Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“We’re going to use the restroom really quick,” Gabriella tells us before she and Ashley head off.
Lorenzo needs to have a word with the waiter about how we’ll split the check, which means I’m stuck alone with Noah. How’s that for a terrible turn of events.
“There are plenty of seats down there,” I say, waving my hand toward the opposite end of the table. “You and I wouldn’t even have to look at each other. You could pretend I don’t exist.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing that from right here. And besides, the chairs down there are in the sun.”
Right, which means I’m not moving either. In the shade, the weather’s not half bad. And by not half bad, I mean my butt crack has finally stopped sweating.
We both turn our attention to our menus, going back to ignoring each other.
He’s better at it than I am.
I think he could sit in silence for an entire day. His willpower outmatches mine. Meanwhile, I’m drumming my fingers on the table, looking around for the other chaperones, taking a sip of my water. Slowly losing it.
The silence becomes unbearable. I have to poke him.
“I’ve realized something,” I say, keeping my attention down on my menu.
He manages a half-interested hum.
“Not even you can ruin Rome for me. This place is beautiful.”
He doesn’t take my bait, so I try again.
“So what do you think of Gabriella?”
“Is she the single one?”
“Yes. She seems interested in you.”
He finally sets down his menu and looks over at me. “She’s pretty.”
What?!
What does that mean?
I’ve never heard Noah talk about a woman before. I know he’s dated. I’ve Facebook-stalked him before. A year ago, there was a picture of him with a pretty blonde, her cheek squashed against his in his profile picture. Her eyes were shiny with love.
Before I can ask Noah to elaborate on “She’s pretty”, Lorenzo returns and claims the seat beside me, across from Noah.
“If you’ll allow me, I’d love to order for the table,” he says, looking at me. “This is one of my favorite restaurants in Rome. It’s where all the locals go for lunch.”
I slide my menu away from me and smile. “Sounds wonderful.”
Gabriella and Ashley return, and through the rest of the meal, I ignore Noah.
It’s relatively easy to do with Lorenzo there. I throw my full attention his way, smiling and laughing and turning my charm up to 100.
Gabriella and Ashley are lost in their own world, talking a mile a minute about people we don’t know, and Noah is…Noah.
He sits quietly, listening to Lorenzo talk about what our plans are for the next few days. Starting tomorrow, the students will begin to follow a strict schedule. In the mornings between nine and eleven, they’ll be in a classroom learning Latin with a teacher from St. Cecilia’s. They’ll get a one-hour break for lunch, and then in the afternoons, Lorenzo will lead us all on an excursion somewhere around the city. Some days will differ, of course. For instance, our trip to the Vatican will take two full days, so the students will have to skip Latin. Otherwise, Noah and I will be duty-free in the mornings. I’ll have Rome at my fingertips.
I’m already daydreaming about what I’ll do with my time. Sleep in, wander, find a cute café, drink too much coffee.
When our food arrives, I can barely contain my giddiness.
“This is polpette all’amatriciana,” Lorenzo says, pointing to a dish with tiny meatballs served in a tomato sauce. “And that’s baccalà, which is oven-roasted salt cod. Make sure to get some of that, but leave room for the cacio e pepe.”
My plate is overloaded in no time. I won’t be able to move once I’ve finished this meal. They’ll have to get a wheelbarrow to cart me back to the school.
Every bite is more delicious than the last. The sounds coming from my mouth are pornographic.
Noah telegraphs his annoyance with me, but my attention is laser-focused on my pasta.
“Good, right?” Lorenzo asks me as I sop up the leftover tomato sauce with the last of my noodles.
“I never want to leave.”
He grins. “I’m so happy you enjoyed it.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leans back in his chair. “So how long have you two taught at the same school?” he asks, gesturing toward Noah and me.
I shoo away his question. “Oh, not long.”
“Three years,” Noah says, matter-of-factly.
“And do you both enjoy it? Working together?”
Noah sets down his utensils on his plate and simply replies, “It’s fine.”
And we leave it at that.
Only as we walk to our next stop, the Marcus Aurelius Column, Lorenzo nudges me with his shoulder.
“Noah is a piece of work, no?” he asks quietly.
I can’t help but laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“He dislikes you?”
I press my hand to his forearm for a moment to emphasize my point. “The feeling’s mutual, I assure you.”