“Morning!” Ashley says, taking the seat beside me. “What’s the occasion? I don’t think I’ve ever seen the two of you willingly sitting at a table alone together. And smiling no less? Did they spike the syrup or something? Is that why you have so much of it, Audrey?”
“Us? We’re just two friends enjoying a friendly meal. Isn’t that right, Noah?”
“Oh sure. Friends.”
“Well I’m happy you guys are smiling now because word on the street is we’re headed to the Vatican today and tomorrow. Eight-hour tours, both days. We’re getting split up into two groups.”
Say it ain’t so!
If I were about to embark on a guided tour of the Vatican on my own, leisurely taking my time as I enjoyed all of Michelangelo’s creations, I have no doubt I would love every single second of it. I’d be awestruck and inspired. I’d quit my post at Lindale to pursue my rightful calling as a woman of the arts. I’d convert to Catholicism. I’d buy a mug with the pope’s face on it.
But this is not your grandma’s Italian holiday. This is boot camp. We’re split up in groups all right, and guess who ends up with Noah? Not me. Lorenzo says he wants there to be more mixing and mingling between the schools so the students get to know each other better, “to see how the other half lives”， and does that mean we’re the poor ones? So he sets up the groups to be a 50-50 split. I’m assigned to Group A with Ashley, and Noah is assigned to Group B with Lorenzo and Gabriella.
By Friday afternoon, we’re dead on our feet.
Nothing could have prepared us for the sheer number of people that flock to the Vatican during the summer season. And wouldn’t you know it? Thursday and Friday are the hottest days of the year in Rome so far! What luck!
And yes, while the Vatican was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before—art and architecture on a scale that’s hard to comprehend even when it’s staring you in the face—it’s not like I could truly step back and appreciate it all. I was too scared one of my students was going to somehow irrevocably tarnish ancient history. Oops, I spilled my Gatorade on this PRICELESS FRESCO.
I was on edge the whole time.
Friday evening, after I make sure the kids are settled for the night, I take a ridiculously long shower, wash my hair, and soap off all the sweat. Wanting to treat myself, I put on my best pair of pajamas, the shorts and tank top someone gifted to Kristen at her bridal shower that didn’t fit her so she passed them on to me. They’re decadent and expensive. 100% silk. I let my hair out of my towel and lather up my skin with moisturizer to try to combat the sun I’ve been getting since we arrived in Rome.
Out in the hall, I peer under Noah’s door, but the light’s off. He’s gone off somewhere without me. Oh well.
I go into my room and plop down on my bed. I swear to god, there’s never been a better feeling. Never.
I’m reading there for half an hour or so before Noah lets himself in and closes the door behind him.
He’s freshly showered too. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that make me want to bite down on my bottom lip and a white t-shirt that stretches over his muscles. He shouldn’t look as hot as he does. It’s criminal.
I drop my book onto my lap. “So comfortable with each other we’re not even knocking now? I could have been naked.”
He unfurls a slow-spreading smile like I’ve just put a deliciously detailed image into his head. One he’ll want to hang on to for later. Then he holds up a nondescript white paper bag and dangles it between his fingers.
“I got us a little somethin’ to take the edge off. Figured we needed it after what we went through the last two days.”
“Oh really?”
He pushes off the door and walks right up to the side of my bed. I sit up, curious, as he opens the bag and tilts it for me to peer inside.
Oh my god.
I stare up at him like he’s crazy. “Where did you get this?!”
He plays it off with a cheesy Italian gangster accent. “Down the street. I know a guy.”
“Are you kidding? Noah. You could have been caught! How’d you sneak this past the kids? They could have smelled it and then we’d be in deep shit.”
“Yeah well, can you keep a secret or not?”
I motion for him to show me what’s inside the bag again, just so I can get a second whiff to be sure he’s procured what I think he has.
“Is it street legal?”
“Probably not. You’d never find this back home in the States. At least not this quality.”