Italian for Beginners Page 14

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Do I look like Jack the Ripper?”

  “No,” I muttered. “But you never know.”

  “Miss Connelly,” he began.

  “Cat,” I corrected softly.

  He smiled. “Sì, Cat. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.” He paused and added, “My mother wouldn’t forgive me, either, to be honest. She raised me to be a gentleman. And I think that includes not allowing lost women to sleep on benches in the middle of the night.”

  “Look,” I said, “honestly, this is very nice of you, but maybe I should just head back to where I think Karina’s apartment is. She’s somewhere near the Pantheon. I’m sure I could find it if you just point me in the right direction.”

  “I would be happy to,” Marco said. “But if you don’t know where she lives, it might be an impossible mission. There are so many streets around the Pantheon that looking for one building will be like, how do you Americans say it, finding a needle in a haystack.”

  “Still,” I said softly, “I should probably try.”

  He shrugged. “As you wish. I live in that direction, anyhow.” He offered his hand again, and hesitantly, I took it and stood up. “It’s this way,” he said as we began walking. Then he winked at me and said, “Come along, Princess Ann.”

  An hour later, we had walked circles around the Pantheon, but I didn’t recognize Karina’s building. I was growing more tired by the moment—the result not of the sleeping pill, I suspected, but of the fact that I hadn’t slept for more than a few hours at a stretch in two days. And Marco seemed to be dragging, too.

  But the more we walked and talked, the more comfortable I grew with him. His English was nearly perfect—he told me he’d spent summers in the United States with his grandparents when he was a kid—and he chatted pleasantly as he indulged me in a fruitless search for my apartment. I felt like an idiot.

  He seemed nice, normal, and kind, and I couldn’t help but notice, as I snuck furtive looks at his sharp profile, that he was really handsome. Not in the powerful way some of my Wall Street boyfriends back home had been or the slightly dangerous way that Francesco was… just handsome in a nice sort of way.

  “So?” he asked finally after we went down what felt like the thousandth unfamiliar side street. “Do you think perhaps we can return to my apartment for a few hours of sleep? It’s nearly four in the morning, and I have to be at work at ten.”

  “I can’t sleep at your apartment!” I said.

  “Why not?”

  I stared at him for a moment. Perhaps this was just a more advanced game than the one Giuseppe had played. “I don’t even know you!” I said hotly. “And besides, I am so not that kind of girl.”

  He looked confused. “The kind of girl who sleeps?”

  “The kind of girl who sleeps with a stranger!” I declared. “I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

  He cut me off. “I do not intend to sleep with you,” he said, perhaps a little too firmly. “I plan to sleep on my couch while you sleep in my bed. Because the only other option is wandering around the streets all night.”

  “I’m fine. You can just leave me here,” I said.

  “You and I both know that I will not and cannot do that,” he said. “So you have two choices. You keep me up all night and therefore ruin my day tomorrow. Or you come home with me and get a few hours of sleep, and then I help you again in the morning.”

  I swallowed hard. I felt foolish. “Fine,” I mumbled. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s better than leaving you out on the street. Okay?”

  Marco lived about a fifteen-minute walk from the Pantheon, in a lovely old building with a vast, flower-filled courtyard and a broad, winding staircase. I followed him up to the fifth floor, where he unlocked a big wooden door and held it open for me.

  “It’s small,” he said. “Princess Ann might even call it an elevator.” He winked. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  It was about the size of the apartment I was renting from Karina, maybe a little bigger. I stepped inside and felt immediately at home. It wasn’t neat, but it wasn’t messy, either. Books and CDs, some in English, some in Italian, seemed to overflow from every surface.

  “You like to read?” I asked, eyeing the ubiquitous stacks.

  He nodded. “I love it,” he said. “I can’t afford to travel as much as I’d like. What better way to see the world?”

  I nodded and smiled.

  “Why don’t you sleep in the bed, and I’ll take the couch,” Marco said. “I have an extra T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts you can sleep in, if you’d like.”

  The thought of wearing his boxers sent a strange tingle through me. I shook it off and tried to remain nonchalant. “No, no,” I said. “I’ll take the couch. You’re already being so kind to let me stay here.”

  “I insist.” He opened a drawer and withdrew a couple of items of clothing. He turned to hand them to me. “These are pajamas,” he said, mimicking an American accent again. “They’re to sleep in; you’re to climb into them, you understand?”

  I looked at him blankly. “Um, yeah. I’m familiar with the concept of pajamas.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he said, lapsing back into his native accent. “You really haven’t seen the movie.”

  I looked at him blankly. I went into the bathroom and changed quickly into the faded soccer T-shirt and black boxers he’d given me. I took a quick look in the mirror and was mildly relieved to see that I didn’t look nearly as bad as I’d suspected I would.

  When I emerged from the bathroom a moment later, he had already changed into track pants and a T-shirt. He smiled. “I’ll set the alarm for nine, okay?” he said. He glanced at his watch and sighed. “That’ll give us four and a half hours of sleep.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, looking down. “This whole situation is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  “Actually,” he said with a smile, “I think that might have been the most fun I’ve ever had wandering around Rome.” He grabbed one of the two pillows that lay on the bed and stretched out on the couch. “Can I get you anything before we go to sleep?”

  I shook my head. “Are you sure you won’t let me sleep on the couch?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine. Like I said, my mother would never forgive my terrible manners.”

  I thanked him again and climbed into his bed. The sheets were cool, smooth, and admittedly, a lot more welcoming than a brick wall on a wide Roman thoroughfare.

  Marco turned the lights off, plunging us both into darkness. Within a few minutes, from a few feet away, I could hear him breathing evenly in the rhythm of sleep. I eventually drifted off, too, finally giving in to the exhaustion that had overwhelmed me all night.

  I slept until Marco’s alarm went off the next morning at nine. It took me about twenty foggy, sleep-soaked seconds to remember where I was. But when I did, I sat up with a start.

  Marco was already up, moving around the kitchen with his back to me. It sounded like he was humming to himself. For a moment, before I said anything, I studied his frame. He was tall with broad shoulders, a muscular back beneath his tight white T-shirt, strong legs, and sandy hair.

  I must have sighed audibly, for he turned around and smiled.

  “Ah, you’re awake, your royal highness,” he said with a grin.

  I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks. He was obviously making another Roman Holiday reference I didn’t understand. “Morning,” I mumbled.

  “Espresso?” he asked.

  I nodded numbly.

  “Very good,” Marco said properly. He poured dark liquid into two small espresso mugs, grabbed a pot of sugar and two spoons, and walked toward me. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the edge of the bed.

  “Of course.” I scooted over a bit. He sat down beside me, and despite myself, his proximity in the bed made me flush. “Look,” I said after I’d taken a first sip of the thick, dark espresso. He gaze
d at me intently with his pale green eyes as I went on. “I’m so sorry about last night. I really am.”

  Marco stirred his coffee. “It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug.

  “How can I repay you?” I asked.

  Marco looked up in surprise. “That is not necessary. I couldn’t just leave you there.” He paused and stirred his coffee again thoughtfully. “But perhaps you can come see me sometime at work, okay? And we can meet properly? You know, when I’m not strolling the streets of Rome picking up lost tourists, I work in a little café not far from where I found you. It’s called Pinocchio.”

  I nodded. “I’d love to come.”

  “Good. It is settled.” He stood up from the edge of the bed. “I must leave for work. Would you like to take a quick shower first? I’d offer to draw a bath for you, like in the movie, but there really isn’t time.”

  Marco seemed to enjoy playing a one-sided game of Roman Holiday without me.

  Twenty minutes later, I had showered, changed back into my outfit from last night, and used what little I had in my purse—a powder compact, mascara, and lipstick—to make myself somewhat presentable.

  Marco took a quick shower after me, and he emerged from the bathroom already wearing what I presumed was his work uniform: a crisp white shirt and black pants. His hair was still a little wet, and the strands glistened in the light.

  “Ready?” he asked, grinning at me.

  I nodded, and together we left his apartment. He said hello to a few neighbors, who gazed curiously at me. I wondered what they must have thought. Marco didn’t seem fazed.

  Marco asked if I minded walking; the transportation strike was still in effect. I told him to go ahead without me; I could find my way on my own back to the café where Karina worked.

  But he refused. “Oh, no,” he said. “I am not letting you roam the streets again by yourself.”

  I felt foolish having him walk me back to the café where I’d met Karina, but he assured me it was, more or less, on the way to his job, anyhow.

  Marco made small talk along the way, chatting about how much he’d liked America and how much he wanted to go back there someday soon, especially now that the euro was strong against the dollar. I responded pleasantly to his questions about the States, how I liked New York, and which restaurants I’d recommend in New York. But I was feeling more and more foolish by the moment, and it was hard to carry on much of a conversation while I felt that way.

  I parted with Marco just down the block from Karina’s restaurant. It was nearly ten; I figured she probably wouldn’t be there yet. But I could certainly sit outside and wait. On the outside chance that she was, in fact, already there, I certainly didn’t need her glaring at me for showing up with a strange man after going missing all night.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Marco asked as he leaned down to give me a platonic peck on the cheek.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks again.”

  “And you’ll come see me at work? At Pinocchio?”

  I nodded again. “I promise,” I said.

  Marco shifted from foot to foot and jammed his hands in his pockets. “You are sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

  I smiled. “I’m sure. Really.”

  He studied me for a moment and nodded, seeming to have made up his mind. “Okay then.” He paused, and the corners of his lips curled upward into a smile. “And you don’t need me to lend you any money?”

  I stared at him. “No, thank you. Why would I need money?”

  Then I noticed that his eyes were twinkling in amusement. “Just one final Joe Bradley gesture,” he said. He laughed. “Very well. I will go. It was very nice to meet you, Cat Connelly.”

  It wasn’t until he had vanished down the street, with me staring after him, that I realized he’d finally addressed me by name instead of calling me Princess Ann.

  Chapter Twelve

  Karina was already at work sponging off the outside tables when I arrived in front of the café. Her back was to me, and she was working quickly. I noticed she was missing swipes of dirt here and there. She seemed distracted.

  I stood behind her for a moment before loudly clearing my throat.

  Karina whipped immediately around, and her eyes widened.

  “Dio mio!” she exclaimed right away. She dropped her sponge and, to my surprise, rushed forward to embrace me tightly. Shocked, I let her hug me, but I didn’t hug back. “Where have you been?” she demanded into my shoulder, squeezing me so tightly that it felt for a moment like I couldn’t breathe. “I was so worried, Cat! What happened to you last night? Where were you? Are you all right?”

  I pulled away, extricating myself from the bone-crushing hug. “I’m fine,” I said stiffly. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But where did you sleep?” she demanded.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped. I didn’t want to admit to Karina just how pathetic I’d been—or that I’d gone home with a complete stranger who kept bizarrely referencing Roman Holiday. So instead, I said coldly, “If I can just get my rent back, minus the one day, I’ll be on my way. I’m sure I can find another place.”

  The truth was, I doubted that was possible. But she didn’t need to know that. It got in the way of my haughtiness.

  Karina’s jaw dropped. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear Cat!” she exclaimed. “Why would you say such a thing? I am so sorry that I argued with you. It was all my fault. It will never happen again. I promise! You can’t leave!”

  I stared in disbelief. “Karina, I think it’s pretty obvious that you don’t want me here,” I said coldly. “After all, you—”

  But I never had a chance to finish my sentence, because Karina cut me off with a strange expression on her face. “An American,” she said simply.

  “What?”

  “An American,” she repeated. She took a deep breath and gestured for me to sit down.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice icy.

  “Please, sit,” Karina said. She pulled out a chair and sat down. She cleared her throat. “Please. I must explain.”

  I stared for a moment, considering her words. Then, slowly, reluctantly, I sank into the chair opposite hers. “Explain what?” I asked.

  Karina was quiet for a moment. She looked at her lap silently, and I almost got up to leave. But then, she looked up with eyes that appeared to be a little watery.

  “An American,” she repeated. “Nico’s father, Massimo, ran off with an American woman six and a half years ago, when I was eight months pregnant with Nico. He has never even seen his son. He does not care.”

  She paused and looked down at her lap. I stared at her.

  “It is why I do not like American women,” she said a moment later, still looking down. “I told you that you could stay here because I needed the money. And because you know Michael Evangelisti, so you cannot be all that bad.”

  I looked away, trying not to consider the irony that it was my affiliation with a cheating man that made Karina feel comfortable with me.

  “But you,” she said softly, “maybe you are okay. Maybe I misjudged you. Maybe it is not fair to judge all American women based on one.”

  The words hung in the air between us. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but I had the sense she was trying the best way she knew how.

  She looked up after a moment, and as her eyes met mine, I was struck by how nervous she looked. I’d only seen her before when she had it completely together, when she was happy or angry or self-righteous. Nervous didn’t quite seem to fit with her strong-featured face, her enormous, eyelinered eyes, her overall aura of self-possession.

  “Please say something,” she said after a moment.

  I sighed. “I don’t know what to say,” I said. “You can’t blame Nico’s father’s leaving on me. And you can’t treat me like I’m responsible.”

  The words, coming from my own mouth, surprised me. I’d never been particularly good at standing up for myself. In fact, when your mother le
aves, your father falls apart, and your little sister needs some consistency, you learn to take whatever blame is laid at your feet without even thinking about it. That’s who I’d grown up to be, and it felt strange to stand up to a woman I barely knew.

  Karina looked embarrassed. “I know,” she said. “I made a mistake. And I am asking you to give me another chance. I think you are not so bad.”

  “And you need the rent money,” I muttered.

  She turned a little pink. “Yes, I do,” she said. “But I also want you to stay. I think it would be good.” She paused and added softly, “For both of us.”

  I thought about it for a moment. It had seemed like a good idea to storm in here and angrily demand my money back from this temperamental woman. But I hadn’t really thought it through. Where else would I go? I had already decided I wasn’t going home. Not just because of the potential shame involved, but because I had realized just how much I loved it here. And I hated to admit it, but I was almost looking forward to visiting Marco at Pinocchio.

  Besides, although I’d never say it to her, I could understand where Karina was coming from. I’d been hurt by men too many times to count, but nothing I’d gone through could compare to being left by a man you thought loved you when you were eight months pregnant with his child.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll consider staying,” I said. “As long as you can point me back to the apartment.”

  Karina exhaled loudly, visibly relieved. “That is wonderful,” she said. “Wonderful! Let me just tell my boss I’ll be gone for a few minutes, and I will walk you home, okay?”

  A few minutes later, chattering nervously, Karina walked me back to her building. This time, I made sure to note the names of the streets and the route we took.

  Karina hugged me tightly at the doorway. “I am glad you are staying,” she said sincerely. “Now go upstairs. Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

  I rolled my eyes. Talk about the understatement of the year.

  “I will be home after the lunch shift,” Karina continued. “And then, if you like, you will meet my son, Nico.”