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I blinked.Nice going, Molly. Looks like there was a new moment to add to my Top Five list.
“I was walking around on the floor,” I said defensively. “I was doing that before you started working out. Which, by the way, you’re not allowed to do. The gym is closed.”
He kept on smiling at me, like this was all some joke. “It is?”
“Yes. There’s a sign on the door.”
“I don’t read Italian.”
“It’s in English,” I pointed out. “And French, and German, and another language I don’t recognize.”
“Maybe I don’t read any of those. Did you consider I might be illiterate?”
“You’re not illiterate,” I said curtly. “You were passing notes with me.”
Donovan just shrugged. “The door was unlocked. Who’s going to stop me? There’s nobody else in the hotel to use the gym. The other floors are deserted, I checked. Unless you want to use the gym…”
“I’m fine walking around the hall,” I said. “I hate running on treadmills. I prefer to feel like I’mactuallymoving.”
He toweled off one arm, then the other. I struggled to keep my eyes on his face.
“Want to get dinner on the balcony tonight?” he asked. “Without all the awkwardness this time.”
“Oh.” I blinked. “I don’t… I don’t think I want…”
I tried to think of an excuse, but nothing came to me. It felt like my brain had shut off. It probably had to do with the chiseled, shirtless guy smiling at me. I felt my cheeks grow hot.
“Stop trying to think of an excuse,” Donovan said. “What else are you going to do tonight? Sit in your room? Come on. It’s going to be a beautiful night. You’re in Rome. The least you could do is enjoy the sunset. Besides, you owe me a bottle of wine for last night’s dinner. See you on the balcony at six.”
He returned to the gym, allowing the door to close automatically behind him. He sat down on the weight-lifting bench and began curling a dumbbell. His bicep flexed, and a vein bulged along his olive skin. His dark hair hung across his face as he leaned forward, focusing on the movement…
Eighteen laps is close enough, I thought as I hurried back to my room.
8
Molly
The Day We Had Dinner
I thought about his invitation the rest of the day. He never even gave me a chance to reply. He just assumed I would say yes. But I didn’t have to accept it. I could stay in my room and watch more episodes of Italian-dubbed Seinfeld.
The problem was that I was hungry. The half-sandwich hadn’t done much to fill the pit in my stomach, and the growling had only gotten worse after my eighteen laps around the building. After a lot of internal struggling, I decided I could handle a little bit of awkwardness.
It’s just about the food,I told myself.
I took a shower and washed my hair. When it eventually dried, I straightened it, then found another dress to wear. Despite the informal balcony setting, itdidfeel good to put on makeup and get dressed like I was going out for a night on the town. It helped make things seem a little more normal.
At six, I carried a bottle of wine out to the balcony. Like last night, the sun was falling toward the Colosseum. The city looked older in the dying light, long shadows accentuating the imperfections in the architecture. If I squinted I could pretend I was back in ancient Rome, watching the same sunset as Roman senators and emperors.
I glanced down at the plaza below. The shattered bowl of pasta was still there, and two cats were gently licking up the remains of the sauce.
The balcony door opened and Donovan walked out holding two plates of food. The way he looked in the gym flashed in my head like an intrusive thought: muscles and sweat and bulging veins. Knowing what was underneath his shirt made him just a little bit sexier than before, if such a thing was possible.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said through his mask.
I pulled my T-shirt-converted-into-a-mask up over my mouth. “Like you said, I don’t have any other plans. What’s on the menu tonight?”
I still felt awkward, like the unpopular kid who was pretending to be aloof to hang out with the cool kids. But Donovan only smiled behind his mask.
