Roman Crazy
Page 55
“You two are going away together this weekend?”
“Mm-hmm, somebody he did a favor for is giving us their villa for the weekend. It’s supposed to be actually right on the literal lake, how cool is that?”
“That’s very cool, Avery,” she agreed, but something in her voice had changed a little. “Just be careful. Don’t get in too deep, too fast, so you don’t get your heart broken. Or break anyone else’s.”
“Oh.” I chewed on my lip. “I don’t think—I mean, we just started—”
“Exactly,” she gently interrupted. “So you might not be thinking. I’m not saying don’t do this, because it’s obvious there’s something pretty incredible between you two. But just come up for air if you need it, okay? You went from the sorority house right into Daniel’s house, and it might be good to just . . . I don’t know. Marcello is great, but so are you. Remember that, okay?”
I smiled. “I will.”
“Okay, lecture over. Now tell me about the good stuff. Is he as good as you remember? Details woman! I’m stuck in hell right now; I need to know someone’s getting laid.”
* * *
“WHEN WILL WE SEE the Clooney?”
“Unbelievable.”
“Seriously, when will we see the Clooney?”
“What is that saying? You are like a bone with a dog?”
“Reverse it. So, Clooney. Will he be just walking free through the train station, or will it be more like we’ll see him on the lake, driving his speedboat around?”
“I do not think that he—”
“A speedboat. Yeah. And maybe he’s got somewhere really fancy to be, so he’ll be in a tuxedo—it could happen. And what if when he gets off the boat, I happen to be right there, and he realizes he doesn’t have to go to this shindig alone.”
“You know that I hear you, right?”
“Yeah, it helps when I’m fantasizing to this degree to say it out loud. Dammit, I lost my train of thought.” I looked up at Marcello and blinked. “Where was I?”
“Something about getting off his boat in a tuxedo?”
“Yeah, the tuxedo. And he needs me to accompany him to a fancy dinner tonight. I don’t have a thing to wear, of course, but I’ll figure it out. And when we get there—”
“When you get there, a tall, dark, handsome man, also wearing a tuxedo, will approach you, slap your Clooney in the face, and take you behind the bar to remind you who brought you to Lake Como in the first place.”
I gasped. “You would slap Clooney?”
“It seems like more of an insult than punching him.”
“Good point.” I gazed out the window of the train, en route to Lake Como. “Change of plans. How about if I see Clooney, I just smile and nod like we both know something but refuse to acknowledge it. More mysterious that way.”
“I think that would best,” Marcello replied, nodding sagely. Slipping his arm around my shoulder, he cuddled me into his side, turning me a bit so we could both look out the window. It was a Thursday afternoon, and we were able to take off work around noon, grabbing the train from Rome to Milan. After a three-hour ride, we changed trains for the last leg to Varenna, the jumping-off point for all things Como.
And Clooney. I was mostly joking, but I’d still be scouting the lake for any signs of him.
The terrain changed several times on our way north from Rome, beginning to take on the mountainous feel being so close to the Alps. The trees were fuller, the air seemed more crisp, the sky clear blue, and what I was seeing out of the train window could only be described as something right out of a fairy tale.
And speaking of fairy tale, here I was sitting right next to my own Prince Awesome. Going away for a weekend to a luxurious villa on a romantic lake. How did I get so lucky? What is this life I was living?
I grinned, slid impossibly closer to Marcello, and watched the world go by.
* * *
THE TRAIN STATION IN MILAN was enormous, cavernous, glamorous, and a bit overwhelming. The train station in Varenna? Quaint. Small. Sweet. And just the right introduction to the wonder that is Lake Como. If the lake were a pair of men’s trousers, then Varenna would be the belt buckle. And like a belt buckle, it was right smack dab in the center of the action. Action, in this case, being a wonderfully sleepy town dotted with grand old villas and twisty turny streets.
“Oh,” I breathed as we stepped off the train and onto the platform. The air was soft, cushiony, and fragrant with just plain clean. Swinging my overnight bag easily over his shoulder, Marcello grabbed his own bag and we took off.
“It is beautiful, yes?”
“Oh my God, yes,” I agreed, my head spinning like an owl to take it all in, not miss a thing. He led me through the station, pausing to consult a map on the wall and compare it to the notes he had on where the villa was located. After quickly conversing with a cabbie, Marcello ushered me into a car and away we went.
From the train, I’d caught a peek or two of the lake, little snatches of deep blue color between mountains and trees. But now, as we wound farther down toward the water’s edge, the lake stretched out in all directions. To say I’ve never seen anything like it simply didn’t do it justice. The water was calm, so calm, rippling here and there maybe behind a boat but otherwise serene. Like glass. Climbing on either side of the water were tree-covered mountains, some rolling a little, others seeming to scrape the sky with their jagged peaks. And everywhere along the lake, incredible homes built right into the hillside, perched imperiously, looking down on the water and anyone who might be approaching. Stone terraces, gardens, each one bigger and grander than the next, spread out like colorful skirts on an imposing bodice, softening the look and making everything seem a bit friendlier, more approachable.
“Mm-hmm, somebody he did a favor for is giving us their villa for the weekend. It’s supposed to be actually right on the literal lake, how cool is that?”
“That’s very cool, Avery,” she agreed, but something in her voice had changed a little. “Just be careful. Don’t get in too deep, too fast, so you don’t get your heart broken. Or break anyone else’s.”
“Oh.” I chewed on my lip. “I don’t think—I mean, we just started—”
“Exactly,” she gently interrupted. “So you might not be thinking. I’m not saying don’t do this, because it’s obvious there’s something pretty incredible between you two. But just come up for air if you need it, okay? You went from the sorority house right into Daniel’s house, and it might be good to just . . . I don’t know. Marcello is great, but so are you. Remember that, okay?”
I smiled. “I will.”
“Okay, lecture over. Now tell me about the good stuff. Is he as good as you remember? Details woman! I’m stuck in hell right now; I need to know someone’s getting laid.”
* * *
“WHEN WILL WE SEE the Clooney?”
“Unbelievable.”
“Seriously, when will we see the Clooney?”
“What is that saying? You are like a bone with a dog?”
“Reverse it. So, Clooney. Will he be just walking free through the train station, or will it be more like we’ll see him on the lake, driving his speedboat around?”
“I do not think that he—”
“A speedboat. Yeah. And maybe he’s got somewhere really fancy to be, so he’ll be in a tuxedo—it could happen. And what if when he gets off the boat, I happen to be right there, and he realizes he doesn’t have to go to this shindig alone.”
“You know that I hear you, right?”
“Yeah, it helps when I’m fantasizing to this degree to say it out loud. Dammit, I lost my train of thought.” I looked up at Marcello and blinked. “Where was I?”
“Something about getting off his boat in a tuxedo?”
“Yeah, the tuxedo. And he needs me to accompany him to a fancy dinner tonight. I don’t have a thing to wear, of course, but I’ll figure it out. And when we get there—”
“When you get there, a tall, dark, handsome man, also wearing a tuxedo, will approach you, slap your Clooney in the face, and take you behind the bar to remind you who brought you to Lake Como in the first place.”
I gasped. “You would slap Clooney?”
“It seems like more of an insult than punching him.”
“Good point.” I gazed out the window of the train, en route to Lake Como. “Change of plans. How about if I see Clooney, I just smile and nod like we both know something but refuse to acknowledge it. More mysterious that way.”
“I think that would best,” Marcello replied, nodding sagely. Slipping his arm around my shoulder, he cuddled me into his side, turning me a bit so we could both look out the window. It was a Thursday afternoon, and we were able to take off work around noon, grabbing the train from Rome to Milan. After a three-hour ride, we changed trains for the last leg to Varenna, the jumping-off point for all things Como.
And Clooney. I was mostly joking, but I’d still be scouting the lake for any signs of him.
The terrain changed several times on our way north from Rome, beginning to take on the mountainous feel being so close to the Alps. The trees were fuller, the air seemed more crisp, the sky clear blue, and what I was seeing out of the train window could only be described as something right out of a fairy tale.
And speaking of fairy tale, here I was sitting right next to my own Prince Awesome. Going away for a weekend to a luxurious villa on a romantic lake. How did I get so lucky? What is this life I was living?
I grinned, slid impossibly closer to Marcello, and watched the world go by.
* * *
THE TRAIN STATION IN MILAN was enormous, cavernous, glamorous, and a bit overwhelming. The train station in Varenna? Quaint. Small. Sweet. And just the right introduction to the wonder that is Lake Como. If the lake were a pair of men’s trousers, then Varenna would be the belt buckle. And like a belt buckle, it was right smack dab in the center of the action. Action, in this case, being a wonderfully sleepy town dotted with grand old villas and twisty turny streets.
“Oh,” I breathed as we stepped off the train and onto the platform. The air was soft, cushiony, and fragrant with just plain clean. Swinging my overnight bag easily over his shoulder, Marcello grabbed his own bag and we took off.
“It is beautiful, yes?”
“Oh my God, yes,” I agreed, my head spinning like an owl to take it all in, not miss a thing. He led me through the station, pausing to consult a map on the wall and compare it to the notes he had on where the villa was located. After quickly conversing with a cabbie, Marcello ushered me into a car and away we went.
From the train, I’d caught a peek or two of the lake, little snatches of deep blue color between mountains and trees. But now, as we wound farther down toward the water’s edge, the lake stretched out in all directions. To say I’ve never seen anything like it simply didn’t do it justice. The water was calm, so calm, rippling here and there maybe behind a boat but otherwise serene. Like glass. Climbing on either side of the water were tree-covered mountains, some rolling a little, others seeming to scrape the sky with their jagged peaks. And everywhere along the lake, incredible homes built right into the hillside, perched imperiously, looking down on the water and anyone who might be approaching. Stone terraces, gardens, each one bigger and grander than the next, spread out like colorful skirts on an imposing bodice, softening the look and making everything seem a bit friendlier, more approachable.
