by A. Hargrove
“Miss West, I'd like to see you in my office.”
I gathered my things and left, not waiting for her. With long strides, I chewed up the distance between the lecture hall and my office. I fumbled to unlock the door and barely made it inside before she came waltzing in behind me.
“This is an unexpected surprise,” she said.
“I'm going to request a transfer for you to a different class. Under the circumstances—”
Her mouth cut off the rest of my sentence. She was kissing me and the door to my office was open!
I firmly set her aside, saying, “You must be crazy.” Moving around her, I shut the door. “If anyone had seen that, I could lose my position. Fraternization between the staff and students is strictly forbidden by university policy.”
Her mouth hung open and the urge to take my finger and close it was overpowering. She stood there, full of sexy heat. Plump lips that reminded me of things I didn’t need to think of, not to mention her full, ripe breasts that pushed forward beneath the shirt she wore. It was a damn T-shirt for fuck’s sake, and it still turned me on.
“But, the way you looked at me in class.” She was seriously shocked.
“Yes! At first, I was stunned it was you. I didn't add two and two together when I saw your name on the roster. But make no mistake. I will not take any chances with this position.”
One corner of her mouth tipped up. “That's what he said.” A husky chuckle left her delicious mouth. I wanted to kiss that smart reply right out of her. Instead, I snapped, “Stop it. This isn't a joking matter.”
“Hey, I was only kidding. I don't want you to lose your job either. But seriously, do you really have to request a transfer if I promise to behave? We can be discreet.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I'm not sure I can trust you to do that. You look too mischievous for that.”
“Who, me?” She played innocent now. “Besides, I need this class for my degree and there isn't another.”
“Yes, there is. Professor Wilkins is teaching the same one. I can request for you to be assigned to it.”
She pulled out her phone and asked what day and time it met.
“I'm not sure, but under these circumstances ...”
Her hand flapped through the air and it pissed me off even more. “Yeah, I know. Who do we need to see to find out?”
“Sit.” I pointed to the chair. She was testing my short fuse.
I made a couple of calls and discovered the transfer could be done and told her the day and time. It worked for her schedule so we initiated the change. Then I arranged for her to meet Professor Wilkins. When everything was completed, I said, “You should expect the paperwork to arrive via email later today.”
“Great. Now that we have that taken care of, want to go to dinner tonight?”
My jaw clenched. “Piper, just because you've transferred, doesn't mean we can hang out. There is still the fraternization policy.”
“Why does anyone have to know? Can't we say we're discussing literature and that we're friends?” She stood and walked around to my side of the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Jeez, are you always this hot-tempered?” As soon as she said it, she let out a hearty laugh. “I mean, I don't mind hot, but hot-tempered is something else.”
“As I said, this position is important to me and I can't risk having anything happen to it.”
She picked up a favorite paperweight of mine. My grandmother gave it to me and it was a bunch of purple grapes made of heavy glass. The reason it was special was because we would pick grapes together when I was a small child, right after my mother died.
“This is really cool. I like it.” She held it in the palm of her hand, as though she were weighing it. She reminded me of one of the grape testers at the vineyard.
“So do I, which is why it's on my desk. Now will you please put it down,” I snapped.
She did as I asked. “Why is this position so important to you?” Her gray eyes pierced me. They were amazing—clear and bright, yet they dug deep into my soul. I had a feeling she knew exactly what I was thinking.
“That is none of your business.”
“Sorry. Someone must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed.”
If she only knew.
“I'm not sure what happened to the friendly guy I sat next to on the plane yesterday, but the one I'm talking to now is totally different. I don't know why we can't be friends. I'd like to get to know the plane man from yesterday better. He was fun.”
I huffed. “Fun. I think your idea of friends is vastly different from mine.”
“Come to my place for dinner tonight.” She grabbed a notepad off my desk, scribbled something on it, and handed it to me. It was her phone number and address.
Before I could answer, she'd walked away. I didn't stop her because I was unsure of what to do. Not in a million years would I take a chance of ruining what I had here. She certainly was persistent in what she wanted and that was me. At least she had allowed the transfer. For a minute there, I was worried she wouldn't.
My phone rang and I cringed when I saw who was calling. This was the main reason I'd left Italy, so I ignored the call by silencing my phone. It could go to voicemail, where I'd delete it, just as I had all the others.
A few minutes later, it rang again, only this time it was my father. I answered in Italian, but quickly switched to English when he spoke in that language.
“How was Denver?”
“You have to go there sometime, Papa. It's magnificent.”
“Wonderful. And your first day?”
My thoughts traveled to Piper. “So far, so good. Still getting over jet lag.”
“Yes, I remember when your mother and I would travel back and forth. It was a terrible thing, those time zones.”
“Papa, why did you never remarry?”
His deep chuckle echoed over the phone. “That's an odd question.”
“I suppose it is, but I've never asked you before.”
“The simplest answer is I never found anyone to replace your mother.”
“But you don't have to replace her.”
“I don’t suppose I do, but there will never be another woman like her, Alessandro. That's why. She was the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. And I will never marry for less.”
“Wow. I never knew.”
“Both of your grandparents can explain probably better than I can.”
“Papa, for whatever it's worth, I don't want you to be lonely.”
“Who said anything about being lonely?”
“No one.”
“All right then. Don't worry about me, son. I'm fine. Now enjoy your new job and living in England where you'll probably freeze your ass off this winter.”
He made me laugh, as usual.
“I love you, Papa.”
“I love you too. And everything is fine here. Don't worry about a thing. I'll be there next week. Someone will be very happy to see you.”
After we ended our call, I reflected back on when I was going to marry Chiara. He pleaded with me not to, but did I listen? No. He knew. They always know. Parents are wise, only children never think so.
Chapter Three
Piper
Would he come to dinner? I doubted it. I couldn't figure him out. The man I'd flown next to had morphed into a grumpy ass, or arse as they'd say here. I checked my emails as I headed to the library. My next class wasn't for another hour and a half. That left time to get some studying in before then.
While I was there, the email from Professor Wilkins came. She wanted to meet right before her class tomorrow afternoon at two. That worked out perfectly, so I emailed her back.
When I finished with classes, I stopped at the market to pick up some things for dinner. I decided on a chicken casserole, just in case he came. If he didn't, I'd have enough leftovers for the week.
Turned out I ate alone that night and cried myself to sleep. I was lonely. Lonely for my sisters, lonely for
my little nephews, lonely for my dad and for my mom whom I'd never talk to again. I didn't want to call my dad because he was missing Mom too. My sister had her babies and a new hubby and my other sister was in school to become a cosmetologist. What did she need a weepy older sister bugging her for?
In the morning, I resembled a raccoon that had gotten into a boxing match. I'd fallen asleep with my mascara on and it had ended up under my swollen eyes. Ugh. I was a mess. Maybe a shower would help, except it didn't. My eyes were purple and puffy. I didn't have time to put ice on them so makeup would have to do. I did my best and went to class.
It was a good thing I didn't know many people here or they'd think I was a troublemaker. One volatile professor already thought so. I didn't need any more.
I parked my car, grabbed my backpack and umbrella, and made quick steps to my first class. It was brisk today, with a soft rain coming down. By the time I got into the building, my hair was completely frizzy. I should just keep it in a twisty bun here. The constant drizzle or mist wasn't its friend.
Time dragged today, but I met Professor Wilkins before class. She was very pleasant, maybe in her early fifties, and I got along with her well. She did ask about why I transferred.
My response was, “I met Professor Balotelli under different circumstances and we are acquainted. We both thought it best I should be in a different class since Professor Lithcomb wasn't going to be teaching anymore.”
“I see. That's an excellent reason.”
Then she handed me her syllabus and some other things I didn't receive since I was a late entry. I was brought up to date on assignments and requirements.
“Both classes basically follow the same guidelines, so I think you'll be fine as far as not being behind,” she said.
“That's what Professor Balotelli indicated.”
After class, I had a chance to look everything over and was happy to see I was up-to-date with assignments. She was going to have Alessandro transfer all of my work over so I wouldn't have to send it to her myself. At least I had that going for me.
Later that week, a group from one of my classes was going out on Friday and asked if I wanted to join them. Not having an exactly overbooked social life, I accepted.
There were many pubs around campus, so we met at one of them. We ate and drank and I was finally developing a taste for the local beers. They were much heavier than I was used to, which also meant I would get buzzed faster, so I had to be careful.
I lived too far to walk so I had taken a cab over. It was getting late when I decided to leave. One of the guys offered to take me home, but he was drunker than I was.
I laughed at him. “Um, Peter, do you think you should be driving?”
“Probably not.”
“There is no probably to that. I'm going to hop in a cab. You be careful.” I waved them goodbye and left.
As I was walking to the corner to catch a cab, who else should be there, but Alessandro.
“Piper? What are you doing out here alone?”
“I'm going home.”
“You shouldn't be alone.”
The alcohol made me bold. “I'm not. You're here. Besides, it's not your business what I do, when I do it, or who I do it with.”
He snapped his mouth shut, but then said, “You know what I meant.”
I regretted my sharp words. “It's fine. I'm getting a cab. You can go so we're not seen together. I don't want you to get fired.”
He swore in Italian. “You don't understand.”
My temper flared again. “Of course I don't because you won't explain anything to me.”
Thankfully, a cab pulled up, and I jumped in. Why did it have to be him I had sat next to on the flight back here? And why had I allowed him to touch me like that? My luck with men was going from bad to horrible.
It was a week later when all the pieces fell into place. The weather was gorgeous. It was an unusually bright and clear sunny day so I'd decided to go to a nearby park and sit in the sunshine to read. I'd found an empty bench to occupy and was merrily perched on it, enjoying the lovely day, when laughter disturbed my reading. I glanced up and saw a familiar figure. But then I did a double-take because he wasn't alone. Holding his hand was a young boy of maybe five or six years old. I observed them for quite a while because he had no idea I was there. They ran, the older one, chasing the younger. When he caught up with him, he threw the little guy into the air, and then hugged and kissed his face. It was clear he loved him to the moon and back. The little boy giggled like crazy. Then he set him down and they walked hand in hand. My heart cracked when I saw the adorable picture they made. Alessandro was married and had a family. That was what he hadn’t been telling me and why he’d wanted to avoid me. It wasn't just the job he couldn't afford to lose. It was also the family he had.
Chapter Four
Alessandro
My father arrived with my six-year-old son, Gabriele, and I was never so happy to see anyone in my life. It had been three weeks without him but seemed like a lifetime. I met them at the airport and couldn't wait for them to walk out.
“Papa, I missed you.” Gabriele ran toward me with his tiny arms out.
I picked him up high in the air. “Not as much as I missed you, polpetto.”
He giggled. “I'm not a meatball.”
“Yes, you are. You're my very own polpetto.” Then I tickled and kissed him.
“Papa, where is our house and my school?”
“I’ll show you if you give me some time, goofball.” I messed up his wavy hair.
Then I asked my father, “Was the flight good?”
“It was fine. On time and smooth, for commercial.”
“Good. And everything else?”
“The same.”
He knew what I was asking. “No calls?”
“None.”
“And the nonne and Nonno?” Both of my grandmothers were still living and one grandfather. They all lived with us, but it was fine because our home was large.
“Everyone is fine. They want to know when you're coming to visit.”
I laughed. “Tell them Christmas.”
“They won't like it.”
“I can't take a break before then.”
We collected their bags and I had them wait outside so I could drive around to pick them up. Gabriele was a chatterbox the entire drive home. He was never very quiet but his excitement over seeing me after three long weeks was obvious in his non-stop tales of what went on at home.
“Nonne made me lots of cookies and treats, Papa. They gave me candy too. Can we get candy and gelato?”
“Yes, but after we eat lunch.”
“That's what Nonna said you'd say. We picked grapes a lot and she told me you liked to do that too. Then we'd eat them. More than we should have because I'd get a tummy ache.”
“I imagine so.”
“Nonna said you used to get them too. She said I was zactly like you.”
“Yes, you are. And it's exactly.”
“Yep. That's what I said.”
I chuckled at him.
“Guess what, Papa?”
“What?”
“Francesca kissed me at school on the playground. She told me she'd love me forever.”
I glanced at my father. “They start early these days.”
“Oh, I don't know. You did the same thing to Vittoria when you were his age.”
“I don't remember.”
“Papa, did you have many girlfriends like me?”
“Yes, Gabriele, he did. The girls loved your Papa.”
“Do you have one now?”
“No, I don't.”
“Why not? You should have one like me. One who will love you forever.”
My father said, “You should follow in his footsteps. He knows best.”
“Okay, wise old man.”
By the time we got home, I thought Gabriele would be tired, but he wasn't. He was as energetic as a hummingbird. He dashed from the car straight to the front door.
/> “This is a tiny house, Papa.”
“Not according to the standards here, son.”
“Is my room big?”
“You'll have to be the judge of that.”
I unlocked the heavy wooden door and he pushed his way inside. Papa and I lugged all the baggage inside as the little fellow zipped around, exploring.
“Papa, this is cool. It looks like a cave.”
My father laughed. We were used to bright, cheerful rooms, where this place was on the darker side because of all the dark wood and stone. Not that it wasn't an attractive place, because it was. It had a huge fireplace and aged wood on the walls, but it darkened the interior. I opened the shades and turned on some of the lights. Then I lit a fire.
Gabriele darted back into the living room. “Papa, is it going to be cold here all the time?”
“Afraid so. We'll buy you warmer clothes and a better coat tomorrow. And a raincoat.”
“Will there be snow?” His eyes grew with each word he uttered.
“I certainly hope so.”
“Ohhh. Can we build a snowman tomorrow?”
“Not so quick, polpetto! When you asked about snow, I meant later in the year. Not now.” His expression collapsed. “Listen, if it doesn't snow here, we'll drive to Scotland and find some snow closer to Christmas. How does that sound?”
He brightened up again and clapped his hands. “Yay. Snowman.” Then he darted up the steps. When he got to the top, he yelled, “Nonno, come see my room.”
I glanced at my father. “I need to carry the bags up, so go on. I'll meet you up there.”
There were four huge bags altogether. One was my father's and the others were Gabriele's. My father would be staying for three weeks to help me get my son settled. I'd already found a nanny with the help of another professor. She would be starting on Monday and her name was Louise. My father would help Gabriele become acquainted with her. I was hoping he didn't have difficulty with her accent. He would also be starting school on Monday. I had enrolled him in a private academy. He was bright and I wanted him exposed to a more challenging environment. They would be teaching him French too.