When in Rome...Break His Heart

by Lena Mae Hill

  Maggie stepped up to the next mirror, where someone had scrawled “GET LAID!” in lipstick with a heart dotting the I in laid.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend at home, though,” she said, checking her makeup. She ran a finger under each eye to fix the smudged eyeliner Kristina had applied earlier. “And wait a minute. You know me from UA? And Weston?”

  “Of course,” Rory said. “You’ve been in a bunch of my classes. We’re both junior anthro majors.”

  “Oh, right,” Maggie said, feeling a little guilty that she’d never talked to Rory. She’d seen her around, too, but she hadn’t even known her name. She was just one of the faces that showed up in her classes but never spoke to her. Usually, she sat with Kristina, and lately, Cynthia or Nick. She hadn’t really been friends with Cynthia until the last semester, when they’d all found out they were going to Rome together. But she’d had lunch with her a few times in the dining hall, studied for tests with her, had her phone number in case she missed class. Rory wasn’t even an acquaintance.

  “I don’t know Weston or anything,” Rory said. “I mean, I’ve never talked to him. I didn’t even know his name until you talked about him. I just see you two together. I’ve always thought y’all were so cute.”

  Maggie started to smile, to get that smug feeling she got when people called them the perfect couple or said how lucky she was to have Weston. But then she remembered she didn’t have Weston anymore. It happened like that every day. She’d feel like the same old Maggie she’d always been, and then she’d remember she wasn’t. It was like waking up and remembering something bad that you’d been happy to forget while sleeping.

  “I miss him,” she admitted. She hadn’t said that before now. It hadn’t been that long since they’d broken up, less than a week, but it felt like years. But she still wanted to talk to him, to tell him about her week. Not just about the museum or the catacombs that they’d seen that week, but about Kristina and Armani…and Enzo. She couldn’t help it. He’d been her best friend and confidant for years, the person she told all the boring details of her day. It didn’t even matter if he was listening or zoning out watching golf. It was cathartic to tell someone, and he was her boyfriend, so it had been his job to hear it.

  “Let’s do something this weekend,” Rory said. “Let’s do the trip to Florence.”

  “Okay,” Maggie said. “That sounds really good.”

  They went back out to dance, and after another hour or so, Enzo pulled her head back and nipped at her ear. “I’m ready to take you home,” he said into her neck. “Let’s ditch these idiots and go have some real fun.”

  Maggie, who had managed to ward off all the shots he’d offered and was feeling slightly better, laughed. “Okay,” she said. “But you have to make me breakfast in the morning. You owe me some real cooking.”

  “I guess you’re worth it,” he said, sliding a hand up the side of her thigh. She swatted it away and made her way out of the crowd. On the way, she spotted Cynthia and told her she was leaving.

  “Good for you,” Cynthia said with a lascivious wink. “Go get you some, girl.”

  Maggie laughed and pulled Enzo away, her face sweating a little more than before. She wouldn’t have told Cynthia, knowing she’d take it that way, if she’d seen Kristina. But then, she was still a little miffed at Kristina for dancing with Enzo like that. And it wasn’t like Cynthia was wrong about what she was doing. She just didn’t want everyone knowing. Enzo wasn’t exactly worth dumping Weston for. But she’d done it, so she might as well get something out of it.

  Enzo was all over her on the tram, trying to put his hands up her skirt and kissing her neck the whole way. “There are people here,” she hissed.

  “So what?” he said. “I don’t care. I’m proud to show off my sexy American girl.”

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “They’re looking. I don’t like PDA.”

  “I like you,” he said, squeezing her knee. “They’re only looking because they wish they had a hot and sexy girl like you to take to bed.”

  “Shhh,” she said. “They’ll hear you.”

  He didn’t seem concerned, and kept it up until they got off at his stop. Not half a block along the street, he pulled her into an alcove on the doorstep of a yellow building and started kissing her, pressing her back to the wall. Her head spun with the smell of him, the way his tongue slid in and out of her mouth. He slid a hand under the hem of her top, up her side, ran his thumb along the edge of her bra.

  “Not here,” she said, breaking the kiss. Her breath was coming fast, and so was his.

  “Why not here?” he asked, pressing his hips against hers until she was aching for more of him. “No one will see.”

  “Then why not just go back to your place?”

  “It’s the risk that’s sexy,” he said, his fingers pulling down the cup of her bra, exploring underneath. Her knees went so weak that she gave in for a second before regaining her senses.

  She twisted away and stepped out into the light again. “Come on, let’s go back to your place,” she said. “It’s not that far.”

  “You know where I live now?”

  “I’ve been to your place, remember?”

  “I don’t believe it. Women can never figure out directions.”

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  “Show me, then,” he said. “Show me my apartment.”

  When they arrived, Maggie pointed to the building. “There.”

  “Damn, she knows directions, too,” he said. “You’re even more than sexy. Also smart.”

  Though she wasn’t drunk anymore, suddenly everything felt as surreal as the last time she’d been there. She marveled, as she followed Enzo upstairs to his apartment, that he really didn’t know her at all. She’d ragged on Kristina for not knowing Armani, but she was no better. Sure, Enzo had figured out that she liked to have things her way—but who didn’t? The last time she’d been there, she’d told him he didn’t know her, but it hadn’t sunk in how very true those words were until now. He didn’t even know that she was smart.

  He knew that she was studying abroad with the others, but for all he knew, she was barely passing her classes. She’d never really considered that people wouldn’t know that she was a smart girl the moment they met her. Most people just seemed to know, as if by instinct. How could a guy she’d slept with not even know that she was smart or cared about her grades?

  Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know that. What if he liked her less for it? She’d never in her life considered that someone might not want her to be smart. But he’d compared her to Kristina on too many occasions, and after seeing him dance with her tonight, Maggie couldn’t help feeling like maybe Kristina was the one he’d wanted all along. Guys always wanted Kristina, but Maggie had never had to worry about that before. Now she did. Now she had to wonder if Enzo wanted someone who didn’t care quite so much about her homework. He wanted someone fun and free. The new Maggie.

  The new Maggie didn’t have to be smart. Maybe she didn’t worry so much about the future. Maybe she just let go and had fun in the present. Maybe she was ditzy and wild, a bit reckless, always on the verge of coming undone. She wore makeup and short skirts and let guys kiss her on the tram. She slept with boys on the first date. And they liked her enough to take her home again.

  Enzo started kissing her as soon as the door shut behind them. Danilo and Flavio were still at the club, so again, they had the place to themselves. Maggie tried to let go, to just go with it, the way Kristina would have. But then she remembered her dorky money belt inside her clothes, the one that Kristina said looked like a fanny pack. That wasn’t sexy. Enzo had missed it the last time, but she knew he’d make fun of her the second he took off her clothes and saw it. As discreetly as possible, she unbuckled it and tugged it from around her waist, out of her skirt.

  After that, she forgot about holding back, and she tried to be the sexy tigress that Enzo wanted, scratching at his shoulders and biting his lip and
chin. Enzo lifted her off her feet, and she let out a little cry, but then she wrapped her legs around him. He staggered to the bedroom and fell onto the bed on top of her.

  Seconds later, he was tugging off her underwear.

  “Wait, a condom,” she said. There really was no way to do that recklessly, to do it and still be fun.

  “Oh, come on, I hate condoms,” Enzo said. “I can’t feel anything.”

  “You felt something last time, didn’t you?”

  “But I want to feel everything,” he said. “Besides, I’m kind of drunk. I don’t know if I can do it with one.”

  “Just try.”

  “Okay,” he said with a sigh, rolling off her. He rifled through the assorted junk on his nightstand, found a box of condoms, tore it open, and dumped the condoms onto all the other junk. He ripped one open with his teeth and rolled it on, then moved over her again. Before she was ready, he’d already started. It took a minute for her to adjust and start feeling good. Even then, it was awkward.

  The first time, she’d been just tipsy enough to gloss over the weirdness of being with someone new. Now that she was sober, she took in everything. His weight on her, the way his belly pressed into hers, and the black hairs on his pale chest and freckled shoulders that didn’t match the light brown on his head or his reddish stubble at all. The moist smell of him that she’d noticed last time, now magnified by the amount of sweating he’d done at the club. The awkward bumping as they tried to get in sync, like when they danced.

  She kept waiting for him to say something about that or anything else, to make some joke about it, probably at her expense. But he stayed eerily silent, his thick lips rolled in like he was concentrating too hard to speak. After a few minutes, she gave up and stopped moving, letting him do all the work. That solved the jarring, but then her mind wandered.

  How was it possible she could want someone so badly, that he could ooze so much sexuality, but the actual act was so unsatisfying? She’d never had this much trouble with Weston. But then, they’d shaped each other. They’d learned each other. Over the past four years, they’d gotten so comfortable with each other that they didn’t have to figure anything out. It was easy. He knew what she liked, and she knew what he liked.

  This was a whole new thing. She had no idea what Enzo liked. And he obviously didn’t know what she liked. Suddenly, he pulled away. She’d been so distracted that she thought he must have finished without her noticing. But then he peeled off the condom and, before she could protest, he was back insider her.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked, slapping at his shoulder.

  “I told you, I can’t feel anything,” he said. “I won’t be able to come with that on after I had so many drinks.” He obviously had no problem without it, though, as he finished in about thirty seconds and flopped onto his back beside her.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” she said, rolling off the bed and onto her feet. “What are you going to do if I’m pregnant, huh? Ever think of that?”

  “You’re on the pill,” he said without even glancing at her.

  She stomped into the bathroom, yanked back the shower curtain, and turned on the water. It was true. She’d been on birth control since before she and Weston slept together. It only made sense to get on it when they were starting to plan for it. But that didn’t mean she wanted any random guy to feel safe not using protection.

  After stripping off her clothes, she slipped behind the curtain and picked up the showerhead. Enzo had gotten condoms since her last visit. He’d had a box of them. Unopened. That set Maggie’s mind at ease a little. He’d bought them for her, because he knew she would make him use one. Because he’d been planning on seeing her again all along, even when he didn’t call. And he hadn’t used one with someone else, which meant he probably wasn’t sleeping with anyone. Still, if he wouldn’t share his past, she had no way of knowing how many girls he’d been with or if he’d been tested.

  She washed herself as thoroughly as possible with loads of soap before returning to his room, ready to give him a piece of her mind. But he was already snoring. For a while, she lay at the edge of the bed, her back to him, trying to sleep. She missed Weston’s arms around her. Snuggling up to Enzo, who lay with his pants still around his knees, was anything but appealing. It wasn’t just the way he smelled, it was the way he slept, the way he looked all sprawled out and exposed.

  Don’t be shallow, she scolded herself. It’s not like you’re a supermodel.

  Still, there was some common decency in rinsing off in the shower, not to mention wearing deodorant. The rush to the bed had eclipsed all of that—the pre-sex shower, the undressing, even the climbing under the covers. It had to be some kind of compliment that he couldn’t wait to ravish her the second they walked in the door. She’d certainly never had anyone that crazy about her before. With Weston, it had started out with such ceremony, and now, it was simple and satisfying. With Enzo…she wasn’t sure. She could never figure him out. Maybe that was the excitement.

  In the morning, she woke to find him already pushing against her. Instead of opening her eyes, she let him ply her drowsy body without reacting. He must have known she was awake, because he proceeded to get a condom and go about his business. After just a couple minutes, he finished and rolled over. So much for his promises to make love to her all night. She didn’t mind when Weston didn’t dawdle, because he always managed to get her off. He was as efficient at sex as everything else.

  When she heard Enzo snoring again, she rolled over and poked him. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be making me breakfast?”

  “Huh?” he said. “Were you serious about that? I thought you were just trying to find a way to come back to my apartment.”

  “No, I meant it,” she said. “You owe me, after last time.”

  “Why do I owe you?” he asked. “You had fun, too.”

  “You never made me dinner,” she said. “And you didn’t even call me all week.”

  “Che palle.” He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. “Spare me the lecture. I’ll make breakfast.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Enzo stomped off to the kitchen while Maggie straightened her clothes, which she’d worn all night. She felt a little groggy from the lack of good sleep, but she dragged herself into the kitchen to wait for breakfast. Her money belt was lying on the table where she’d tossed it the night before, so she opened it to make sure Enzo’s roommates hadn’t stolen anything when they came home. It looked intact. She pulled out her phone and saw the message icon, and for the briefest moment, she was sure it would be Weston, and a rush of guilt washed over her.

  But it was Rory, asking about their plans for Florence. “I guess we’re going to Florence to see the David next weekend,” she said to Enzo, who was making eggs at the stove. “Anything we just have to see?”

  “That sounds like fun,” he said, pouring a cup of coffee for himself and holding up the pot to Maggie. She shook her head. “Want me to come? I wouldn’t mind spending a weekend in a hotel room with you and Kristina.”

  Maggie glared. “You don’t even know if Kristina is going.”

  “Cynthia?”

  “Rory.”

  “Oh, the one you like to dance with,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “I wouldn’t mind her, either. I have an American friend who says the redheads have the fire down below.”

  “That sounds painful.”

  “We can try it out together and see.”

  “It’s more like a girl’s weekend.”

  “What about this weekend? You can give me one weekend, can’t you?”

  He wanted to spend a whole weekend with her. Maggie smiled and curled into her chair at the table as he delivered a plate with two slices of bread topped with two fried eggs. So maybe he needed a little motivation to be a good boyfriend, but he could learn. He’d made her breakfast and asked her to spend the weekend with him. This seemed like a sign, though she spent pretty much every weekend with Weston. Still,
this felt different. Enzo wasn’t like Weston. The last thing she’d expected was for him to want to be with her all weekend. He was full of surprises.

  After they finished eating, Maggie convinced him to go to a couple museums with her. He grumbled that she was like his mother, dragging him to see art, but he was probably doing that for show so she’d think he was macho. She’d already seen the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel, so they decided on the Museum of Modern Art, which Enzo said would be “less boring” than the others.

  After the museum, they went to lunch, and then back to Enzo’s apartment. It was hot out, and by the time they had walked back from the tram stop, Maggie was sweaty and irritable. She’d worn cute sandals to the club, and they had no support whatsoever. After walking around the museum in them for hours, her feet were killing her, and she was still wearing her clothes from the night before, which made her feel grimy.

  When they reached Enzo’s building, Danilo and Flavio were sitting on the steps, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. They looked her over, laughing and giving Enzo a hard time in Italian, while she stood there sweating. Enzo opened a beer and laughed along with them.

  “I’m just going to go in and shower,” Maggie muttered.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Enzo said. “After you get warmed up for me.”

  They all laughed like hyenas.

  “Don’t bother,” Maggie said, stomping past them and through the front door. She climbed the stairs to their apartment and got in the shower. Despite his invitation to spend the weekend, Enzo obviously had a long way to go. She’d have to scold him about laughing at her with the guys. She wasn’t about to be the butt of his jokes or let him treat her that way. She was a respectable girl, the kind a guy would love to take home to meet his mother.

  Except she’d slept with him on the first date. He didn’t even know she was smart. Maybe to him, she didn’t look respectable at all. She looked like that kind of girl, a floozy who hooked up with random guys she barely knew. If he didn’t know even the most basic things about her, well, she wasn’t any better. She didn’t know the first thing about him.