“It’s St. Louis,” he said finally.

This time my mouth did drop open. I’d been certain he’d guess Springfield. Certain.

“Fess up,” he said, pausing a polite moment to let my obvious shock pass.

“Wait... How did you? There’s no way you could... Are you stalking me or something?” I kept sputtering. It was the only rational answer I could come up with at that moment.

“Of course not,” he said, looking so genuinely shocked at the accusation that I couldn’t help but believe him, “Let’s leave it at reading people is a requisite for my job. So do I get my prize?”

“Yes, yes. I’m...” My throat tightened up, residual anxiety rising up from my stomach again. This is your last chance, something told me. But my last chance for what?  To escape, to get away clean from my charming expat flirt here, I supposed.

The thing was, I didn’t want to escape. Well, that wasn’t true. I wanted to escape my life, escape Rome. But maybe, just maybe, I could escape into him? Into Baby-Blues’ baby blues?

Yes, I decided. Escape was just what I needed.

So I fixed my broken smile and turned it on him. “Emma. Weston,” I said, pausing between my first and last names like some robotic phone operator. “Emma Weston,” I tried again, my name suddenly sounding foreign and strange to me.

“That’s a nice name. I like it,” Baby-Blues said.

“Glad you approve,” I said, my nerves retreating enough to allow some wit. “And you are?”

He gave a wink that infuriated and exhilarated me simultaneously. “You lost fair and square. I’m under no obligation to tell you anything.”

“‘Under no obligation?’ What is this? A contract?”

“No, no. Of course not,” he spread his hands in mock supplication, “I’m Liam.”

“Liam...?” I said, raising an eyebrow at him in invitation to fill the blank space.

“Just Liam for now. Maybe you’ll get the chance to learn my last name later on,” he said, pushing his fingers into his pockets and hooking his thumbs again.

My mouth went dry and an incredible tingle that couldn’t be ignored ran up my back. It had to be my dirty mind reading into something that wasn’t there. He couldn’t possibly have been implying what I thought he was implying, could he have been?

I was sure that Liam could have his pick of any Italian belle of this particular ball, whether they were married or not. Whether their husbands were present or not. That charming smile and that mischievous twinkle in his baby blues were completely irresistible. And I knew that Liam knew that, too.

So why was he flirting with me? Not that I minded that much. Stuck in my rut as I had been, going from class to bed and bed to class and eating sometimes in between, I’d declined all forms of male advances.

Maybe I should stop doing that, I thought, feeling the pull of his charm. After all, it had been so long. Maybe I really did need to shake things up in a big way if I wanted to change my course.

I realized I’d been standing in front of Liam chewing all this over in my head. “Liam is a nice name, too.” Liam is a nice name, too!? What kind of reply is that? I berated myself.

I wouldn’t have blamed him for smiling politely, taking his leave, and disappearing into the sea of people to neither be seen nor heard from again. Perhaps just the barest glimpse of him climbing into a flaming red Lamborghini with a smoldering Italian beauty to match hanging from his arm.

I mean, I was just Emma Weston from St. Louis. Who was I to him? Nobody, that was who.

“Come on, let’s get this party started,” Liam said. He offered me one of those warm hands of his, palm up so I could see the creases of the lines crossing it as though I could tell his future from them.

You’re going to flirt with a clumsy, directionless American girl at a posh party in Rome... I started, unable to help it. I beat back against my self-deprecatory urge. He’s your way out of this rut, take it! Climb on up!

“Climb on up what?” Liam said.

My breath hitched in my throat. I’d said that last bit out loud! I couldn’t believe how far gone I was. Maybe Liam was just what I needed.

“Nothing at all, forget it. Let’s get to party starting.” I took his hand. He squeezed my fingers for a moment, then gently guided my hand up to the crook of his elbow and began escorting me into the party proper.

It was a beautiful hall. Guests spoke and laughed and sipped drinks on the marble-banistered mezzanine, which they reached by means of an ornate grand staircase. Looking up, I saw some expert artist had reproduced Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel painting, Adam lifting a lackadaisical finger towards God’s outstretched, straining digit.

Liam didn’t let me linger long, sweeping me towards the dance floor, the quartet’s instruments clear and melodious this close to the source of the music.

Except someone intercepted him.

Chapter 2

I’d been so caught up in Liam’s spell that I’d almost completely forgotten about the reason for my being at this party.

I say almost forgot because the reason for my coming planted himself in front of the two of us, using his body as a barrier that would need to be conquered if we wanted to pass it.

“Emma! Ah, yes, I have found you.” Unlike Liam, he didn’t stop his eyes from wandering up and down my body. I could feel his gaze sliding down from my face, catching for a few moments on various parts of my body before continuing down like an obscene game of Plinko.

Professor Giuseppe Aretino stood before the two of us, his arms outstretched as though he meant to catch me up in an enormous hug. He was maybe a couple inches taller than I was. Which is actually one of the main reasons I chose to wear flats to the party rather than any sort of heel. Dr. Aretino could be somewhat touchy about his height (or lack thereof). He would take offense if I was taller.

An issue which became apparent a moment later, when he looked up into Liam’s face.

They examined each other quickly, in that way men sometimes do. Sizing each other up. Liam in his dark Armani that accented his body and Giuseppe in a grey three piece that had probably cost a quarter the price despite his somewhat prestigious position at the university.

They both had black hair, yes. But where Liam’s was soft and glossy Giuseppe’s was oily and slicked so that I could see the shiny expanse of his forehead. A forehead gaining wrinkles with increasing speed as the smaller Italian man found the scales swinging against him in this particular weigh-in.

Giuseppe was also considerably older. He was in his late forties while I doubted Liam had even seen thirty yet.

Anyway, all this arithmetic added up to one rather annoyed Italian professor of art history. An Italian professor of art history who had it within his power to fail me in his course, bringing my average down to an unacceptable level to continue my stay at Sapienza.

It was an old story: the professor uses his position of power to try and take advantage of his student. Except in my case I had stuck a bookmark before the part where the student gives in or falls prey to his wiles and did my best to put the story to bed. I didn’t intend on reading any farther than I had to.

I’m not stupid. I knew the game he wanted to play, and I did my best to keep myself benched, figuring (hoping) he would get the hint and stop.

I think he’d gotten it into his head that tonight was finally going to be the night when he’d win me over to his charms. In reality, I’d only really come to try and stay as much on his good side as I could.

And by showing up arm-in-arm with Liam here I’d just managed to jeopardize the whole shebang.

“Ragazza d’oro, who is this man? Please, you must introduce us immediately!” Giuseppe said, irritation flashing in his eyes for a moment before he could cover it up with a smile that showed far too many teeth. That smile had always set me on edge.