Love & Gelato (15 page)

I FaceTimed Addie as soon as I was in dry clothes. “You ready to say ‘I told you so'?”

“I am
always
ready to say ‘I told you so.' Oh my gosh! How was it? Amazing?” She started bouncing up and down on her bed.

I turned down the volume on my computer. “Yes. A-mazing.”

“Please tell me you met the hottest of hot Italian guys.”

“I did. But he's not Italian. He's British.”

She squealed. “Even better! Is he online? I have to stalk him.”

“I don't know. I didn't ask.”

“I'll look him up. What's his name?”

“Thomas Heath.”

“Even his name is attractive.” She was quiet for a minute as she typed in his name. “Thomas . . . Heath . . . Florence . . .” She inhaled sharply. “HOLY MOTHER OF HOTNESS. That is the best hair I have ever seen. He looks like a model. Maybe an underwear model.”

“Right?”

“Have you seen him without his shirt on? You have to get online and see these pictures. Great. Now you'll never come back to Seattle. Why would you when
Thomas Heath
is—”

“Addie, slow down! It doesn't matter how hot he is. I'm not staying here.”

“What do you mean it doesn't matter? You can have a summer fling, can't you? And wow. I mean, really,
wow.
That is one good-looking guy. What's your other friend's name?”

“Ren. But his full name is Lorenzo Ferrara.”

“Yeah, you're gonna have to spell that for me.”

“His mom said it's like ‘Ferrari' but with an
a
.”

“Ferrari with an
a
 . . .” She bit her lip and typed into her keyboard. “Curly hair? Plays soccer?”

“That's him.”

She grinned at me. “Well, Lina, you're two for two. Ren's adorable. So if Underwear Model doesn't work out, you're still in good shape.”

“No, Ren's off the table. I met his girlfriend tonight. She's like Sadie Danes, only Swedish. And Photoshopped.”

“Shut up. Did you run for your life?”

“Pretty much. She didn't seem all that happy that Ren brought some new girl along.”

Addie sighed, falling back on her pillow. “I'm spending the rest of the summer living vicariously through you. And I know the cemetery thing is weird, but now I'm one hundred percent on board with you being there. You have to stay there for at least a little while. Do it for me. Please!”

“We'll see. How's Matt?”

“Still not getting the message that I'm interested. But who cares about him? On a scale of one to ten, how weird would it be if I printed out Thomas's profile picture and had it framed?”

I laughed. “Weird. Even for you.”

“Or how about I make a Thomas calendar? ‘Twelve Months of British Hotness.' Do you think you could get more pictures of him with his shirt off? Maybe you could spill Kool-Aid or something on him next time you're together.”

“Yeah, definitely not doing that.”

She sighed again. “You're right. That would be pretty weird. So how's the journal?”

“I'm just about to read more.” I hesitated. “Last night was kind of hard, but it was nice, too. She really loved it here.”

“And so will you. And so will I. Vicariously.”

I shook my head. “We'll see.”

“Okay, you get back to the journal. I want to know what her wrong choice was. The suspense is killing me.”

“Night, Addie.”

“Morning, Lina.”

JULY 2

Florence is exactly how I thought it would be and nothing like it at all. It is absolutely magical—the cobblestones, the old buildings, the bridges—and yet it's gritty, too. You'll be walking down the most charming street you've ever seen and suddenly get a whiff of open sewer or step in something disgusting. The city enchants you, then brings you right back down to reality. I've never been anyplace that I want to capture so much. I spend a lot of time photographing things that seem uniquely Italian—laundry hanging in alleyways, red geraniums planted in old tomato-sauce cans—but mostly I try to capture the people. Italians are so expressive; you never have to guess what they're feeling.

Tonight I watched the sun set at Ponte Vecchio. I think its safe to say I have finally found the place that feels right to me. I just can't believe I had to come halfway across the world to find it.

JULY 9

Francesca has officially inducted me into her circle of friends. They were all at FAAF last semester too, and they're smart and hilarious, and I secretly wonder if they're being followed around by reality-TV cameras. How can this many interesting people be together in one spot? Here's our cast of characters:

Howard:
The perfect Southern gentleman (Southern
giant
, Francesca calls him), handsome, kind, and the sort of guy who will go marching into battle for you. He's in a research program studying Florence history, and when he isn't teaching he sits in on a lot of our classes.

Finn:
An Ernest Hemingway wannabe from Martha's Vineyard. He pretends to just happen to have a full beard and a penchant for turtlenecks, but we all know he spends half his time reading
The Sun Also Rises
.

Adrienne:
French and probably the prettiest person I've ever seen in real life. She is very quiet and unbelievably talented.

Simone and Alessio
: I'm grouping them together because they are ALWAYS together. They grew up together just outside of Rome and are constantly getting into fistfights—typically over the fact that neither of them has ever dated a girl that the other didn't immediately fall in love with.

And finally . . .

Me:
Pretty boring. American wannabe photographer who has been giddy since the moment her plane touched down in Florence.

Mine and Francesca's apartment has become the official hangout. We all crowd onto the tiny balcony and have long discussions about things like shutter speed and exposure. Is this heaven?

JULY 20

Turns out you can't learn Italian through osmosis, no matter how many times you fall asleep with
Italian for Dummies
propped open on your face. Francesca said that learning a language is the easiest thing in the world, but she said it while simultaneously smoking, studying aperture, and making homemade pesto, so she may not have a normal grasp on “easy.” I signed up for the institute's beginner Italian class. It's held evenings in the mixed-media room and meets three times a week. Finn and Howard are in the class too. They're both much further along than I am, but I'm glad to have them for company.

AUGUST 23

It's been more than a month since I've written, but I have good reason. I'm sure it will come as no surprise when I say that I've fallen in L-O-V-E. What a cliché! But seriously, move to Florence and eat a few forkfuls of pasta, then stroll in the twilight and just TRY not to fall for that guy you've been ogling from day one! You'll probably fail. I
love
being in love in Italy. But truth be told, I would fall for X anywhere. He's handsome, intelligent, charming, and everything I've ever dreamed of. We also have to keep things completely secret, which, if I'm totally honest, makes him all the more appealing. (Yes, X. I seriously don't think anyone would read my journal, but I'm giving him a new name, just in case.)

WHAT?
I let the book fall onto my lap. It had taken only three pages for Howard to make the leap from squeaky-clean “Southern gentleman” to secret lover X. Apparently I hadn't been giving him enough credit.

I picked up my laptop and FaceTimed Addie again, and she answered almost immediately. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she was holding a half-eaten freezer waffle. “What's up?”

“They had to keep their relationship a secret.” I kept my voice down. It sounded like Howard's guests were on their way out, but there was still some backslapping and “Let's do this again soon” going on outside on the front porch.

“Howard and your mom?”

“Yeah. She talks about them being in the same group of friends, and then suddenly she's calling him by a new name because she's worried someone will pick up her journal and find out that they're secretly dating.”

“Scandalous!” Addie said happily. “Why did they have to be secretive? Was he in the mafia or something?”

“I don't know yet.”

“Call me back when you figure it out. Crap. I won't be here! Ian's driving me to the car dealership. I'm finally getting my car back.”

“That's good news.”

“Tell me about it. Last night Ian made me fold all his nasty laundry before he'd take me to Dylan's. Call me tomorrow?”

“Definitely.”

SEPTEMBER 9

Now that I've started writing about my
storia d'amore
, I might as well tell it from the very beginning. X was actually one of the very first people I met when I arrived in Florence. He gave one of the semester's opening lectures, and afterward I just couldn't stop thinking about him. He's obviously talented, and the kind of good-looking that makes you stumble over words like “hello” and “good-bye,” but there was something else—he had this
depth
to him. It made me want to figure him out.

Lucky for me we were able to spend a lot of time together in and out of class. It's just that we were never alone. Ever. Francesca was either sitting in the corner rattling away on her phone or Simone and Alessio would ask us to weigh in on some ridiculous new argument, and our conversations just never seemed to get all that far. I had this big debate going on my head. IS HE OR ISN'T HE INTERESTED? Some days I was positive he was, and others I was less sure. Maybe I was just reading too much into things?

But I kept catching him staring at me during class, and every time we talked, there was this
something
between us that I couldn't ignore. This went on for weeks. And then, finally, just when I thought I was imagining the whole thing, I saw him at Space. Francesca calls it the official nightclub of FAAF, but he'd never come with us before. I had stepped outside for a little air, and when I came back in, there he was, leaning against the wall. Alone.

I knew this was my chance, but as I started toward him I realized I had absolutely no idea what to say. “Hi. I hope this doesn't sound crazy, but have you noticed this weird chemistry thing between us?” Luckily I didn't even have to open my mouth. As soon as he saw me, he reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Hadley,” he said. And the way he said it—I knew that I hadn't been imagining things.

SEPTEMBER 15

Met X at the Boboli Gardens so we could be alone for a while. It's a sixteenth-century park, kind of an oasis in the middle of the city. Lots of architecture and fountains and enough space to let you forget you're in a city. We both took our cameras, and when we'd captured everything we wanted to, we sat down under a tree and talked. He knows so much about art. And history. And literature. (And everything, really.) The grounds closed at seven thirty, but when I stood up to pack up my things, he pulled me back down and we kissed until a guard made us leave.