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said.
    “Yep. I wish I’d gotten his phone number or his email or something.”
    Isabella reached across the table and grabbed my hands. “You know what hotel he is staying at. Go and see him again!”
    That sounded good, but the idea stirred at the pool of anxiety low in my stomach. “There’s that... But what if he thinks it’s just a onetime thing? What if I go to his room and knock on the door and when he opens it and sees me he gives me some look that’s asking why I’m there?”
    I didn’t think I could bear a look like that. Not from him. Part of me just wanted to leave the whole experience as one of my only truly happy memories of Rome. At least if I did that there was no chance I could ruin it by making what should have been a one night thing something that it wasn’t.
    “Why? Do you think he is married, or that he has a girlfriend? That maybe if you show up you’ll catch him with her?” Isabella teased.
    “He’s not married. He wasn’t wearing a ring.” I knew because I’d been very careful to check.
    “Then what is the problem? Go to him! If you don’t, perhaps I will. I have been looking for a good kisser...”
    I jerked my hands back out of hers and she laughed. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
    Isabella started speaking again, but the tolling of a bell at a church down on the corner cut her off. My mind counted the chimes and when I realized the significance of the number my throat tightened.
    “I’ve got class!” I said, scrambling up out of my chair, grabbing at my messenger bag with all my notebooks and papers in it.
    “Go to him!” Isabella said, reaching out for me.
    I smiled at her even as I started weaving my way between the bistro tables. I’d gotten so wrapped up in the story that I’d stayed too long. Now I was going to be late for Dr. Aretino’s class.
    My stomach began tying itself in knots. Suddenly my latte wasn’t sitting so well. Just thinking about the look
    “I’ll think about it!” I shot back at her, “It’s the best I can do!”
    ***
    B y the time I made it to the lecture hall my shirt clung to the small of my back from the sweat. I took a moment to compose myself outside the double doors, whisking errant strands of hair back behind my ears, trying to calm the throbbing of my heart.
    Steeling myself, I pulled one of the doors open. This particular class had 30 students in it, barely enough to fill a quarter of the hall’s amphitheater-styled seating. I made my way down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.
    A few of my fellow students glanced back at me when the door shut, sending a hollow boom down past me that made me flinch.
    Dr. Aretino used a laser pointer to circle a bit of detail on an enlarged section of a painting I didn’t immediately recognize. I could feel his eyes on me as I slid into a seat just off the stairs.
    It was my first class with him since the fundraiser. Rather, since he’d watched Liam guide me off the dance floor and out of the building. Was that reproach I felt in his eyes?
    I got more sidelong glances from my classmates as I tried pulling out a pen and my notebook as quietly as possible. Isn’t it funny how trying to be quiet usually makes things louder? Like the scrape of paper on paper, or the sound of my bag’s zipper.
    This is what boys get you , I thought. In trouble . If anything, that helped me to decide against calling on Liam at his hotel. My grades were getting dangerously low. If I didn’t pull them up I’d be out of the program and back in St. Louis.
    But isn’t that what you wanted? Another voice nagged at me, reminding me again of that fundraiser where I’d wondered how Dr. Aretino would react if I told him I wanted to withdraw and go home.
    Except now I didn’t. Not only had my night with Liam made me more appreciative of my surroundings, but it also made me feel a pang of anxiety at withdrawing and retreating.
    I decided the best way to stop thinking about Liam was to concentrate on my studies.