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“Uh-huh,” I say before stuffing my mouth with food so I don’t reveal too much. I’m already blushing from head to toe. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to discover why.
“And you had a good time? No one suffered any injuries?” Ashley teases.
I do have aches and pains, but not because of dinner. A steamy sex scene montage runs through my head. Noah’s hands gripping my waist. My mouth on his. Curling toes. Happy endings.
“Your hair is a little messed up,” Ashley points out.
“Oh. Is it?”
I try to flatten it down with a few swipes of my hand.
“Yeah, and I think your mascara’s smeared.”
It’s Noah’s fault. He pounced on me after I got back from getting ready in the bathroom. It was only a harmless make-out session and I didn’t think to check my reflection afterward, but now I obviously regret that.
“Thanks.”
I take huge gulps of my coffee, both because I need the caffeine after last night and because the sooner I finish this meal, the sooner I can be free of these questions.
Noah—smartly—pretends he hasn’t been paying attention to the last part of our conversation.
The first chance I have to come up for air, away from Noah, is when I set off with the group of students for the market. Noah and I leave St. Cecilia’s at the same time, heading in different directions.
I look over my shoulder and give him a little wave.
When I turn back around, Kylie is smiling cockily, like she’s just solved her case. I let her enjoy her victory.
When we arrive, the farmer’s market is already bustling with people, but it’s lacking the usual madness we’ve experienced at other tourist spots in Rome. Everyone seems content to be enjoying their Sunday morning, strolling slowly along with no real goal in mind. The sun is still creeping up overhead, half-blocked by a building so that we can enjoy the shade and slightly cooler temperatures while we’ve got them. The crowd is dense enough that I keep a close watch on my small group of Lindale girls, but they’re not prone to wander. We stick together, sampling every bit of cheese and fruit we can get our hands on. I buy us a few sandwiches on freshly baked ciabatta bread and then we stop to peruse a table filled with dainty jewelry.
The artisan is selling beaded bracelets that only cost five euros each, so I can’t resist buying the girls matching ones.
“Four please,” I say, holding up the cash.
“Five,” Lizzy insists, grabbing one more of the bracelets. “You need one too!”
My little teacher heart grows three sizes.
When we pass a table overloaded with chocolate confections, I think of last night and Noah’s and my failed pursuit of a second cannoli. The absurdity of it strikes me all over again. I decide I can’t go back to St. Cecilia’s emptyhanded. This will be our consolation prize. I get two bags filled with assorted chocolates. One to share while we’re here and one to take back to the States.
When we get back to the school, we set up a movie in the common area off the porch: Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, a classic none of the kids have seen and perfect given our location. I’ve seen it so many times and know exactly how it ends, but it’s still hard to watch Ann (Hepburn) and Joe (Peck) realize their fledgling love can’t last and their time spent running around Rome together—while passionate—was only a sweet respite from real life, not a lasting love affair. When Ann tells him, “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” we all have tears in our eyes. They share one last kiss and Joe sadly watches Ann go, never once asking her to stay with him. He knows she can’t.
When the credits roll, Millie looks over at me, her bottom lip wobbling. “He just…just let her leave!”
Alice throws herself back dramatically on the couch. “I thought it was going to have a happy ending! Oh my god, I’m so depressed.”
“Ann had the holiday of a lifetime,” I point out.
“But…but they loved each other so much. I want them to be together forever!” Lizzy says, swiping under her eyes.
“What if they never find that sort of chemistry again? What if they threw away their one chance at happiness?”
Dissecting the movie’s plot through the eyes of a bunch of thirteen-year-olds makes it all seem so much more complicated. Maybe they’re right. Maybe Joe should have fought to stay with Ann and make it work. It would have been hard, but who knows, they could have found real happiness together.
I explain this all to Noah later as we’re sitting side by side on his bed, post-sex, eating our way through the farmer’s market chocolates.
To him, it’s black and white.
“She’s the princess of some European country, isn’t she? She can’t just up and leave her royal duties for a chance fling with an American heartthrob. Who, by the way, was lying to her about being a journalist the whole time if I remember correctly.”
