Edoardo flung the door open. “Ciao, Chiara! Don’t wait up.”
“Ciao, Edo. I never do,” Chiara smiled.
Edoardo walked out the door, and inhaled the breeze’s subtle spice of rosemary before slipping into the night.
Elisa walked slowly, her eyes raking the ground weakly lit by the mid-afternoon sun. Her head cocked at a flash of light winking between cobblestones. Pouncing, she came up with a coin pinched between her fingers. Her face fell into a scowl. It was only a five cent coin, not the 50 cent coin it had appeared to be while glittering in the street.
She didn’t have near enough. Still.
And Luciano tutoring her was not going to work. Fatima had been forced to admit that though she’d tried to talk to him, he was too foggy to understand. So that was a dead end. As were the couch cushions, the fountain, and the tourists’ pockets that she’d dared to reach into. There were no coins, and she wasn’t going to get her grades up, even with Fatima’s daily efforts to plan Elisa’s evenings. She was doing better at not losing and forgetting things, but no better at understanding. And time was running out.
Elisa spied movement ahead at the park. Stefano. Stefano and his friends. She wanted to run, but she knew that would only delay what was bound to happen.
The one-eyed dog brushed past her. She wished she could dash here and there, without a care in the world. It would be worth having one eye and salami rinds in her fur to be able to avoid this.
Walking in a slow serpentine fashion, she approached Stefano, who leaned against the battered metal slide, smoking with his friends.
“Stefano?”
“Ah, Elisa! My favorite and youngest customer. Got the money?”
Elisa’s eyes flew from one teenage boy face to another. Stefano nodded and said, “Hey, I’m conducting business here! You all, scram!”
The boys drifted to the other end of the playground, sitting on the ciambella, donut, shaped spinning wheel that always made Elisa feel like throwing up.
“Now, Elisa. Having trouble in school again?”
Elisa chewed her lip and nodded.
“Well, you’re in luck. I’ve raised my price, but I’m giving you the pretty girl discount. Because you are, you know. A pretty girl.” Stefano lifted Elisa’s face up to pass his eyes over her face and down her body. “A little on the scrawny side, but not too bad.”
Elisa backed away from Stefano, her breath torn with anxiety. “So, twenty euros? And you’ll do it like before?”
Stefano laughed easily, “Relax, cara. I wouldn’t take anything not offered to me. To be honest, I prefer my girls to beg.”
“Twenty? Like before?”
“Sure, cara, sure. Twenty. Fork it over.”
“I don’t have it.”
“You don’t have it? What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t have it!” Elisa said, wildly.
Stefano’s eyes narrowed, “Then what are you doing here? Are you spying? Going to rat me out?”
“No! Never! I have some of it. I can give you some of it. I just need more time to get all of it.”
“So you think you can come here with less than my price, and I’ll just, what? Fix your report card for nothing?”
“No! I’ll pay for all of it, I promise! I’ll work harder to get it all.”
Stefano pressed closer to Elisa, until she could smell the stale smoke on his breath. “You better have it all by report card time, Elisa. Otherwise, you’ll be begging me. Just like I like.”
Isotta blinked at the burnished copper air as Massimo’s car pulled into the parking lot outside the walls of Santa Lucia. “Is the light always like this?”
“Like what?”
“So . . . full. Like . . . like . . . the crescendo of an opera.”
Massimo laughed. “I think you were on that dark train for too long. But I like how poetical you are. You’ll fit right into Santa Lucia.”
Stopping the car, he leapt out and jogged around the car while Isotta gathered her purse and sunglasses. He opened her door with a small bow. Isotta smiled into his eyes, charmed. Massimo held out his hand, and when she took it, he guided her out of the car, where he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her head against his chest. “I’m so glad you are here,” he said softly. “It’s felt like months since I’ve seen you. I almost started to believe I made up that smell of orange flower where your hair meets your neck. But no,” he inhaled dramatically, “here you stand, sweet and lovely.” Gently he dropped his face until he was almost kissing her, almost. He gazed searchingly into her eyes, and Isotta lips tingled at the anticipated touch. He whispered, “Aren’t you glad you came?”
“Yes, oh, yes. Massimo. I was stupid to hesitate.” She stretched to kiss him. Massimo pulled back, teasingly, before slowly bringing his lips to hers. Isotta trembled at his touch, warm and full. Massimo brushed her hair behind her back and kissed her exposed neck.
“It’s always foolish to question me, Isotta.” He kissed the other side of her neck softly, and then burrowed a little, tasting the salt on her skin. His lips moved back to her mouth, where Isotta met him with a quiver. He kissed her as a thirsty man drinks from a street fountain. His hands drifted down her back, resting
