Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2)

by Gina Azzi

  “Hey.” I laugh.

  Mia gives a tiny wave, her face lifting slowly to look at Claudia. “I’m Mia.”

  “Claudia, this is my girlfriend, Mia.” I kiss Mia’s cheek affectionately.

  My sister’s mouth drops open in complete surprise. It’s not often I can render her speechless, so I’m quite pleased by her reaction. “Your girlfriend?”

  I nod. Mia blushes.

  “Since when?”

  I shrug as best as I can with Mia’s body glued to my side. “It’s been in the works for a while now.”

  “Seriously?” She laughs, her eyes scanning Mia.

  Mia nods in agreement.

  “Okay then…” Claudia gestures between herself and Mia “…we’ll just have to get ready for tonight’s party together.”

  When Mia doesn’t say anything, I jostle her lightly.

  “Oh,” she says, flustered, “that would be great. Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Claudia. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.” She looks around my bedroom.

  Claudia laughs warmly. “She’s cute,” she says me simply. Then she turns and makes her way to the door. “Well, I’ll see you guys in a little bit then.” She leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Mia closes her eyes and groans. “I hate you.”

  I laugh. “No you don’t. Besides, tonight will be fun.”

  “It better be.”

  I laugh again.

  * * *

  The music is bumping through the speakers with Rocco DJaying in the corner of the room, raised on a platform above the growing crowd. Claudia comes up behind me, slinking an arm around my waist.

  “I can’t believe we pulled this off.” She smiles, her blue eyes, the same shade as mine, twinkling brightly.

  “Yeah, I know. Let’s just hope it works.” I pull her closer into my side, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head in a rare display of affection. As much as I would prefer to keep her out of anything Benito-related, I’m glad she’s here tonight. “You look beautiful, Claud.”

  Her head snaps up sharply, searching my face, trying to read any derision there. But there is none. She looks beautiful. She’s stunning really. Always has been. Not that I ever let her believe it though.

  I squeeze her shoulder. “I mean it, Claudia.”

  She smiles gratefully. “Grazie.” She places her palm against my stomach as she pushes away from me. “I’m going to check on our guests, see if anyone needs anything. Make sure no one is vomiting or drowning in the pool.”

  I laugh. “Good call.”

  I watch her walk away, her petite frame clad in a Herve Leger sky blue dress. Her dark curls fall to the center of her back, brushing her shoulders when she walks. I shake my head as Sandro places himself directly in her path, reaching out to steady her as her step falters in her five inch Louboutins. I roll my eyes as Sandro draws my sister away from the party, into some deep conversation. That fucker.

  “Hey.” Mia’s voice breaks through my thoughts as her slender frame settles next to me.

  “Hi.” I smile down at her. “Having fun?”

  She nods. “Yeah. Your sister is really nice, Lorenzo.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” And I didn’t realize until this moment how much I want Mia to like Claudia and vice-versa. I didn’t think I would care at all if they got along or formed a friendship. Now, it’s important to me.

  Mia nods. “She’s model gorgeous. I mean who has a body like that?” Mia gestures to Claudia.

  “You do,” I tell her simply.

  Mia snorts, her eyes still trained on Claudia.

  I’m about to tell her she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known when Rocco begins to amp up the crowd, dropping a sick beat.

  “Dance with me.” I draw Mia to the center of the floor.

  “What?” She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. I’ve seen you.” I lean down and kiss her lips. “Show these people what you got,” I whisper in her ear.

  She looks up at me, the incredulity in her face fading as excitement blooms in her cheeks. “If you say so.”

  Then she lets go. And she really is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Mia

  I’m floating. Cool air rides up my legs and underneath my dress as I twirl. Damp hair clings to the back of my neck. Rich colors swirl like a kaleidoscope. My toes barely graze the ground as I dance in Lorenzo’s arms. His hands guide me effortlessly. I breathe him in, his cologne, the scent of leather, a hint of mint from his mouthwash as he exhales. My hips sway in rhythm with the beat. Lorenzo’s hands settle on my hips, moving along with me. I turn in his arms, and he pulls me flush against his body. His arms wrap around my stomach, his fingers toying with mine. He settles his chin in the crook of my neck and gently nips my earlobe. I shiver and lay my head back against his shoulder.

  “You look happy,” he whispers.

  “I am happy.” It’s the truth.

  “With me. Or because you’re dancing?” His voice holds a hint of a smile, but there’s truth to his words.

  “Both,” I say simply.

  “Good.”

  He turns me back toward him and his hands come up to hold the sides of my face. “I want you to always be happy.” He lowers his mouth and kisses me softly.

  And once again, I’m floating.

  * * *

  It’s late when Lorenzo’s friends begin to leave. Early actually: 3:00 AM. I collapse into a worn leather armchair and survey the scene. Champagne flutes and crystal highball glasses litter the end tables and the top of the bar. The music has changed radically, playing acoustic covers. Girls doze lazily on the armrests of armchairs, their men sitting comfortably, still lost in conversation, puffing on cigars and finishing their beverages.

  I’ve never been to a house party like this before. The concert with Pete … that was more consistent of the college scene I’m used to. This party was more of an event. Beautiful girls in designer dresses drifted in and out, their eyes sharp, their smiles soft. Handsome guys sporting cufflinks and loafers, their blazers adorned with colorful pocket squares, gathered in groups to talk to each other. They kissed the necks of the beautiful girls and sipped cocktails with assessing eyes and knowing smiles.

  Lorenzo seemed different the entire evening; he was reserved and distant, even though he was the perfect host. He kissed the cheeks of all the beautiful girls and welcomed them to his home. He concocted Negronis and Americanos for the guys and expertly cut their cigars. He chatted with the DJ, Rocco. But the only time the shadow lifted from his eyes and he seemed like himself, his real self, was when he was with me.

  I noticed it with Claudia too. The whole time we were getting ready together late this afternoon, she laughed, talked animatedly with her hands, and pranced in front of the mirror playing dress-up like a young girl. Together we tried on tons of jewelry—she even lent me a pair of earrings and a ring to wear for the party—but tonight among her friends she was sleek and sophisticated with an air of aloofness. Besides her brother, she only seemed like herself when she was talking to her best friend, Marissa or dancing in the arms of Sandro, Lorenzo’s best friend.

  The whole thing was strange, bordering on eerie. As if all these people aren’t really Lorenzo and Claudia’s friends but just people they socialize with because their social spheres overlap.

  I sigh, my eyes starting to close with sleep. Tucking my legs underneath my body, I snuggle deeper into the armchair. My feet ache for the first time in months and it feels delicious, kind of like when your muscles hurt the first day back to the gym after New Year’s Day.

  I watch as Lorenzo and Claudia do the rounds with the remaining clusters of people. They offer guest bedrooms and call taxis. They nod politely and smile on cue. They are the personification of well-mannered, refined, aristocratic Europeans.

  I snort to myself, drawing a sharp look from a guy sitting nearby. I wait until he turns back to his co
nversation and, unsure of what comes over me, I stick my tongue out at the back of his head. I hear laughter ring out and look up quickly, scared I’ve been caught. But when I look into Claudia’s sparkling blue eyes, I crack up. She bends forward, one arm clasped around her stomach, as the two of us laugh and laugh, much to the confusion of everyone present, including Lorenzo.

  Who knew I could ever be the life of an after party?

  Well, kind of.

  * * *

  It’s almost sunrise when I sneak away to the bathroom. It’s my third trip in the past hour, but this time I know I have to do it. I’ve been fighting myself, trying to talk myself out of my decision.

  Lorenzo thinks you’re beautiful.

  But you’re not. You’re disgusting.

  A whole cannoli. You ate a whole cannoli.

  Ew, Mia.

  Don’t do it. He likes you the way you are.

  You’re his girlfriend.

  How long will that last if you look like a heffer?

  He thinks you’re perfect.

  Is that why he won’t sleep with you?

  He didn’t reject you. The timing was off.

  Sure, you keep thinking that.

  I close the bathroom door behind me, my head fuzzy with all the thoughts swirling around. I’m tired and I know why I can’t sleep. The fullness in my stomach literally aches and all I want is to feel the gnawing emptiness, the delicious light-headedness, the purity of being clean. I know the second I do it, I’ll be able to sleep soundly.

  So I pull my hair up and secure it with a hair tie. I kneel in front of the toilet and lift the lid slowly, wincing when it bangs against the back of the toilet, the noise jarring. I place my forehead in my hands and stare at the water in the bowl, glimpses of my reflection flickering in the darkness. Then, I press two fingers of my right hand to the back of my throat and heave.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Lorenzo

  When I wake at night, the house is quiet. I keep my eyes closed, listening for Mia’s soft breathing, her slight snore. But there’s nothing. I reach my hand out slowly, turning onto my side. The space next to me is empty, the sheet and comforter neatly turned back into a triangle. What the fuck? Where is she?

  I slip out of bed noiselessly. Is she okay? Did she get thirsty? Hungry? She didn’t eat much. Is she still angry with me about last night? Does she think I rejected her? I can’t imagine someone upset about not having sex suddenly stonewalling the other person. You don’t get to have sex by withholding it. No, that can’t be it. She seemed happy when we danced together tonight.

  I walk down the hallway, relieved when I hear the water running in one of the guest bathrooms. She must be showering. Maybe she couldn’t sleep?

  I walk back to bed and slip beneath the sheets. Sleep comes quickly.

  * * *

  I’m awakened when Mia’s tiny body slides back into bed, her bare legs grazing mine, her toes cold as they gently press against my calves. I turn to her, half asleep, and pull her close to me, cuddling her to my chest like a puppy. I breathe in deep, expecting to smell her vanilla lotion. My hands run up and down her arms, my fingers playing with the ends of her hair. Strange, her hair is dry. I didn’t hear a blow dryer run. I shake my head at my own thoughts.

  * * *

  Again, she’s gone. I roll over, panic gripping my chest momentarily when I realize I have way too much space in this bed that should be holding two people. I sit up, wiping the sleep from my eyes, the grogginess slowly dissipating. Suddenly, I feel fully alert. What if something happened? Did Benito or someone break into the house? Did someone threaten Mia? Where the hell is she now? I look at my phone. 5:47AM. It’s way too fucking early for someone to be awake right now. I throw the covers back and get up. Making my way down the hallway, I hear a cough, followed by a choking sound. What the fuck? Is she sick? Poor Mia. Why wouldn’t she wake me up? She must have been sick on and off all night, and I had no fucking clue.

  I stalk to the bathroom, throwing open the door without knocking. If she’s sick, I should be holding her hair back, soothing her, comforting her. I step inside flicking on the lights to see what she needs when I freeze.

  Mia is huddled over the toilet. Her hair is piled on the top of her head, dark tendrils falling out softly as she flinches, her head turning sharply, her eyes meeting mine. Shame, guilt, and anger flash across her face.

  But really what has me freezing up, stopping abruptly, my hand lashing out to jerk her away from the toilet is that she was making herself sick. The fingers of her right hand disappearing down her throat, making herself gag, choke, vomit.

  I pull her upright. My entire hand closes around her right wrist as she drops her fingers from her mouth.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I growl.

  “Get out,” she whispers, her eyes wide, scared.

  “Mia, answer me. What the fuck is this?” I gesture wildly with my left hand to indicate the entire bathroom.

  “Please, Lorenzo. Just go.” She looks down at her bare feet, her toenails polished pink.

  “No! Answer me. Do you do this shit?” I shake her wrist in my hand.

  She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look up.

  “Fuck!” I yell, dropping her wrist. My hands automatically curl into fists and before I can stop myself, I slam my right fist through the wall behind the toilet bowl. Pain radiates up my arm, my knuckles come away raw and bloody. Without looking at her, I turn around and leave the bathroom, flipping the light off.

  I stalk to the kitchen.

  And wait.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Mia

  I suck in air so sharply it claws at my raw throat, burning with every inhale, stinging with each exhale. Oh my God. Oh my God. Lorenzo saw me. He saw everything. Disgust rolled off his body, radiated from his pores. His disappointment is so heavy in the air it suffocates me, even after he left, even now. I stare at the hole in the bathroom wall, the place where Lorenzo’s fist went right through the sheetrock. I hang my head in disgust. I suck.

  I rinse my mouth out at the faucet, brushing my teeth with my finger and some toothpaste I find in the medicine cabinet. I walk back to the bedroom as quietly as I can. I hear Lorenzo banging around in the kitchen, probably making espresso. Or a Negroni. I pack my bag as quickly as I can, pulling on an oversized sweater and a pair of boots. Then I slip out the side entrance of the house and make my way quietly to the street.

  The air is cold when it hits my face, each breeze chafes against my skin. I keep my head down, burrowing my chin into the neck of my sweater. I left my coat hanging in the hall closet. Oh well. I’d rather freeze to death then face Lorenzo. I never want to see the disgust, the horror, the pure revulsion cross anyone’s face like that for as long as I live. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them in. Please don’t fall, please don’t fall.

  “Scusa.” A deep voice says as I nearly walk right into an elderly man.

  “Mi dispiace,” I murmur, trying to sidestep him.

  “Non ti preoccupari,” he responds calmly, his hands clutching my shoulders as he tries to steady himself.

  I look up sharply, momentarily stunned as it would appear I’m looking into the face of an older Lorenzo … say, when he’s seventy.

  The man gives a little smile and pats my shoulders in thanks. “Buona giornata,” he rasps, walking around me.

  “Have a good day,” I respond, turning my head to watch him walk down Lorenzo’s street. So strange. I shake my head, clearing it of any thoughts other than the fastest way to reach the train station.

  I need to get back to Rome.

  * * *

  Luckily the train station is only two blocks away. I walk quickly, my head down as I walk directly into the wind. I’m about half a block away when the rain starts, a slight pitter-patter that quickly turns into a downfall of big fat raindrops. Longing washes through me as I imagine Lorenzo and I laughing and running through the rain, jumping in the biggest pu
ddles to splash each other. I walk faster. Now I’m alone, running away again like the coward I am.

  How could he see me like that? How could he ever want me now, knowing how weak I am? Knowing my darkest, dirtiest secret?

  I breathe out in relief when I burst into the train station and see that the next train to Rome is in seven minutes. Thank God! I quickly buy a ticket and escape to the restroom, away from the curious eyes of the ticket sales clerk. Locking the door behind me, I breathe out deep, bracing my arms on the counter and hanging my head as my tears come in a tidal wave of heartbreak. I shake my head in shame and cry until I hear the distant rumble of the train advancing on the tracks. I wipe the back of my hand across my face, check the time on my phone. Two minutes to go. Pain seizes my heart as I notice the missed calls from Lorenzo, his text messages a running thread across my screen.

  Lorenzo: Mia? Where are you???

  Lorenzo: Hello??? Where did you go?

  Lorenzo: Please, just tell me you’re okay! Please.

  Lorenzo: Mia?????

  I turn my phone off and leave the bathroom. Then I slip onto the train just as it enters the station. I walk to the back, huddle down into one of the seats, and close my eyes.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Lorenzo

  I’m grateful that Claudia is still sleeping when the front door opens. The relief I feel nearly chokes me. Thank God. Mia’s back. I can’t believe what I saw in that fucking bathroom. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, anger still coursing through my veins. Why would she hurt herself like that? What am I supposed to do? What’s the right thing to say? More than anything, I just want to feel her in my arms, comfort her, help her through this. But how?

  I’m staring out the window, my arms braced on an old antique table so I don’t see him come in. But then he clears his throat and the relief I momentarily felt evaporates like smoke.

  “Benito,” I say without turning around.

  “Ah, nephew, so good to see you. Why didn’t you invite me to last night’s soiree?” His voice is low and gravelly. He coughs slightly; too many years of hard drinking and constant smoking.