Enemies Abroad Page 4

  “That quote is from the Capuchin Crypt,” he explains with a clap of his hands. “I’m so happy you’ve already begun to take an interest in my city. I’m Lorenzo Ricci, a teacher here at St. Cecilia’s International School, and I’m also the head of our summer study abroad programs.”

  Hell freaking yes.

  Let’s do this, Lorenzo. Put me on the back of your Vespa and let’s go.

  From the looks of it, Noah’s not the least bit impressed with him.

  Lorenzo holds out his hand for Noah, and Noah accepts it and introduces himself, but not very enthusiastically. It’s fine. I have enough excitement for the both of us.

  “Your knee needs tending to,” Lorenzo tells me after we shake hands too. “I have a first aid kit I can get for you. Let me show you all to your rooms first.”

  I grab ahold of my luggage again, but Lorenzo is right there to act the part of a perfect gentleman.

  “Here, let me.”

  He reaches out to take the hefty duffle bag off my shoulder, and his fingers graze my bare skin for the briefest moment.

  ROMANCE! my body screams.

  Clearly, I’m starved for it.

  There’s been a dry spell as of late. Since Jeff and I broke up last year, there’ve been no sexy dates, no lusty phone calls, no late-night Tinder swiping.

  I sort of hoped there would be someone for me here in Rome. I’ve daydreamed about it even. Nothing too specific, just a summer fling with an Italian named Leonardo who helps run his family’s restaurant. At first, he’s reluctant to take things too far because of the language barrier, but his attraction to me is impossible to ignore. We have passionate sex in an olive grove and he cries at the airport the day I fly home.

  …just something like that.

  Lorenzo heads up to the front of the group, beside Noah, and together they lead us around a side hallway on the second floor, toward the dorms. With them side by side, I have to fight the urge to compare the two men. It’s impossible not to.

  Lorenzo is handsome, but Noah is something else entirely. The way, in movies, the devil always takes the shape of your most worshipped human form, so does Noah. His looks are deceiving, and I constantly remind myself of that.

  “You all will have this block of rooms to yourself,” Lorenzo tells us.

  My students waste no time. They immediately fan out like they’re in some kind of unspoken competition, clinging to their friends-turned-roommates.

  “Isaiah, let’s get this one! It has a sick view!”

  “Kylie! Here! It’s closest to the bathroom!”

  Since there’s an odd number of students, Zach claims his own room and immediately starts bragging.

  They’ve forgotten Noah and I exist.

  Soon, the hallway empties, doors slam, and I’m left to shout, “Find a roommate and get settled in, freshen up, and meet down in the courtyard in an hour for lunch!”

  My instructions are met with halfhearted groans. I turn to see Lorenzo watching me with a curious smile. He inclines his head back toward where we came from.

  “The teachers’ rooms are on the same floor, just on the other side of the courtyard.”

  My eyes widen.

  I don’t remember reading that in the information packet.

  “That far away? Shouldn’t we sleep nearby in case they need us?”

  Or, more likely, in case any of them tries to sneak out.

  “A security guard patrols the school at night,” Lorenzo assures us.

  Pfft. Like that’s enough?

  “Middle schoolers can be sneaky.”

  “Yes, but in Europe, we give children a bit more freedom than you all do in the States. The children will get into mischief one way or another. You can’t keep track of them every second of the day.”

  Watch me.

  I turn to Noah to gauge his feelings on the topic, and he shrugs. “Let’s see how far the rooms are and then make up our mind.”

  “Come. This way.”

  Lorenzo walks beside me, and Noah takes up the rear.

  “Is your knee okay?” Lorenzo asks.

  “Oh…it’s nothing.”

  He frowns. “Like I said, I have a first aid kit. I’ll get it for you once we set down your things.”

  We walk down the corridor and loop back to where Lorenzo first found us near the central staircase. We continue past, along the hall that faces the balcony, and I make small talk with our host.

  “How long have you taught here?”

  “Seven years now. I teach English to the students at the school, but my true passion is history. It’s why I like to do this summer program. I love to teach people about my beloved city.”

  We round the corner toward a hallway that looks identical to the one where we just dropped off the students. Marble floors and plaster walls with doors spaced equally apart on either side.

  “This is where you two will stay. Not all of the faculty rooms are open for the summer. The school’s only given me half a dozen keys, but you should both be able to take a room for yourselves. Trinity faculty are already set up down there, but here, Audrey, this room is vacant,” he says, leading me toward a door along the outer wall of the corridor. Boo. I was hoping for a view of the courtyard, and at first, I’m slightly disappointed. Then, he pulls a key ring out of his pocket and unlocks the door for me, and right away, I see I’m being treated to a room with a private view that looks down on our neighbor’s garden. It’s beautiful and lush with cheerful red poppies, pea vine, and garden roses. Along a back fence, there’s a row of lemon and orange trees planted in thick clay pots.

  Lorenzo walks into the room to drop off my luggage then points to the window.

  “If you open it, you’ll be able to smell the jasmine.”

  I’m tempted to try it right then, but I’m hyperaware of Noah’s presence at the door. I don’t invite him in any further.

  I’m the picture of awkwardness, but not him. He always seems so perfectly in control of his body, every breath, every subtle movement. He shouldn’t be. He should be a bull in a china shop.

  He steps back out into the hall, and Lorenzo snaps his fingers as if he just remembered Noah needs a room too. “And Noah, you can stay here, right across the hall from your friend.”

  Friend.

  I’m surprised Noah doesn’t snort.

  Lorenzo unlocks the door, and I peer in because I just can’t help myself. Our rooms are mirror images of each other. There’s a small desk under the window facing the courtyard, and his twin bed is just as miniscule as mine. At night, I’ll lie awake smiling, knowing how uncomfortable he is with his knees bent up in the fetal position and his head hitting the wall.

  Lorenzo disconnects our keys from the others on his key ring as he apologizes for the modest accommodations. Noah shrugs it off.

  “It’s great.”

  I eye Noah with skepticism behind Lorenzo’s back. He turns and sees me, his brow quirking.

  “So? What should we do? Stay here or move to the other side of the building?”

  Lorenzo holds up his finger. “I should mention, if you two want to stay near the children, you’ll be sharing their communal bathro—”

  He doesn’t even need to get the full word out before my hand shoots into the air to stop him. “This is fine. We’ll take turns checking in on them at night or something.”

  Lorenzo laughs. “Good. Now let me go get you that first aid kit.”

  He disappears down the hall, and I’m standing at Noah’s door.

  The energy changes in an instant.

  We’ve never been left alone like this outside of school.

  The possibilities are endless. We could finally have it out. Put our hands on each other. Disfigure. Maim. Worse.

  We’re both quiet for a long second, and then he turns toward me and tilts his head as if mulling something over.

  “Should we set up some ground rules?” he finally asks.

  My heart skips a beat then races to catch up. “Like what?”


  “Like no sleeping with the program director?”

  Now it’s my turn to hold back a snort. “Finding yourself tempted?” I hold up my hands in defeat. “Hey, go for it.”

  Noah doesn’t like my cutesy act. He really thinks there’s something brewing between me and Lorenzo. Is there? God, that’d be nice.

  “All right, here you go,” Lorenzo says, hurrying back with a small first aid kit in hand. Noah is still holding my stare and his eyes narrow a little, maybe in warning, maybe just in good ol’ fun. I look to Lorenzo and give him a thank you and a smile.

  “I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled in before lunch,” he tells me. “If you’re wanting to wash your leg off, the bathroom is just down the hall.”

  That’s exactly where I head once I have my toiletries and a change of clothes.

  The communal bathroom is much nicer than I was expecting. No grungy sludge-lined tile, no crusty toilets. Along one wall, there’s a row of shower stalls with brand new opaque plastic curtains. Along another, there are sinks and mirrors. The toilets are separated into three private rooms with actual doors. A bank of windows with frosted glass lets in warm afternoon sunlight.

  I read in the information packet that a laundry service comes to the school once a week, so there are fresh folded towels near the showers. I’m headed toward them—anxious to wash off the street germs that have been marinating on my knee for the last half hour—when I catch sight of my own reflection in one of the mirrors and freeze.

  Oof.

  I’m a mess. My hair has come undone from its neat ponytail. The baby hairs near my face have curled into frizzy ringlets. My mascara has smudged and my cheeks are still red from the trek from the subway. A quick smell check confirms that yes, that nostril-searing odor is wafting off of me.

  Dear god how could anyone stand to be near me?!

  Just then, the bathroom door opens and a fellow chaperone leans in, her eyes wide with wonder.

  I expect her to introduce herself, but the first words out of her mouth are, “Jesus! Who’s the hunk?”

  And unfortunately for me…I don’t think she’s talking about Lorenzo.

  Chapter Five

  I soap off the last twenty-four hours, tend to my knee, and change into a simple sky-blue sundress. It has a smattering of little white daisies all over it, and it’s lovely and thin. The fabric isn’t too tight and the hem falls to my knees, which means it meets the chaperone dress code I’ve established for myself. It was hard picking a wardrobe for the trip. With scorching temperatures in Rome, I couldn’t make myself pack a single pair of jeans or, god forbid, slacks. I chose breathable fabrics and lots of dresses. The students will have to endure the sight of my shoulders and knees and try not to be scarred for life.

  In the last half hour, I’ve unpacked quickly and arranged my things so that everything looks neat and tidy. A sweater is folded over the back of my desk chair in case I get chilly at night. My half-finished copy of The Dutch House by Ann Patchett waits for me on my bedside table alongside Where the Red Fern Grows, which is one of the books we’ll discuss in my class next year.

  I haven’t had a chance to open the window and smell the jasmine like Lorenzo suggested, but I will. For now, I have to get back to my students. It’s time to meet for lunch.

  I slip on my white Veja sneakers and grab my money pouch and tote bag.

  I’m almost out the door when I cave and backtrack, grabbing a compact mirror from my makeup bag and checking my reflection one more time. It’s silly that I’ve taken this much care with my appearance. With an even complexion and dark lashes, I usually just let it ride, especially at school. A hint of blush and a dab of pink gloss on my lips isn’t much though, right?

  “Oh my god! Ms. Cohen! WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR FACE?!”

  “You look so different!”

  “She’s just wearing makeup,” Lizzy tells the boys, rolling her eyes for emphasis when I join the others.

  “Ms. Cohen, you look pretty, but let me know if you want me to help you next time. I’m really good with eyeliner,” Alice says, barely masking her insult with a compliment.

  I’m one step out into the courtyard and all eyes are on me thanks to my students.

  Noah and Lorenzo are chatting with a few other chaperones in a group, and I’m annoyed to find that Noah understood the assignment: Rome tourist, but make it fashionable.

  He’s a walking J. Crew ad: navy shorts, cool sneakers, and a slightly fitted white shirt.

  He took the time to freshen up too, and his wavy chestnut brown hair is simply *chef’s kiss*, but I’d never tell him that.

  Two women crowd in, hanging on his every word, but he’s paused whatever he was saying to look over at me.

  I’m on a NYFW catwalk as I move to join the other chaperones. Don’t trip. Don’t stumble. Chin high. Pretend no one is watching.

  I stop next to Noah because the enemy you know and all that.

  “You’ve freshened up so nicely, Audrey,” Lorenzo tells me, smiling kindly.

  I thank him before Noah flicks my money belt in a silent jab, and I shoot him a death glare.

  “Audrey, this is Gabriella and Ashley,” Lorenzo explains. “They’re the chaperones from Trinity and they arrived just yesterday. They’ll be here for most of July as well.”

  I recognize Gabriella as the woman who poked her head into the restroom earlier to give her commentary on Noah. She’s tall and lithe with a mass of soft curls and a delicate navy uniform skirt and blazer. Ashley is smaller, softer, blonde. She’s wearing the same uniform as Gabriella, only in a shade of blood red. They both wear coordinating cross ties beneath the collars of their crisp white shirts.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Audrey,” they tell me with big genuine smiles.

  We’re waiting on a few more stragglers from Trinity before our two groups can set out for lunch led by Lorenzo. It affords me just enough time to get to know our other chaperones better. Apparently, Trinity is a private school in New York City. Ashley and Gabriella teach Latin and history, respectively, and they both hold master’s degrees from prestigious universities. Ashley is engaged, but Gabriella is single, which is a fact pointed heavily in Noah’s direction.

  “And have you both been to Rome before?” I ask.

  Gabriella puffs out a breath. “Oh, sheesh. This is maybe my tenth or eleventh time here? What about you, Ash?”

  “Oh, who knows? My family and I always fly into Rome when we summer in Italy.”

  Well la-dee-da.

  “And you?” Gabriella asks Noah.

  He slips his hands into his pockets and gives her a tiny smile. “First time.”

  I swear she licks her chops. “Well we’ll have to take you around!” Gabriella says, edging toward him.

  “Ground rules,” I whisper under my breath.

  Noah covers up his laugh by clearing his throat.

  The two last stragglers enter the courtyard. They’re Trinity students, but they look like adults Hollywood cast to play middle schoolers. Jesus, does that one kid have a beard?

  Our Lindale boys look like pipsqueaks in comparison, and to no one’s surprise, Lizzy, Kylie, Millie, and Alice make a beeline for the Trinity boys as Lorenzo claps his hands and starts to lead us out onto the streets of Rome.

  The trek from the airport is long forgotten, washed down the drain with my blood and sweat.

  Now, we’ve arrived, and I take in the Eternal City with fresh eyes. Not even Noah can ruin my buzz.

  All my preteen screenings of Roman Holiday didn’t prepare me for the beauty of this place. In the middle of the afternoon, the city is a sunset. Stucco walls are painted in yellows and pale pinks and dark rusts and oranges, their roofs a hodgepodge of terra-cotta tiles. Plants grow up from nothing, covering whole swaths of buildings with thirsty vines.

  Lorenzo leads our large group along Via in Arcione and we pass clothing stores and restaurants, and from there, we continue onto Via del Lavatore.

  The streets are narrow and th
e black cobblestones under our feet have been worn smooth over time. We pass a gelato shop and the kids beg us to stop, but Lorenzo waves us on with a look of pure joy in his eyes. I realize what he’s done when, a moment later, Via del Lavatore curves slightly right and we’re spit out right onto Piazza di Trevi. Just like that, we stand in front of one of the world’s most famous landmarks.

  The Trevi Fountain is blinding white in the afternoon sun. The crowds are dense and loud, impatient for their chance to get close enough to throw a coin in the water to ensure a return trip to Rome. It’s pure superstition but definitely worth the wasted quarter on the off chance the wish comes true.

  Lorenzo corrals our students to a spot in the center of the piazza, in the middle of the crowds.

  “The center sculpture you see there in the Trevi Fountain is the Greek sea god Oceanus,” he begins to tell the students. “Unlike Neptune who carries a trifork and is often depicted with a dolphin, Oceanus is accompanied by seahorses and Tritons who are half men, half mermen. The fountain is filled with symbolism. See how Oceanus is on a shell-shaped chariot pulled by two horses, each guided by a Triton? One horse is calm while the other is unruly, and they each represent the different moods of the sea.”

  After we learn about the fountain’s architect (Nicola Salvi), its architectural style (Baroque), and how many coins are thrown into it each day (upwards of 3,000 euros), we cluster the Lindale kids together in front of the fountain for photos.

  I send the best picture—meaning six out of our nine kids have their eyes open—to the group text we have going with their parents, and replies start pinging in right away.

  How fun!

  What a great group!

  Why is Kylie in the back? I can barely see her.

  “Okay,” Lorenzo says, gathering everyone’s attention again. “Who’s hungry?”

  We have reservations at a little café just around the corner from the fountain.

  With the size of our group, they were only able to accommodate us outside, and we stretch out over several tables. The students cluster in cliques, Lindale boys and Lindale girls, Trinity boys and Trinity girls.

  I’m the first to take a seat at the chaperones’ table. I choose a spot at the end, and then, to my chagrin, Noah pulls out the chair on my left.