter how much it hurt to get it out, it was better than keeping it bottled in. I could tell that, then.

"It was this past February when we all knew he wasn't going to make it. He chose to stay at home for the end... He did always hate hospitals. One day, about a week before... He wanted to talk to me alone. He told me that he'd been setting aside a little bit of money ever since I was little. It was for a trip to Italy."

Liam nodded slightly, as though seeing a difficult puzzle come together. I didn't tell him how the previous semester at school I'd applied to do a semester abroad in Italy and been accepted. All I had to do was pay the exorbitant tuition and travel fees.

That was when I learned that serendipity could be cruel.

I continued, forcing my way through the rest even though it felt like cold fingers had begun closing around my throat. "He smiled at me, thinking I'd be happy. But I wasn't. I wasn't happy at all. It just felt ridiculous and unfair to me, like I was trading his life for a vacation. It was stupid and irrational, I know. But it was how I felt. Then he made me promise I'd take the money and go to Rome with it. He even called my mom in to hear me make the promise. God, I was so angry.

"He must have seen it in my face. It hurt him. I could see how much it hurt him. He thought I'd be happy, and instead I got angry and left. He didn't know I wanted to come here with him, but now he's gone and it's only me. Don't you see? Does that make any sense?" I said, wondering if I was just babbling, rambling on, sounding crazy.

But Liam didn't let go. He didn't say anything either, he just nodded.

"So I got here a couple months ago. Rome. The place I've wanted to visit since I can remember. And I hate it here. And I hate that I hate it. I'm supposed to enjoy myself, have fun, learn. But I can't, not knowing how I could afford to be here. And that makes it worse! Like a spiral... I don't want to be here. It hurts too much. I just want my dad back. I just want my dad..." Then I couldn't say anything else.

Liam held me close again. I did feel lighter, having that weight taken off me. But there was also worry.
How would Liam take it?

After my dad had died, the two words I'd heard the most were,
"I'm sorry."
Everyone said it. And I hated that, too. I hated their pity and I hated their worthless I'm Sorrys. They just said it because that's what you're supposed to say. Like when someone asks you how you're doing and if you say anything other than "Good" they don't know how to react.

I steeled myself, waiting for Liam to say those two meaningless words.

"It doesn't go away," he said instead, "The hurt never goes away. But you will get used to it, as much as you can. I saw you be happy today. Let yourself be happy. I think if you do, you'll really believe that you didn't trade him for this."

"Just hold me," I said. I know it sounds ridiculous, seeing as I was already sat naked next to him in that tub, but I felt as though I'd just been stripped bare. But that's the only way I can describe it.

I'd shown him what was behind my eyes, and he didn't shrink away or retreat. He held me, just like I asked him to.

T
wo blissful days passed after my confession. It felt like I walked everywhere on a cloud. Food tasted better. Colors were brighter. Despite the age of the city around me, everything felt fresh and new.

Liam had taken me to see the Sistine Chapel, and I'd been so inspired after seeing the Creation of Adam in person that after I got back to my flat I'd completed my essay days ahead of schedule.

Then he'd taken me on a boat cruise of the Tiber river. And then we'd retired back to his hotel. Not only was I truly happy, I was also sore. But I loved it.

I felt fresh and new, too. I did think of my dad a few times, and it hurt still. But in a different way. Like a bone that you know is healing. It was a pain I knew I could bear.

"What is it? Why are you so happy suddenly?" Isabella said. She'd bought a small Mediterranean-style salad from the stall at the food court. I'd gotten one, too.

After buying our food, we'd went and joined Carlotta and Maria at the table in the hall, where they ate their lunches.

Maria shared two courses with me, and we traded notes on occasion. Carlotta was a grad student like Isabella, and was her friend. They liked to come and practice their conversational English with me, and I my Italian with them.

Today it was English day.

Together, the four of us formed a small social circle.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, the heat already rising to my cheeks.

"It is Liam, isn't it?" Isabella said, her lovely eyes taking on a feline cast, "He is the cause of all this joy."

Carlotta and Maria both asked who Liam was, also curious about my shift in personality.

So I pulled out my phone and showed them a picture I'd taken of the two of us sharing a plate of spaghetti at a restaurant he'd taken me to when we'd visited the Forum.

"Oh!" Carlotta said, taking my phone. She and Maria fawned over the photo, talking about how handsome Liam was and how it was no wonder I looked so happy.

They mooned over him so much that jealousy flashed across my mind. "Okay, that's enough. Hand it back."

When I got the phone back, I stuffed it back into my pocket quickly before Isabella could ask to see it. All three of them were quite beautiful, and I have to admit that it would be for the best if I didn't introduce them to Liam.

Not that I didn't trust him. It was them I didn't trust.

"Tell us about Liam," Carlotta said, my jealousy again flashing at the lyrical way his name sounded in her accent. She flicked her glossy black hair back behind her ears, "A man like this, I cannot believe you found one. Usually they are all... what is the idiom? Taken. They are always taken."

Maria leaned in, "Perhaps he is already taken? A handsome man like this, he could have many mistresses." The way she said it made it sound like she wouldn't mind being one of them.

However, when she saw the way I blanched at that she continued, "It is just the way of things here. You shouldn't be upset. It is like being upset that the sun rises in the east instead of the west."

"Maybe," I said, "But Liam isn't Italian. He's American, like me."

Maria shrugged. "Perhaps." The way she said it irritated me so much that I began losing that happy buzz I'd had the past couple of days.

I also decided to hold back on that bit of information about him receiving calls from a woman. They'd surely tell me it was his mistress or girlfriend or wife, no matter if I said I trusted him when he told me she was a colleague. They didn't know Liam like I did.

It bothered me so much that I decided to cut lunch short.

I got up, telling them that I had Dr. Aretino's course next and that I had some studying to do before the lecture that I'd been putting off.

It wasn't exactly a lie. I did have to go to his lecture in a couple of hours. And it was probably a good idea to go over the readings for it again. Really I just wanted to get away from Maria and Carlotta and their accusations.

Soon thereafter I arrived back at my flat, taking the stairs two at a time, eager to get inside. I wondered if maybe I could pull Liam away from his business so he could come over and make me forget about everything that those awful women had said.

Except, when I reached the door I found it wasn't locked. I distinctly remembered locking it before leaving for the campus, too. The deadbolt made a distinct click when it slid into place, and I'd heard it that morning.

I looked at the brass latch for a while, trying to decide what to do, trying to tell myself that I'd actually forgotten to lock it. That someone hadn't broken into my one room flat and made off with my laptop and the essay on it that I had quite stupidly forgotten to back up to my email yet.

So I opened the door, expecting to find my bed tossed, my old desk smashed to splinters, and all my expensive textbooks and my laptop missing.

Instead I found a woman sitting at my desk chair, which she'd turned to face the door.

We took each other in in an instant. She was pretty. Really pretty. Cheekbones to embarrass a cat, incredible, soft eyes and red lips that begged to be kissed.

She was a strawberry blonde, and the tight ponytail she had her long hair pulled back into gave her angular face a sinister and severe cast.

She wore a grey blazer and a matching skirt, one pantyhose-clad leg crossed over the other. She had her hands folded in her lap, and I noticed then that she'd painted her nails the same red shade as her lipstick.

Despite all that, I got the impression that she was probably only a few years older than me. If this was a robbery, she was about as far from my idea of a robber as she could get.

But somehow I knew that this wasn't a robbery. No, this, I could sense, was something much worse than that.

"...Hi?" I said, feeling self-conscious at my lack of makeup that day, the frizzy hair, the comfy pants and shoes I wore.

Her opinion of me showed itself with a slight sniff and a rolling of the eyes. "You're the one?" She spoke clearly, her red lips shaping each syllable with perfect clarity. This was a woman used to no small portion of power.

"The one what?" I replied, even though I also sensed that her question was at least partly rhetorical. The tone she said it in made me feel self conscious once more, and I had the urge to grab my brush and run it through my hair until it was silky smooth and straight.