Roman Encounter

by Lily Zante

  “You’re so sure of yourself, Christian. You remind me of someone I know.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  “The guy you remind me of, annoys me to no end.” Her features hardened and her anger surprised him.

  “Someone at work?” He attempted a guess. This subtle push and pull they had, like two magnets attracting and repelling, baffled him. It wasn’t as if he was asking her to go on a date with him—she wasn’t his type—but she was busting his balls anyway and she seemed to be doing it effortlessly.

  “Yes, at work.”

  “Is that why you resigned?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You let someone get to you enough to make you resign?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Then tell me the half of it,” he urged. A conversation with her was like a game of pass-the-parcel; each layer of paper uncovered revealing something new, but he was trying to get to the core of her, to understand her, only, she was so closed off, so reluctant to share anything of herself, that it was impossible.

  She shot him a get-lost-and-leave-me-alone stare.

  “How about one final tour of the city from someone who knows it well?” He waited for her reaction. She didn't accept straightaway and instead went through the pretense of thinking about it, when really, what better offer did she have?

  Didn't she realize how lucky she was that he wanted to take her around Rome? She had no idea how many other women would have given their all just for the privilege he was now extending to her.

  “I’ve got the test tomorrow.”

  “You’ll do fine.” He refused to accept that bullshit excuse.

  She frowned again causing a cluster of fine lines to fan out on her forehead.

  “Come on, Gina. Don’t let me feel shitty about this.”

  “You feel bad?”

  “Of course I feel bad and it seems to me as if you’re enjoying it.”

  She tried not to smile, and then seemed to hesitate, as if it were a real dilemma for her to decide how to best spend her last evening in Rome—with those boring-as-hell project managers, or him. How much time did she need to think about it?

  “What do you say?” He’d never noticed her brown eyes before, or the flecks of hazel in them. Or that she barely wore make-up, yet her skin glowed, and was luminous. She was all natural, earthy. Different. There wasn’t an air of grooming about her and even her eyebrows were unplucked. She was down-to-earth, wholesome, goodness and he wished she would stop wasting time with her feeble excuses. He wanted to take her out to dinner and he wanted her to say yes.

  “I’m not asking you to go out on a date with me,” he said, cheekily.

  “A date?” she laughed, coquettishly. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She pinned him with her gaze and her words rebounded around his ears. She could take him down without laying a finger on him.

  It made a change, and one that intrigued him further. He was so used to women fawning over him, laughing at every joke he made, and flirting shamelessly, that mindless conversation pumped to the hilt with innuendo was often the norm. Gina offered something else, and he wanted more of it.

  “Look,” he said, refusing to give in. “Just give me an hour of your time. No more.”

  She went quiet, as if thinking about it. “An hour?”

  He half expected her to come out with a timer. It wouldn’t surprise him if she did.

  “Let me show you the best ice-cream in Rome, and let me show you Trastavere, my district, and then you can go and meet your friends.”

  She exhaled loudly.

  “Is that a yes?” Because he couldn’t tell.

  “Yes.”

  Holy mother of god. The woman had given him a ‘yes’.

  Chapter 16

  She was in the washroom, putting on eyeliner followed by a hint of mascara. Then she dabbed a little powder on her face to mop up the shininess and ran a brush through her hair.

  This would do.

  It wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. This was Christian being persistent because he felt he owed her something in return for her help. One hour. She could give him an hour of her time, if it made him feel better.

  But she needed to look over her notes tonight so instead of joining her friends later, after her visit to Trastavere, she would return to her hotel room. The test still made her nervous which was odd because ordinarily she would have been more relaxed about it. These things didn’t usually faze her but, ever since Demetrio had joined, she felt unsure—even when she should have known better—about her ability. He always seemed to take great pleasure in reminding her that she didn’t have a college degree and he did.

  Christian was finishing up in the training room, and she was ready, but her nerves were starting to go haywire, as if they had a mind of their own. It was happening again, her stomach churning and her knees trembling. She was always in control, even when things were falling apart around her, she prided herself on it, except for when Christian Russo was near her. Then, the control and composure she always relied on, seemed to go to pieces.

  It wasn’t a date.

  She was getting fidgety while she waited. Life without a cell phone was impossible, and she had fidgety fingers as she sat in the reception area waiting for Christian. If she’d had her cell phone on her, she would have checked her emails, messaged Ines at work, and called her mother. She asked the receptionist if she could use the landline and called her mother.

  “I’m back tomorrow evening, Mama.”

  “I have a check-up at the hospital next week.”

  “I’ll take care of it when I get back.”

  “Did you put in for the day off?”

  “I don’t need to take the day off.” At this rate, she wouldn’t have any leave left. She was used to leaving work for a few hours to take her mother to the doctor’s or for her hospital check-ups, but she always made up her hours, even though in theory she didn’t need to because she worked long hours anyway. “Don’t worry about it, Mama. I have to go.”

  “Go where? It’s the end of the day.”

  “I know, but I’m going out.” She saw Christian walking towards her, wearing a half-smile.

  “Ciao.” She hung up quickly.

  “Ready?” She detected the faintest aroma of something minty when he came up to her.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked, as they strolled along a narrow alleyway. The busy street bustled with people swarming like worker bees, and wearing their end-of-work-day faces.

  “Weren’t we going to Trastavere?”

  “Yes, but it occurred to me that that was my idea and that you might want to see some other parts of Rome.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “This is your last evening, you should pick where you want to go and what you want to do. I live here and I can see it whenever I want. I have seen it all.”

  “I really don’t mind.”

  “Where were your friends going?”

  “A few of them wanted to visit the Colosseum.”

  “You’ve already seen it. What else did you want to see?”

  “I don’t mind where we go.”

  He made a noise as if he was mildly annoyed. “Do you always try to please everyone else?”

  She stopped in her tracks and snorted. “I’m not trying to please you!” He was more full of himself than she thought. “The Spanish Steps,” she said. “Let’s go and sit near the steps.” She had enjoyed sitting around the Trevi Fountain the other night, soaking up the atmosphere, and she thought it would be ideal to do that now. On her own with him, it sometimes got a little too intense—only in her head, she was sure. She doubted that he felt that way at all. Sitting in a place as crowded as the Spanish Steps would be better than a dinner for two.

  “The Scalina Spagna it is. At least we have a decision.” His voice carried a heavy hint of sarcasm.

  She glared at him. “I’m a decisive person.”r />
  “Decisive, yes, and accommodating. Too accommodating, for your own good sometimes, I think. This way.” He took off, and she followed, deciding not to question what he meant. He wasn’t wrong.

  They walked along the Piazza di Spagna, past the various shops and she caught sight of another gelataria. She had been dreaming about ice-cream ever since her last encounter and suggested they go in and buy some.

  “Good idea,” he agreed. “I think we’ll have to forget going to Trastavere. Your one hour is going to be over soon.”

  “One hour?”

  “Before you go and meet your friends.”

  “Oh,” she said, dismissing the idea with a shake of her head. “I’ve decided not to hook up with them. I don’t want to get back too late tonight, but I think we can go to Trastavere. One of the other students said it was a lovely place.”

  “If that’s what you want. Do you want to get ice-cream here or there?”

  “Here and there.” The question was a no-brainer.

  So they bought some ice-cream and walked to the base of the steps. “Beautiful,” she murmured, staring up at the 138 steps dotted with people sitting on and around them in haphazard fashion. They walked up a few steps and sat down.

  “So,” she said. “You have an interview.”

  “I sure do.” He placed his briefcase down in the space between them.

  “That was fast.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He looked happy. “I feel good about this. It’s not a bad option, but if I could move to another firm, it’s the best chance I have of earning more money and starting over.”

  She turned to him in surprise, because he sounded as if he already had that job, and he hadn’t even had an interview. “Have you been earmarked for it?”

  “No, but I expect to at least get shortlisted for it.”

  “You’re so confident.”

  “If you don’t believe in yourself, how will anyone else?”

  There was a nugget of truth in that, but she didn’t buy into that philosophy. She worked as hard as she could and it was other people, Nico, but mostly the hotel guests, who always complimented her, telling her she’d done a great job. She relied on the feedback from others to tell her how she was doing. Maybe Christian did, too. Maybe it was just in her head, this belief that he was arrogant and full of himself. Maybe he had that kind of persona that led one to believe that of him. First impressions could be misleading in that way.

  “I know the software better than most people,” continued Christian. “I’ve been out at presentations when the salesmen have needed a technical person with them because they were too stupid to answer the questions the clients asked. I can’t see why they would need to look elsewhere.” She revised her earlier opinion of giving him the benefit of the doubt. This man was as over-confident of his ability as Demetrio.

  He licked at his scoop of vanilla ice-cream. “What?” he asked, licking his lips.

  “You seem pretty sure of yourself and you’ve not even had your first interview.” Her gaze rested for a moment on his mouth before she noticed a splodge that had fallen on his shirt. “You’ve dropped some on your collar.” She fished around in her bag for a tissue and handing it to him.

  “Where?” He pulled a double chin, trying to see but couldn’t.

  “There.” She wiped it quickly. “All gone, apart from a small stain.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nibbled her wafer cone. “Do you even know how many people you’re up against?”

  “Who cares?” He had licked the ice-cream clean off and was down to his wafer cone. “Does it matter who I’m up against? What are the chances they even know the software?”

  He was all bold and brash, all testosterone and hot air. The polar opposite of her.

  “Let me ask you something,” he said. “How did you feel when you went for your job as hotel manager? Were you confident you would get it, or did you think other people were better than you?”

  “I didn’t actually apply for the position. I was a desk receptionist for many years, and it was Nico’s idea to promote me.”

  “Just like that?”

  She nodded. “I’d been doing the work anyway, up until then. The manager was off sick a lot of the time.” Alphonso had been lazy and she had ended up taking care of things, doing his job because someone had to step up and take responsibility and Nico and his father were too busy to micro-manage the day-to-day running of the hotel. There had been many days when Alphonso hadn’t even showed up to work, feigning illness that went on for weeks.

  In the end, Nico had gotten rid of him, and promoted her. “I stepped in, but still, it was a complete surprise to me when Nico offered me the job. I didn’t think I was up to it.”

  “You didn’t think you were up to it?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you think he promoted you?”

  “Probably because he thought I could do it.”

  “He sounds like the type of guy who would know.”

  “I told him I had my reservations. I don’t have any qualifications, I don’t have a college degree.” Christian shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her words. “Even though you’d been doing the job all along?”

  “Even then.”

  “You undersell yourself all the time.” His voice was soft, his expression, too. “Why?”

  She shrugged.

  “Why, Gina?”

  She hated it when he persisted. Most people knew when to back off and leave her alone. Even Nico knew when not to ask too many questions. But Christian didn’t, and now he was waiting for an answer. She couldn’t find the words to articulate what she wanted to say. It wasn’t that she was stupid. She had seen too many people around her do stupid things to know that that wasn’t it.

  “You’re a do-er, Gina. That’s who you are. I bet that you dive right in and get on with things.”

  “Maybe…”

  “But this doubting yourself and thinking you don’t know enough, you have to stop it.”

  She shrugged.

  “You shrug a lot, too. I noticed.”

  She stared at him but said nothing.

  “And you do it more when you don’t want to talk about something.”

  She swallowed, not liking the way he was stripping away her defenses.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” She played dumb, hoping it would work.

  “Why do you think you’re not as good as the others?”

  She was about to shrug again, when she caught herself, and their eyes met, and they both laughed. “I guess I always felt that I needed a certification to tell me I was good enough.”

  “You are good enough.”

  She folded her arms. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” A line appeared between his brows. “But a certification would make you believe it, right? That’s why you’re so worried about the test tomorrow.”

  “Nico didn’t have to send me on this course, especially now that I’ve resigned, but he still wants me to have all the training he signed me up for. I’d like to get a good pass mark, 95% or above.”

  Christian blew out a puff.

  “You don’t think I can?” she asked him.

  “No.” He shook his head. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Then?”

  “Some of those questions are designed to be tricky and you don’t have a lot of time for the test. It’s deliberately set up that way so that only a few people get those high grades. It’s easy to make mistakes with the time pressure but a lower pass mark doesn’t mean you’re not good enough.”

  “You don’t think I can do it, do you?” His reaction surprised her. If she was being brutally honest, it disappointed her.

  “You’re a smart woman, Gina, but I think you put a lot of pressure on yourself when you don’t need to. You have it all up here,” he tapped his head. “But for some reason you don’t seem to think you do. You understand everything I’ve taught, and you understand it at the fundamental level beca
use you’re working and using these principles daily. All I’m saying is for you not to use the test result as a barometer of your knowledge. Sure, it’s an indication of how much you’ve understood, but a 95% mark? You can get it, I know you can, but if you don’t, I sense you’ll feel a failure, and you shouldn’t.”

  “I’d still like to do well. I’d like Nico to think I wasn’t wasting his time or money.”

  “I can’t imagine he thinks that way of you.”

  Nico didn’t, but she had no doubt that Demetrio didn’t think she was good enough, and she wanted to prove otherwise. Ever since that man had joined the company, she didn’t enjoy her work as much. He injected a dose of negativity into his conversations, and she always walked away feeling inferior, even though she had years of experience compared to him. Even though she excelled at her job. He made her doubt her ability.

  They fell silent for a while, sitting among the energetic mass of people around them, all from different parts of the world, it seemed like. A coming together of foreign languages and accents, most of it unintelligible, combined together in one big vocal soup.

  She and Christian had nothing to say all of a sudden. It was as if he could see straight through her. She didn’t like it, that he could peel apart her layers and see the real her, with all her doubts and fears. It wasn’t the image she wanted to portray.

  People came to her with their problems and worries. They came to her when they didn’t know what to do or they needed someone to go the extra mile. She was that person. Christian didn’t see her that way and it made her feel as if he pitied her.

  “And now you’re resigned, what now?”

  “Now I’ve resigned…” She scratched her bare arm. “I’m thirsty,” she said, looking around. “Is there somewhere around here that sells water?”

  “You suddenly want water?” He gave her a searching look, the kind that told her she’d been busted. After tomorrow, she wouldn’t have to worry too much about Christian Russo and his X-ray vision.

  “There are plenty of places to get water from.” He stood up, offering her his hand and she took it. It was warm, and his grip firm. A frisson of excitement tingled along her stomach and, for a moment there, she didn’t want to let go. But she did.