Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story (26 page)

"Yes, of course," he replied.

He took me from the Uffizi, and I started moving towards the street to flag down a cab when he stopped me, clutching my elbow so that I couldn't get away. "What is it?"

"Over there," he said. Then he took me over to one of those partially closed in walkways at the ground level of the Uffizi.

A young Italian man sat on a three-legged stool, an easel with a large sketchpad attached to it in front of him, easily the size of a modest painting canvass. He had an intense look on his narrow face, and dark pencil dust smudged every one of his fingers.

A small, hand painted sign leaned against the easel. In Italian, it read Portraits 20 Euros.

"It'll be fun," Liam said, "A nice memento."

He pulled a Euro note from his wallet and handed it to the errant artist.

The boy squinted at me, then told me to go stand over by the nearest column.

"What about you?" I said, seeing that Liam meant for him to sketch me only.

"No, I wouldn't want to ruin it. I'm not very photogenic. Go, it's okay."

That was a lie, of course. The pictures of him all over the internet belied what he said. But he seemed adamant about it, so I went and stood by the column while he stood beside the sitting artist.

The young man glanced at me again, then rolled up his shirtsleeves and got to work.

I'd never been anyone's art subject before, and I actually felt quite self-conscious, wishing that maybe I'd have chosen better clothes, or done my hair differently.

However, Liam's smiling face gave me all the reassurance I needed. He watched the young man's sketch take shape, the small smile on his face growing.

The artist glanced quickly from me to the sketch, then back again. He picked up different size pencils and then attacked the canvass with them. He'd drop the pencil and then smudge at the lines with his thumbs.

The whole process took about fifteen minutes. By then, nearly a dozen more pedestrians had come over to watch the piece of art come to life.

Then he finished with a great heave of his shoulders, as though un-shouldering the burden of his art. The gathered crowd clapped, and I heard people telling each other how beautiful it looked, how it captured me perfectly.

Liam took out another bill (I couldn't tell the denomination) and forced it into the young man's hands.

"Can I see?" I said, anticipation and wonder spilling over inside me. I wasn't that pretty. The young man had to have really cleaned me up, used his artistic license, that sort of thing.

Except Liam wouldn't let me. He took the paper from the artist and rolled it up, carefully but quickly so that I could only glance quickly. I didn't see anything.

"Hey! Let me take a look," I said, pawing at it. He held it out of reach, grinning so that dimples formed in his cheeks.

"Nope. Not yet," he said.

"I thought it was supposed to be a memento?" I said, incredulous.

He shrugged as he walked towards the curb, me following in his wake. He waved at a passing taxi, which split from the rest of the traffic along the river to pull up near us.

"I didn't say it was a memento for you," Liam replied as he held the door for me.

"You will let me see, though, won't you?"

Another shrug, this one accompanied by a lopsided smile and a glint in his eye. "Maybe once we're on the train. Ask me then. Not another word about it until then, though. Or you'll never get to see. Gives me time to think of where I want to display it."

"You wouldn't!" I said as the cab lurched away from the curb. It was one thing to have it, to look at it privately. Another thing entirely to put it where others might see it. No artist could possibly make me look interesting enough for that.

Something about that pulled at my mind, but in my excitement I ignored it.

I hadn't felt like I did in that cab since probably preschool. Christmas Eve. Wondering what Santa had bought me. Wondering what lay hidden beneath the shiny wrapping paper.

The suspense nearly killed me, which Liam noticed and made no effort to hide that he enjoyed it.

Then we sat down in our seats on the train. I hardly noticed how comfy they felt. I didn't care about the legroom. I hardly even realized that the usher had come and gone after offering us papers and drinks.

I only wanted to know what that guy had drawn.

Liam ignored me studiously, leaning back in his chair. He'd booked out the entire block of four again, and the rolled up sketch sat beside him. Its own tension began unfurling it, and I could see a few tantalizing graphite lines.

I could reach out and grab it away if I wanted to. However, I thought that Liam expected that, and waited for it.

He flipped through a magazine on his lap one handed, the other first pressing against his cheek in mock boredom.

The train began moving again with that surprisingly gentle acceleration, turning Florence into a grayish-brown blur in my peripheral vision.

"So how long are we going to play the waiting game?" I said.

He glanced away from an Italian advertisement for a tiny Fiat coupe. "As long as I enjoy it, obviously. It looks like you're about ready to vibrate out of your skin, by the way."

"Hmph," I said, crossing my arms tightly and squeezing my ribs. I looked steadily out the window, trying to catch individual trees and buildings with my eyes so that the resolved into semi-normal shapes.

All the while Liam watched me, amusement laughing in his eyes. And then he grabbed the rolled up sketch and pulled it flat between his hands, examining it himself.

I did my best to keep my own eyes on the window.

"He really did capture you perfectly. This is exactly how I see you. Exactly," Liam said,

I ignored him. It was the hardest thing I'd done since my aborted attempt to leave the country.

The large rectangle of paper rustled while he turned it around in his hands. "I'll stop torturing you now. You can look."

"Maybe I don't want to anymore." A muscle in my neck began twitching. I wanted to look so badly.

"Fine. I guess I'll roll it up..." The rustling noises began again.

"No!" I said, facing forward. "Oh..." quickly followed.

It was a beautiful drawing. The image of me had a faraway, dreamy look in her eyes, a touch of a smile on her lips that seemed both happy and a little bit sad.

There were similarities to the woman I saw in the mirror. The cheeks, the eyes, the lips. But this woman in the sketch looked far more beautiful than I'd ever considered myself.

"That's not me," I said, "He must have seen someone else wandering by with a passing resemblance and sketched her instead."

"He never looked anywhere but you and the canvass. I watched. This is you, trust me. Just as I see you. Do you think he takes bigger commissions? I'd like this same one, but a little smaller. Say, small enough for a frame for my desk."

"Stop," I said, blushing.

"No, seriously. I'd love to have this on my desk."

I couldn't help smiling at that. He wanted to be able to see me even when I wasn't there. Maybe show the picture and brag about it. Face it towards visitors.

"Oh my God!" I said, nearly pushing myself out of my chair.

"Glad to oblige," Liam said.

"No, no, not that. I know just what to do. I know how to get Dr. Aretino to back down."

"Tell me."

The idea came to me wholesale, my mind making connections faster than I could track. And it had all started when Liam had mentioned having a picture on his desk. Sort of like a certain professor and something I'd seen in his office.

T
he fundraiser was only three days out, and I don't think I'd ever been so nervous for anything in my life.

Though Liam kept assuring me that it was a good plan.

I kept insisting that it was so simple that it couldn't possibly work. It didn't involve flowcharts or super secret spy gadgets. Mostly it revolved around Dr. Aretino being the arrogant man he was.

It didn't help that in addition to setting that scheme in motion I had four end of term assignments to finish as well as exams to study for. Exams I wouldn't be taking if this didn't go as planned.

"Are you sure it will work?" I said to Liam, who sat across from me at our table in Fratelli's Confectionary. The gelato tasted just as good as the first time, but I couldn't enjoy it to its full potential. "There's no way it's going to work. He's going to see right through it."

Liam stabbed his plastic spoon into what remained of his scoops. "Simple is better, Emma. A plan doesn't need to be complicated or complex to succeed. In fact, a simple plan tends to succeed more because there's not as much that could go wrong."

I nodded, taking that in. It didn't convince me entirely, though. "That's true. But then isn't a simple plan more vulnerable than a complex one? Since there are so few things involved, if even one of them doesn't go my way, the whole thing might veer off track."

It was in my nature to worry, to expect the worst of anything and anyone. What made it worse was that even though I expected good old Murphy's Law to come into play, it always surprised me, always got to me. Cognitive dissonance at its best, I guess.

"One thing I've learned," Liam said, stirring his gelato in idle thoughtfulness, "Is that you have to have a little faith in yourself, a little belief that things will turn out. You have to be willing to start something even if you don't feel completely ready for it. Take the risk. You can plan every detail of something, but if you miss your moment then it was all for nothing."

"And you're certain that you can do your part?" I said.

He cocked his head at me, "Yes. I'll make sure Dr. Aretino's wife shows up at the fundraiser."

His wife was one side of the equation.

"Good," I said. I couldn't have made my plan work without Liam's help. And I also admitted that it was actually fun to scheme with him like this, to have his apparently unconditional support.

I drew a lot of strength and confidence from him. I never could have even so much as come up with this plan if I hadn't met Liam.

And I also couldn't escape the symmetry of the plan, either. Liam had set this course of events off when he'd swept me off my feet (literally and figuratively) at that first fundraiser. That it would all end at another fundraiser satisfied my need for artistic balance nicely.

I really couldn't wait for all of this to be over, though. Couldn't wait to just be with him, no complications, no evil professors. Just the two of us.

"Now I just need to make sure that Isabella will help," I said.

"From what you've told me about her, I have a good feeling that she'll agree to it."

Isabella was the lynchpin. If she didn't agree to help, the whole thing would just collapse in on itself.

"I'm going to ask her today," I said, spooning more gelato into my mouth. This time I made myself savor it.

***

I
met with Isabella at the library cafe later that afternoon. I'd been so nervous about it that I'd arrived 20 minutes early.

My cinnamon cookie sat on its napkin, two token bites taken out of it. My cold latte still filled more than half the disposable cup, the protective collar around it useless.

Isabella arrived wearing a stylish red pashmina to ward off some of the chill that threaded through the air of the Roman fall.

"So what is it you wanted to talk about?" she asked, sitting beside me.

"Are you planning on attending the fundraiser on Saturday?" I asked.

"Yes, the baron invited me and I thought it would give me an excuse to wear this lovely dress I just bought."

Isabella could make a burlap sack with holes for her head and arms cut out of it look good. The little joke helped calm some of the butterflies filling me up.

"Do you still want to help me deal with Dr. Aretino?" I asked, my throat closing up around the question so that I had to fight to get it out.

"Of course! But I thought that you wanted to do this all on your own?"

"Let's just say that I've learned that it's okay to ask other people for help."

She smiled. "Liam did this teaching, yes? Now tell me, what does this have to do with the fundraiser?"

I explained the plan to her, telling her the role I hoped she could fill. Her friendly smile turned into a mischievous one by the end of it, which gave me a jolt of adrenaline as I thought that she might actually agree to it.

"That sounds like fun. Of course I will do this for you, Emma."

I bit down on my lip until it hurt. Again, I had to make absolutely certain. "But what about the baron? Won't he be jealous? Won't it upset him?"

Isabella turned her palms up, "He will find it delicious, if I tell him to. He does whatever I ask, remember?"

I did. If an actual, honest-to-God aristocrat couldn't withstand Isabella's charm, there was no way in hell Dr. Aretino stood any chance.

See? It will work
, I heard Liam's voice say.

Though as I sat there with Isabella, going over the details to make sure she understood them, I realized something else. Something that boosted my confidence immeasurably.

Even if this whole scheme failed, even if it fell apart as soon as it started, I would still have Liam. And somehow that made everything better, soothing my nerves, washing away my cynicism.

So long as I had Liam, so long as he still wanted me and loved me like I wanted and loved him, nothing else really seemed to matter as much as it used to.

Don't get me wrong, I still wanted to finish out my semester in Rome. I still wanted to beat Dr. Aretino, wanted to make certain that he didn't try what he tried with me with anymore of his students.

I guess that what had really changed about me was that despair I'd been under before I met him.

I wanted to live life again. So long as I could live it with him. Funny how your life can change when you're not expecting it to, and in far less time than I thought possible.

"What are you thinking about?" Isabella asked, noticing the change that came over me.

"Liam," I replied.

"I thought so. I have to say, I'm excited for your plan."