Roman Crazy (24 page)

We sat along the table, sipping wine and digging into the food eagerly. Five hours we spent together, and in many ways, we came out of it with new friends. Marcello even signed us up for another class.

We tumbled into bed that night still smelling faintly of rosemary, too stuffed with wonderful food to do anything more exciting than cuddle and whisper into the night.

I
WAFFLED ABOUT ALL MORNING.
There was coffee and frittata at the counter with a copy of
La Repubblica,
an Italian daily newspaper. I couldn't read a lot of it but I was working on that. I moved into the living room to continue tinkering with a sketch I'd started the day before of the Bramante Staircase. It was probably the most difficult landmark I'd worked on while in Italy, but I was hell-bent on getting the shading right. The lights hit the highlight in such a way that the spiral staircase turns into an optical illusion. Another trip to the Vatican Museum might be necessary.

But no matter where I was in the house or what I was doing, one eye was always on the clock, counting each tick until it inched close enough to eleven that I felt justified in throwing on clothes and surprising Marcello at the office.

I breezed inside, carrying two bags of pastries that would make American donuts weep with inferiority.

Of course I had a
cornetto
for me.

“
Ciao, buongiorno
,” I told the secretary, dropping the still-warm bag of goodness on her desk. “Is Marcello free?”

She waved me back before happily digging into the bag.

His office was empty. His jacket was on the back of his chair and his cell was tossed on the seat, but no Marcello. I was about to leave him a note with the bag when I felt his hands circle my waist. His lips touched the skin between my shoulder and my neck, and he bit down slightly.

“I smell
maritozzi
. Is that for me?” he said, nibbling as if I were the pastry.

“Yes.” I gulped, turning around to face him. “I stopped at that little place just up the street that we love. It's all yours.”

“Mmm,
grazie
. Are you staying to share it? I can feed it to you,” he offered, opening the bag and inhaling deeply.

I was quickly becoming addicted to the way he savored food. You'd think living in Rome, growing up with the magnificence that is Italian cuisine, you wouldn't go full food orgasm over everything, but he did. Goddamn was I grateful for it.

“I can stay. Maria said they didn't need me today so I thought I'd visit and then go exploring,” I explained, taking the small piece he offered.

“I wish I could join you. Where are you headed?” he asked, biting down, his eyes rolling back.

My mind went blank as I watched his lips close over the sweet pastry.

“Nowhere specific,” I said, patting my tote. “I have free time on a gorgeous Roman day and figured I'd wander around and stop when inspiration struck.”

I'd been doing it quite often when I had a spare moment. Sometimes I would hop on the Metro or the bus and just get off at a random stop. You saw so much of the city that way. Each individual neighborhood had its own vibe, eclectic restaurants, and its own stamp on history. It was a great way for me to learn the city.

Marcello got my attention with a sticky finger rubbing my bare knee. “I have some news,” he said between bites. He lifted the puff pastry up to my mouth again, rubbing the powdered sugar over my lips. “I wish my office wasn't full of windows.”

He leaned forward, and I felt exactly why he wished for more privacy.

“Tonight, I'm all yours. I'll buy more pastry and you can see where else that powdered sugar can go. Tell me your news.”

He laughed, kissing the stickiness from my knee. “I almost forgot. You have me so distracted.” I licked the sugar from my lips, earning a groan. “You don't play fair, Avery.”

Shaking my head, I sat at the edge of his desk and waited while he pulled up an email on his computer.

The subject read “Como Villa?”

“There's a client we have. I did him a favor—”

“Ooh, favors. What did you do?”

“Nothing like that,” he insisted, pulling up the email and the images of a gorgeous villa. Scratch that. It was a castle on the water that looked like a stone hotel in heaven. “This is the payment for the favor. A weekend. Here.”

“This is Lake Como, right?
The Lake Como?
” I chirped. “Like George Clooney's Lake Como?” I was drooling over the pictures.

He gave me the side-eye. “Clooney does not actually own the lake; you know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah sure. So, a weekend here? How big is your luggage? Will I fit? I'm flexible.”

His hand moved to my thigh, rubbing small circles against it. Higher, then higher still until his fingers danced along the hem of my shorts. “Oh, I know how flexible you are.”

“Now who's not playing fair, Marcello?”

“Touché.”

My eyes went back to the villa photos. It was stunning: light-colored brick, climbing with ivy. Window boxes spilling over with every color flower. Your eyes were drawn to the villa's reflection in the lake. Shimmering like jewels over the water, it practically jumped off the screen.

“Are you interested?”

“Huh?” I asked, shaking my head free of thoughts of us skinny-dipping in the lake. “In what?”

“Spending the weekend there.” He leaned up to give me a kiss. “With me?”

I clenched my thighs together, sealing his hand between them before I jumped off the desk and ran for the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a worried frown.

“Home to pack, hot stuff. We have a Lake Como villa to defile.”

“SO HIT ME.
How are things in Amsterdam?”

“Things are, well,
hairy
would be the best word right now,” Daisy said.

“
Hairy
is never a good word to describe anything.”

“Unless it's a redheaded prince of England.”

“Good point. When are you coming home?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me.

“I love that you're calling it home. That's a good sign.” Her voice snapped me back to the present.

“You know what I meant. When
are
you coming back?”

“As soon as I convince Maarten—”

“Who's Maarten?” I asked, hearing something in her voice that caused a blip on my radar.

“Never mind that. I shouldn't be here too much longer.
About a week or so. And if you're up to no good in my apartment, please sanitize all surfaces.”

“Can you hang on a second?”

“Sure.”

“I have to make a note to pick up some Clorox at—”

“I knew it! I had a feeling you two would eventually get it on,” Daisy said.

“We're talking minutes.”

“Minutes what?”

“We only waited minutes after you left town.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“I will not!” We both laughed, and it felt good. Good to be sharing this with one of my best friends. Being able to talk freely about Marcello and what was going on was new to me.

I told her some. But most I kept just for me.

Like the hunger. And sweat. And push. And pull. And don't you dare stop. And yes, exactly right there. And goddamn, that's good!

I ran my fingers across my bottom lip, thinking about how just last night Marcello had put his mouth on—

“—my box?”

“
What?
” I needed to pay more attention when I was on the phone.

“I had a box shipped from Amsterdam, so keep an eye out for it, okay? In between sessions of hide the cannoli with the Italian stallion.”

“Yes. Box. Sure. Stallion. On it. Anything else?”

“Not unless you want to tell me more.”

“I love it when you sound like Frenchy from
Grease
. We're actually going to Lake Como this weekend. I can't wait!”

“You two are going away together this weekend?”

“Mm-hmm, somebody he did a favor for is giving us their villa for the weekend. It's supposed to be actually right on the literal lake, how cool is that?”

“That's very cool, Avery,” she agreed, but something in her voice had changed a little. “Just be careful. Don't get in too deep, too fast, so you don't get your heart broken. Or break anyone else's.”

“Oh.” I chewed on my lip. “I don't think—I mean, we just started—”

“Exactly,” she gently interrupted. “So you might not be thinking. I'm not saying don't do this, because it's obvious there's something pretty incredible between you two. But just come up for air if you need it, okay? You went from the sorority house right into Daniel's house, and it might be good to just . . . I don't know. Marcello is great, but so are
you
. Remember that, okay?”

I smiled. “I will.”

“Okay, lecture over. Now tell me about the good stuff. Is he as good as you remember? Details woman! I'm stuck in hell right now; I need to know
someone's
getting laid.”

“WHEN WILL WE SEE
the Clooney?”

“Unbelievable.”

“Seriously, when will we see the Clooney?”

“What is that saying? You are like a bone with a dog?”

“Reverse it. So, Clooney. Will he be just walking free through the train station, or will it be more like we'll see him on the lake, driving his speedboat around?”

“I do not think that he—”

“A speedboat. Yeah. And maybe he's got somewhere really fancy to be, so he'll be in a tuxedo—it could happen. And what if
when he gets off the boat, I happen to be right there, and he realizes he doesn't have to go to this shindig alone.”

“You know that I hear you, right?”

“Yeah, it helps when I'm fantasizing to this degree to say it out loud. Dammit, I lost my train of thought.” I looked up at Marcello and blinked. “Where was I?”

“Something about getting off his boat in a tuxedo?”

“Yeah, the tuxedo. And he needs me to accompany him to a fancy dinner tonight. I don't have a thing to wear, of course, but I'll figure it out. And when we get there—”

“When you get there, a tall, dark, handsome man, also wearing a tuxedo, will approach you, slap your Clooney in the face, and take you behind the bar to remind you who brought you to Lake Como in the first place.”

I gasped. “You would slap Clooney?”

“It seems like more of an insult than punching him.”

“Good point.” I gazed out the window of the train, en route to Lake Como. “Change of plans. How about if I see Clooney, I just smile and nod like we both know something but refuse to acknowledge it. More mysterious that way.”

“I think that would best,” Marcello replied, nodding sagely. Slipping his arm around my shoulder, he cuddled me into his side, turning me a bit so we could both look out the window. It was a Thursday afternoon, and we were able to take off work around noon, grabbing the train from Rome to Milan. After a three-hour ride, we changed trains for the last leg to Varenna, the jumping-off point for all things Como.

And Clooney. I was mostly joking, but I'd still be scouting the lake for any signs of him.

The terrain changed several times on our way north from Rome, beginning to take on the mountainous feel being so close
to the Alps. The trees were fuller, the air seemed more crisp, the sky clear blue, and what I was seeing out of the train window could only be described as something right out of a fairy tale.

And speaking of fairy tale, here I was sitting right next to my own Prince Awesome. Going away for a weekend to a luxurious villa on a romantic lake. How did I get so lucky? What is this life I was living?

I grinned, slid impossibly closer to Marcello, and watched the world go by.

THE TRAIN STATION IN MILAN
was enormous, cavernous, glamorous, and a bit overwhelming. The train station in Varenna? Quaint. Small. Sweet. And just the right introduction to the wonder that is Lake Como. If the lake were a pair of men's trousers, then Varenna would be the belt buckle. And like a belt buckle, it was right smack dab in the center of the action. Action, in this case, being a wonderfully sleepy town dotted with grand old villas and twisty turny streets.

“Oh,” I breathed as we stepped off the train and onto the platform. The air was soft, cushiony, and fragrant with just plain clean. Swinging my overnight bag easily over his shoulder, Marcello grabbed his own bag and we took off.

“It is beautiful, yes?”

“Oh my God, yes,” I agreed, my head spinning like an owl to take it all in, not miss a thing. He led me through the station, pausing to consult a map on the wall and compare it to the notes he had on where the villa was located. After quickly conversing with a cabbie, Marcello ushered me into a car and away we went.

From the train, I'd caught a peek or two of the lake, little snatches of deep blue color between mountains and trees. But
now, as we wound farther down toward the water's edge, the lake stretched out in all directions. To say I've never seen anything like it simply didn't do it justice. The water was calm, so calm, rippling here and there maybe behind a boat but otherwise serene. Like glass. Climbing on either side of the water were tree-covered mountains, some rolling a little, others seeming to scrape the sky with their jagged peaks. And everywhere along the lake, incredible homes built right into the hillside, perched imperiously, looking down on the water and anyone who might be approaching. Stone terraces, gardens, each one bigger and grander than the next, spread out like colorful skirts on an imposing bodice, softening the look and making everything seem a bit friendlier, more approachable.