I smiled, “No, actually. We didn’t.”

She shook her head, forgetting herself again. “What? Why not?” Then she leaned forward conspiratorially, making sure that aged Giancarlo the waiter couldn’t hear, “Was there... a problem? Some men, they have problems...”

“What? No. Not at all,” I said. In fact, from my recollection of the way his body pressed against mine, he didn’t have any problems in that department at all.

It was the frittata he’d been preparing for me. Our kissing and groping grew more intense, and he must have shifted back against the range and bumped up the temperature setting.

One moment I thought he’d be taking me right there on the counter. The next the egg started smoking and spitting in the skillet. Liam used his body to block any of the hot, semi-solid batter from scalding me while he picked the skillet up by the handle and doused the scorched contents in the sink. A cloud rose up, steaming the tile backsplash.

After that we both laughed. He ordered room service for us.

“I’ll never look at burning egg the same way again,” I said, smiling. After that, he offered me a ride in that rental Bimmer of his anywhere in the city. I had him take me to the campus.

“And that is all?” Isabella said.

“Yep. I wish I’d gotten his phone number or his email or something.”

Isabella reached across the table and grabbed my hands. “You know what hotel he is staying at. Go and see him again!”

That sounded good, but the idea stirred at the pool of anxiety low in my stomach. “There’s that... But what if he thinks it’s just a onetime thing? What if I go to his room and knock on the door and when he opens it and sees me he gives me some look that’s asking why I’m there?”

I didn’t think I could bear a look like that. Not from him. Part of me just wanted to leave the whole experience as one of my only truly happy memories of Rome. At least if I did that there was no chance I could ruin it by making what should have been a one night thing something that it wasn’t.

“Why? Do you think he is married, or that he has a girlfriend? That maybe if you show up you’ll catch him with her?” Isabella teased.

“He’s not married. He wasn’t wearing a ring.” I knew because I’d been very careful to check.

“Then what is the problem? Go to him! If you don’t, perhaps I will. I have been looking for a good kisser...”

I jerked my hands back out of hers and she laughed. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Isabella started speaking again, but the tolling of a bell at a church down on the corner cut her off. My mind counted the chimes and when I realized the significance of the number my throat tightened.

“I’ve got class!” I said, scrambling up out of my chair, grabbing at my messenger bag with all my notebooks and papers in it.

“Go to him!” Isabella said, reaching out for me.

I smiled at her even as I started weaving my way between the bistro tables. I’d gotten so wrapped up in the story that I’d stayed too long. Now I was going to be late for Dr. Aretino’s class.

My stomach began tying itself in knots. Suddenly my latte wasn’t sitting so well. Just thinking about the look

“I’ll think about it!” I shot back at her, “It’s the best I can do!”

***

By the time I made it to the lecture hall my shirt clung to the small of my back from the sweat. I took a moment to compose myself outside the double doors, whisking errant strands of hair back behind my ears, trying to calm the throbbing of my heart.

Steeling myself, I pulled one of the doors open. This particular class had 30 students in it, barely enough to fill a quarter of the hall’s amphitheater-styled seating. I made my way down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.

A few of my fellow students glanced back at me when the door shut, sending a hollow boom down past me that made me flinch.

Dr. Aretino used a laser pointer to circle a bit of detail on an enlarged section of a painting I didn’t immediately recognize. I could feel his eyes on me as I slid into a seat just off the stairs.

It was my first class with him since the fundraiser. Rather, since he’d watched Liam guide me off the dance floor and out of the building. Was that reproach I felt in his eyes?

I got more sidelong glances from my classmates as I tried pulling out a pen and my notebook as quietly as possible. Isn’t it funny how trying to be quiet usually makes things louder? Like the scrape of paper on paper, or the sound of my bag’s zipper.

This is what boys get you, I thought. In trouble. If anything, that helped me to decide against calling on Liam at his hotel. My grades were getting dangerously low. If I didn’t pull them up I’d be out of the program and back in St. Louis.

But isn’t that what you wanted? Another voice nagged at me, reminding me again of that fundraiser where I’d wondered how Dr. Aretino would react if I told him I wanted to withdraw and go home.

Except now I didn’t. Not only had my night with Liam made me more appreciative of my surroundings, but it also made me feel a pang of anxiety at withdrawing and retreating.

I decided the best way to stop thinking about Liam was to concentrate on my studies. So I concentrated on Dr. Aretino’s lecture, my pen scribbling notes for the next hour. I even successfully answered two questions he posed to the class.

That burbling anxiety returned when he turned off the PowerPoint projector and began closing his notebooks that were open on the lectern. All around me, my classmates also began packing up.

If I moved quickly, I could escape with the pack out into the hall.

“Emma! Emma, will you stay a moment, please?” Dr. Aretino said, waving at me. I thought for a moment that I could pretend I hadn’t heard or seen him, but then I realized that if I did want to pull my grades around it would be best to stay on his good side.

So I went down the stairs and stood in front of the lectern, keeping it between us. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling reflected as shiny white patches on his forehead.

“Ah, my golden girl, I have been wanting to speak with you.”

“Dr. Aretino...” I started.

“Giuseppe! Always with this Dr. nonsense even though I have asked you many times to call me Giuseppe!”

“Giuseppe,” I started again.

He came around the lectern and put his hands on my shoulders. Then he gave me a once over, tut-tutting under his breath. Again, I felt the way his eyes slithered over me. “You are all right, yes? That brute did not mistreat you, did he?”

“Brute?” I said, realizing he meant Liam. “No, of course not. He was a total gentleman. Listen, Dr. Aretino, Giuseppe, I know you probably want to talk with me about my grades.”

“Grades?” he said, squinting for a moment and then widening his eyes. He still hadn’t let go of my shoulders. “Yes, yes. Grades. Emma, you are a smart girl. And beautiful. There is no reason your grades should be as they are.”

“I know,” I replied, that puddle of anxiety in the pit of my stomach flooding to become a full-fledged pool. “I’ve been having a hard time with some personal things, but I promise that if you give me the chance I will pull my marks up. I know I can do it.”

Giuseppe stopped smiling. He finally let go of my shoulders. Even though my shirt covered my skin, I knew he’d been gripping me hard enough to leave pale white finger impressions on me. He sighed, then leaned back against a table beside the lectern.

Something about his expression, about his body language, set that pool of panic roiling. Something is wrong.

“Emma, it is late in the semester. I am not certain that even getting perfect scores on the remaining assignments and exams in all your courses will be enough for you.”

My heart started lowering into that acidic pit. It seemed so ironic to me that now that I’d decided to stay I’d be forced to leave. “That can’t be true, professor.”