“Let’s go in and look around,” Cynthia said, closing her guidebook. “We could spend a whole day exploring this thing. Look how huge it is!” She and Nick led the way, with the others following.
After spending the rest of the afternoon in the cathedral, they all thought gelato would be a good idea. They got gelato and walked around looking at the Fontana del Castello Sforzesco, with the castle lit up by the setting sun and tourists cooling their feet in the water draping from the fountain. Maggie tried not to think about the nickname, the “wedding cake fountain.” Instead, she eagerly joined Rory, who was snapping pictures like usual. Maggie had only her cell phone camera, but she took Rory’s advice about angle and got some good shots of the warm lighting, of Cynthia and Nick sharing their gelato, and the fountain with the castle reflecting the colors of the sunset.
“Wow, thanks,” she said, returning to the group with Rory. But as soon as they arrived at the fountain, Ned scooted over and patted the spot beside him for Rory, and she squeezed in next to him. And Cynthia had Nick, and Kristina was texting with that goofy smile on her face. Maggie sat down and scrolled through her pictures, posting a few on Instagram before finding one to send to Weston. She waited for him to text her right back, feeling more and more alone when he didn’t, watching a romantic sunset beside a romantic castle in a romantic city without a wedding cake anywhere in her future.
On Monday, the whole group was disrupted by a death in Cynthia’s family. Maggie and Kristina offered to help in any way they could, but Cynthia said she wanted to be alone and left after class.
“I can’t imagine,” Kristina said. “I’m not even close to my parents, and I’d be devastated.”
“I know,” Maggie said. “I’m going to call my mom tonight.” She wasn’t that close with her family, either. Not because they were distant and divorced like Kristina’s, but because they just weren’t the affectionate type. They’d always pushed her and her sisters to get good grades, participate in extracurricular activities and community service, get scholarships to college and choose career paths wisely. They were proud of her and her sisters for their accomplishments and approved of their life choices. That was their focus.
Maggie liked that they always had a plan for everything. Routine had always made her feel safe. She knew exactly what to expect. When they went on family vacations, they emailed everyone in the family the itinerary so no one would be taken by surprise or be caught unprepared. It just made sense. Like she and Weston made sense. She supposed that part of the appeal of Weston was that he fit into her family like he was one of them, like he’d been premade just for her. Though she didn’t believe in destiny, she believed in compatibility, and she and Weston were one hundred percent compatible.
That night, after she called her parents, she called Weston again and told him the news.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, as if it had happened to her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying not to choke up at his concern. “I just wish I could do something for Cynthia.”
“I’m sure that knowing you’re there for her is a comfort.”
“It’s just so…sudden,” she said. “It makes you appreciate how short life can be.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to your family,” Weston said. “You told me her family was rough. You have a great family, Maggie. And you’re going to be alright, too.”
“I know, it’s just…” She trailed off, not sure how to explain the shock of it. Though she’d never met Cynthia’s family, just knowing a friend had lost a family member made her feel strangely stunned. She couldn’t imagine how Cynthia must be feeling. She pulled herself together and wrapped up her conversation with Weston before emailing Cynthia to make sure she was okay and ask if she could do anything to help.
“Do you think she’s going to go home?” Kristina asked that night.
“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I would.”
“It makes me want to be with Armani,” Kristina said. “Is that wrong?”
“No, of course not,” Maggie said. “That’s why people have funerals. To be with their loved ones in a time of grieving.”
“You don’t have to make everything so clinical,” Kristina said. “But yeah, basically. Like you want to do something wild, just to remind yourself you’re still alive.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said, though really, it made her want to hide in her bed and read Wuthering Heights and forget the world, where real death happened.
“I think I’m going to call him,” Kristina said, pocketing her phone and heading for the door. “Why wait for him to call? Grab life by the balls. Otherwise, you’re just waiting to die, too. And you never know when it will happen. One day you’re just living your boring old life and the next day, that’s it. You’re dead.”
“That’s cheerful.”
“I’m serious. There’s no guarantee. Why not go for it now? If you died tomorrow, isn’t there things you’d like to have done but you thought you’d get to do some other time?” She grinned mischievously. “Like have a last hurrah before you get engaged…”
“Like get engaged…”
“You can’t do anything about that now,” Kristina said. “But I can call my hot Italian beau.” She left, her mad smile crashing around on her face.
Maggie pulled out her homework, but she couldn’t concentrate. Kristina was right. She couldn’t do anything about Weston’s proposal, or lack thereof. That’s what drove her crazy. Not only could she not do anything about it, she couldn’t even be sure it was coming. She’d always assumed that he’d do it, but they were running out of time.
If he wasn’t going to marry her, she needed to find someone who was before she wasted the best years of her life with a guy who was just waiting for the real deal to come along so he could dump her. She was tired of waiting. She’d already found the real deal, the one she wanted. What was he waiting for? If life could end so suddenly, anywhere in the world, why wait to do the things they’d wanted, the things they’d planned? Why did they have to wait until school ended, until this, until that? Why not now?
And what if the fact that he wasn’t sure, that he wasn’t ready to propose or get married when she was, meant that he wasn’t the real deal at all?
Chapter Seven
On Wednesday, Kristina invited everyone to come along with her and Armani, who she’d convinced to take her to some of the good tourist spots. Maggie had a list in her planner with all the places she wanted to see over the next six weeks. So far, she hadn’t seen anything but Milan, and they’d already been here a week. It didn’t seem possible that the time had gone so quickly. Already, after only a week, she had that stomach-dropping feeling that she was missing out on something. That feeling had haunted her for years, but it had grown even stronger in the past year. Now it had caught up with her in Rome.
They took the tram to meet Armani downtown. As soon as the doors opened, Kristina went flying out and into his arms. Maggie tried not to look, pushing away that feeling of irritation she got whenever Kristina took her phone calls outside, or rambled on and on about how amazing he was. It wasn’t that Maggie wasn’t happy for her. She just wished Kristina would be practical and use a bit of caution. What was the point of falling in love when she already knew it was doomed? It was like reading Romeo and Juliet, or watching sad movies over and over again. Maggie preferred Jane Austen.
Armani had brought a friend—Enzo the ambush kisser. Maggie quickly turned to Rory and Ned, who had joined them for the outing. “You might have to help me take some good pictures again,” Maggie said. “I’m horrible at taking pictures on my phone at night.” From the corner of her eye, she watched Enzo kissing Kristina’s cheeks and then Cynthia’s. Maggie stopped a few steps back from the little group and continued talking to Rory, barely paying attention to what she said. She forced her eyes not to turn to Enzo while at the same time, she couldn’t stop watching him.
After a minute, they started off down the street, Armani and Krist
ina walking in front, arm in arm. Though Kristina couldn’t make a decision to save her life, somehow, she always seemed to end up leading. There was something magnetic about her relentless cluelessness, baseless optimism, and her constant, careening smile. She seemed always on the verge of tipping over, as if at any moment, her entire life might capsize. People flocked to see it, unable to look away for fear they might miss the moment she tipped. But they ended up drawn into her antics, willing to do anything to keep her from falling, so she stayed in that perpetual state of near disaster.
“Hello, my hot and sexy girl,” Enzo purred, slipping up beside Maggie in her moment of distraction.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “You’re the guy from the club, right? Enco?”
“Enzo,” he said. “And you are Kristina’s cute friend.”
“I think Cynthia is her cute friend.”
“I think you are.”
Maggie busied herself with looking down a side alley and thinking about muggers. She had no idea what to say to this guy. Her face was so hot. Maybe she was coming down with something. She didn’t feel entirely herself. Guys sometimes danced with her at clubs, and once in a while, they flirted or asked for her number, but this guy was so blunt. And he kept staring at her.
“I have a boyfriend,” she reminded him. “I’m practically engaged.”
He grabbed her hand and linked his fingers through hers, holding her hand up. “Why are you not wearing a ring, then?”
She pulled at her hand, her face scorching again. Maybe she was having hot flashes. She might be going through early menopause at the age of twenty-one. It could happen. If she’d imagined it, it was possible. There were all kinds of medical anomalies out there. Weston had even blocked Web MD from her computer so she couldn’t get on it and freak out about random diseases like trichotillomania, which might make her pull out all her hair and eat it.
Enzo kissed her knuckles, his too-full lips lingering on her skin. This time, he let her pull her hand away, though. She wiped it on her jeans and hissed, “Stop it.”
“You have no answer to why you don’t wear a ring.”
“I don’t wear a ring because I’m not engaged,” she said. “But I will be. As soon as I get home.”
“Your boyfriend is very stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I was your boyfriend, I’d never let you go to Rome alone, and I would definitely never let you go without marrying you first.”
Maggie’s heart squeezed at the words. Here was this guy who was completely nuts, who she’d just met, but he made more sense than Weston. This guy knew not to let a girl go to Rome without a ring on her finger. This guy would marry a girl he loved, not keep her hanging on for years without so much as a promise ring.
“What’s the matter, sexy girl?” Enzo asked. “You look so sad, it breaks my heart.”
“Nothing,” she said. “So what about you? Do you have a girlfriend? Any lucky girls waiting for a ring from you?”
He turned to walk backwards on the street, facing her. “Only one,” he said with a smile.
“Stop,” she said, but she couldn’t help the smile forcing its way to her face. “I’m not waiting for a ring from you, silly.”
“Because I will never make you wait,” he said, falling into step beside her again. “You’re very sexy when you’re blushing. It makes me want to fuck you.”
“What?” she squeaked, nearly choking on the word. If she’d thought her face was warm before, now it was an inferno. He must have used the wrong word, English not being his native language. Surely he hadn’t said what she’d thought he said.
“You heard me,” he said, his voice lilting in that Italian cadence, up and down, up and down. “Do you want to?”
“No!” She scowled, aware that she sounded like a scandalized Chinese grandmother in a bad movie. “I most certainly do not.”
“That’s too bad,” he said with a lewd wink. “I would ‘blow your mind.’ Isn’t that what you Americans say?”
They stopped at a street side gelato vendor, behind Armani and Kristina, who still stood arm in arm like lovers out for a stroll in Rome. Not like a girl with a soon-to-be fiancé half a world away and a disgustingly rude guy who had just told her in the middle of the street that he’d like to…have his way with her. Maggie couldn’t even think the word he’d used.
“I’ve offended you,” Enzo said. “I will make it up to you. Let me buy you ice cream.”
“No, thank you,” she said, crossing her arms and gazing across the street at a couple American tourists who looked out of their minds drunk.
“Oh, come,” Enzo said. “I did not mean to be inappropriate. I find you so sexy I can’t help myself. The words, they jump out of my mouth. I can’t control them.”
“I’m never talking to you again,” Maggie said. “And I can buy my own ice cream.”
“I will not let you,” he said. “No woman as beautiful as you buys her own ice cream. It’s not legal here.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “I’ll risk it.”
“It’s a serious crime,” he said. “If you won’t let me buy it, I’ll find someone else who will.” He turned to the drunk tourists and yelled, “Ciao! Will you buy this ravishing woman some ice cream? I have offended her and I fear she will never speak to me again. She won’t even allow me to apologize.”
They looked at him like he was crazy—and so did everyone else on the street.
“Stop it,” Maggie hissed again, her fingers closing around his forearm. She dug her nails in when he turned to a guy walking along by himself and made his plea again.
“Seriously, stop,” she said as the guy approached. “He could be some kind of psycho.”
“Then you’ll let me buy you ice cream?”
“Tell him to away first,” Maggie said, stepping halfway behind Enzo.
Enzo turned to the guy. “She’s forgiven me. Thank you.”
They stepped up to the counter and Maggie said, “Strawberry.”
“Strawberry is flavorless,” Enzo said. “Get something better. I pay, I insist.”
“That’s what I always get,” she protested.
“Then it’s time for a change,” he said. “When you’re in Rome, you don’t do what you always do.”
“What if I like strawberry?”
“How would you know, if you never tried…black cherry chocolate?”
“That’s something Cynthia would get.”
“I think it’s something you’d get,” he said, then turned to the counter and ordered for them both. Maggie was still protesting when he took the two cups from the guy behind the counter. “Now you can thank me,” Enzo said with another wink.
“Thank you.”
“I can think of a better way.”
She held out a hand for the cup. “For ice cream? I don’t think so. I’m not that easy.”
“How easy are you?”
“Not easy at all.” She reached for the cup, but he held it out of her reach.
“How about a kiss?”
“Just give it to me,” she said, swiping for it.
“I’d like to just give it to you,” he said. “Maybe later tonight, you can say that again.”
“You are a complete pig.”
“I like to think I’m more like a horse.”
“Ha. I doubt it.”
“I will be happy to show you.”
She was so hot that she was literally sweating. Her systems were definitely out of whack. Her immune system didn’t know what to do with Italian germs. She’d taken extra vitamins all week, but it must not have worked. It was probably Enzo’s fault, for kissing her. Who knew what diseases his mouth had.
“Fine,” she said, turning towards Kristina and Armani, who stood feeding each other ice cream a few steps away. “Keep the ice cream. I probably wouldn’t like that kind, anyway.”
“No more kisses?”
“There never was a kiss,” she said. “That was an oral ambush. And don’t you dare make a joke abo
ut that word, or I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Then I wouldn’t dare.” He handed her the ice cream with a straight face, but his cheeks were twitching with suppressed laughter. Maggie took a bite, pretending she didn’t notice the way his eyes were licking her like she was licking the ice cream.
“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice low and husky. Every word that came from his thick lips dripped with sensuality.
“It’s fine,” she said with a shrug, still pretending not to look at him. “But I think I’m still a strawberry girl.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” he said. “I think you’re a black cherry chocolate girl. My favorite kind. But if you don’t believe me, I’ll taste you and find out.”
“Don’t talk to me.” She turned and walked ahead just in time to turn the corner and come out at a beautiful building lit up with a huge fountain in front of it, marble figures strewn about, water trickling over their carved bodies.
“Oh,” she breathed, her hand flying to her throat. She forgot all about Enzo and his rudeness, about taking pictures, about the others having their sweethearts with them when hers was so far away. She ran down to the railing and stood watching the water of the famed Trevi Fountain, eating her gelato without tasting it.
“Bernini must have had a muse like you,” Enzo said right behind her. Before she could turn, he rested a hand on the railing on either side of her, his body just brushing hers from behind. His warm breath on the back of her bare neck prickled the fine hairs there, and a shiver wound its way around her body.
“I’m hard,” he whispered.
Goosebumps exploded across her skin even as it burned.
“Get away from me,” she said, turning and pushing her empty cup into his hand. She shoved past him to stand by herself again, clutching Weston’s locket. What was happening to her? She hated guys like Enzo—not that she knew any, but if she did, she’d hate them. He was disgusting and vulgar. And yet, she shivered again just thinking about his whisper against the back of her neck.
When in Rome...Break His Heart Page 4