When in Rome (21 page)

“Not important? It seems to me they were pretty important!”

“Shut up and listen. Let me get to the fourth point. I tried to call you to see if we could see each other, even if you were pissed at me, but you were never home. I always got your fucking voice mail. I’d rather smash my phone than talk to a recording. So then I came to your show, but I couldn’t talk to you then. And believe it or not, Erika and I did not come together. We just happened to sit next to each other. So now I’m here. I just want to talk to you uninterrupted. Erika’s the one who told me about the surprise party. And she asked you those questions about Franz for me, to see if you guys were together.”

Words escape me. My sister’s behavior shocks me. Everything I knew about Erika is upside down. She came to the theater—without knowing Luca was going to be there—to see
me
? She asked about Franz the other night at the restaurant for
Luca
?

“I wanted to talk to you in person, you know? Without that square getting in the way,” he adds after a moment of silence.

“Who?”

“The blond guy. You’re always together. Have you slept together?” he asks. His eyes are dark as iron coins. He stares at me with alarming intensity. I just don’t understand. My stomach flip-flops.

“That’s none of your business,” I say without much conviction. My voice trembles a little, and I tremble a lot.

“But it is! I need you to tell me. Are you really together? Are you in love with him? If you are, just tell me to my face. If you love him, then . . . then . . . then I’ll leave you in peace.”

I stand there, completely dumbfounded. I don’t know what to say. My heart pounds so hard it threatens to shatter my ribcage. Tears spring to Luca’s eyes as he waits for my answer as if his life depended on my response.

“I haven’t gotten laid in two months, not since that night at the motel,” he says. “But you . . . That clearly hasn’t been the case for you.”

“You have a really short memory. Don’t forget about the naked woman you brought into our home.”

“I didn’t do anything with her! I tried, of course; I’m a man. But nothing happened. I was confused, I felt desperate. You may as well have just cut my balls off, Carlotta.”

I stare at him, shocked. I can’t even breathe.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he continues. “For two months I tried to get laid but kept thinking about you instead. For two months I tried to see you, and when I finally did, I was faced with that creepy painting you did that told me exactly what you think of me!”

“Wh—what?” I stammer.

“Are you happy that you’ve reduced me to this? I’ve turned into someone who can’t stop thinking about what you sound like when you’re making love. I’m a fucking stalker, following you at the mall, pretending to buy flowers when you see me. I don’t even know who I sent them to—I made up an address! So tell me, are you enjoying this?”

“No, I don’t—”

“Carlotta, I don’t know how much longer I can take this—this not knowing.”

He brings me closer to him, hugging me.

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s not clear to you? That I’m in love with you? That it was easy for me to believe that we were just friends until I saw you with another guy, and jealousy wreaked havoc on my insides? That I was so caught up at the motel that I forgot to use protection? I’ve never been that into someone before. I was afraid of you, of what I did, of how I feel, and of how I could have hurt you because I behaved like a foolish little boy. It’s not true that you were the worst sex I ever had. I only said that to hurt you. Carlotta, could you please say something?”

It is not easy to formulate a response that resembles an actual word when all I want to do is let out a bestial scream of joy. I think my happiness is coming across as terror.

“Are you in love with Franz?” he asks.

I can’t respond. I’m tongue-tied. He hugs me, and I’m afraid that it’s good-bye. I need to tell him.

“Carlotta, you’re the only person on this planet who couldn’t see how I felt. I only slept with Erika because I was upset. I thought you were sleeping with Tony. I didn’t do it to be with her, I did it to spite you. I was jealous, and I know it was wrong. I tried to write you a letter of apology, but I scrapped it. I couldn’t find the right words. But if you give me a chance . . . If you let me show you . . .”

I’m sorry, what? Me? The girl with a face like a strawberry? The girl with the flat chest and porcupine hair?
I
should give
him
a chance? How did I end up with the power here?

I get up on the balls of my feet and trace a finger on his wet cheek. “Franz and I are just friends,” I whisper. “Nothing has ever happened between us. I love you, you fool. I love you so much. I’ve loved you longer than you realize.”

He smiles, and his expression jumps from astonishment to joy. He responds with a passionate kiss. His mouth tastes like rainwater, his tongue like dark chocolate. When we come up for air a moment or a century later, I note that it’s still raining.

“I have an idea, my little butterfly. How about we go home and make love for three days straight?”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” I whisper. “But we’re going to have to hitch a ride because neither of us has a car.”

We laugh and kiss once more. I hear a noise behind us. There, under a bright pink umbrella, wearing a megawatt grin, is my mother. She holds a set of keys in her hand. I’m sure she’s been standing there for a while, eavesdropping on every word of our conversation. Behind her, everyone from the theater is pressed against the glass, watching the spectacle that is my life. Rose gives me a thumbs-up. Iriza beams at me. Romina dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Lara glares at Luca, letting him know that she’ll skin him alive if he makes one wrong move. Rocky looks like he’s about to puke.

“Do you need a ride, my darlings?” my mother chirps. “Why don’t you use Oreste’s car? It’s right over there.” She points to an enormous blue Mercedes shining like a sapphire, parked at the curb. Luca takes the keys, but my mother isn’t satisfied. Unexpectedly, she pulls something out of her pocket that I don’t recognize right away.

“You forgot Oreste’s present, honey. I’m sure it’ll come in handy!”

My cheeks turn beet red with embarrassment. I’m about to say something, but Luca quickly grabs it and shoves it in his pocket.

“That’s very thoughtful,” he says. “It will certainly come in handy. I can’t wait to tear it off of her.”

I feel feverish. Even my mother, who has never heard the word
shame
, looks surprised. Then Luca leans forward and lowers his voice.

“I’ll let it go this time, because he’s letting us use his car. But if Oreste ever gives Carlotta a present like that again, I’ll kick his ass.”

No one has ever silenced my mother like that. Luca takes my hand and guides me to the car. We are so soaked that it’s no longer worth trying to protect ourselves from the rain. We get into the car, laughing.

My mother’s senses returned, she shouts after me, waving her umbrella. “Don’t be dull, my darling Carlotta. Remember what I told you! Bad boys are always better in bed!”

EPILOGUE

My official initiation into my thirties has been nothing short of busy, considering what happened last night (twice) and then again this morning at dawn. Fireworks, with brief intervals to catch our breath. Now, as he sleeps, Luca seems so helpless. He’s lying on his back with the sheets tangled around his waist. If I didn’t know he was asleep, I’d say he looks posed. One arm is behind his head, the other at his side. His chest is bare, his hair in artistic disarray. But I know he’s sleeping by his breathing, his soft features, and his relaxed muscles.

I get up to go to the bathroom, quickly throwing on a pair of his boxers with Kermit the Frog on the back. Luca stirs in his sleep. A little rest is in order after all that exercise.

In the mirror, I see a different person. I hate to admit it, but my mother was right. My skin is smooth, fresh, and radiant. I look ten years younger. The sex is good, but I think being in love makes it all the better. I love Luca, and Luca loves me, in all my weird glory. I feel stronger than I did yesterday, and tomorrow I’ll feel stronger than I do today. The passage of time is nothing but a front for the timid and cowardly. Age is just a number. What counts is how you fill your years.

I’ve learned a lot from everyone over these past few months. Even my mother, in her own special way, taught me something: to not give up. I’ve developed a thick skin. In a sink-or-swim situation, I’ve learned to stay afloat. I think about Erika and all the things she said. She was so furious, but her eyes gave away her sadness. I stare into my own eyes in the mirror, thinking that I want to try to see her. I always assumed that our tattered relationship was her fault, but maybe I was to blame, too. I did to her what I did to Luca when he tried to open up to me: I assumed she was trying to insult me, and so I shut her down before she could hurt me. Of course, sarcasm can be a great defense mechanism, but sometimes you have to let yourself be vulnerable. I would give anything if it meant we could find our way back to being those two little girls who dreamed of being princesses someday. Maybe there’s hope.

I smile at myself in the mirror, but then I remember something that makes me feel uneasy. I find myself in Luca’s old room, standing on the mattress with a roller and a can of white paint. I’m not even dressed, but it has to be done. Judith and Holofernes gradually disappear under layers of white paint, their accusing, desperate eyes dissolving under the brushstrokes. The room feels lighter when I’m finished, and I’m pleased. There’s a time for everything. I dealt with pain, and now I just want to be happy. I’ll paint something new, perhaps a field of sunflowers.

I head into the kitchen, paint in my hair and on my hands, feeling ravenous. I open the fridge, only to discover the usual desolation. Apart from a jar of mayonnaise and an old banana, there’s nothing to eat.

“I think we need to go grocery shopping,” whispers a voice behind me. Luca hugs me from behind as his lips brush my ear, slide down my neck, and nip at my shoulder. His hands slip into Kermit the Frog’s territory, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter their wings. A moan escapes me.

“I read your novel, you know,” I whisper as he kisses me.

“I left it behind on purpose. Did you like it?”

“I like everything you do.”

“Then let’s go back to bed. I’ll do
you
one more time.”

He picks me up and brings me back to bed. There’s nothing but love in his eyes.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. All I know is that right now, I have everything I want in this bed, in these arms. Carlotta and Luca. The best of friends, ready for whatever the future holds.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I met many wonderful people along this adventure, without whom I would be a sunflower deprived of sunlight. Thank you to Laura Ceccacci—you are so much more than an agent. You’re a guardian angel and a wonderful friend. My gratitude comes from the heart and lands in your curls. I love you so much! Thank you to Cristina Caboni—I will never forget your encouragement and the confidence you’ve always had in me. You were the first to show me around in the middle of the storm. Thank you to Giulia Ichino for accepting this little wayfaring author. As soon as I heard your voice, I knew we were in for a beautiful journey together. Thank you to Laura Cerutti—you’ve been my rock in recent months. Thanks for your advice, your gentle wisdom, your crystalline laughter. T
hanks to my family and close friends. Above all, a special thanks to Patrisha Mar—you’re the reason that the Barbie dolls came into Carlotta’s life. Because of you, I never felt alone, even in the darkest moments. Thanks to everyone who read the first version of this story—without your enthusiasm, affection, and support, I wouldn’t be here. Finally, thank you to all the Carlottas in the world. I hope that this story is just crazy and romantic enough for you to dream and hope that the next toad you kiss may turn into a charming prince.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2015

Amabile Giusti lives in Calabria, Italy. She has a degree in law, but writing is her true passion. Giusti has published numerous books in Italian.
When in Rome
is her English debut.

ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

Photo © 2014 Lou McClellan (Thompson-McClellan)

Sarah Christine Varney is a translator of French, Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese. Her passion for languages began at a young age, when preparing for regional spelling bees took precedence over social activities. She holds a bachelor of arts degree in foreign languages from Scripps College and a master’s degree in translation and interpreting from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. She is also passionate about the law; in addition to working full-time as a paralegal, she offers legal translation services as well. In her spare time, Ms. Varney enjoys literature, crossword puzzles, and foreign films. She currently resides in Kansas City, Missouri. This is her third published translation.