Viva Italia

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Cameron R. Fisher had always been something of an enigma.

At fifteen, he was labeled as the classic underachiever. He slept through lectures, listened to music instead of doing classwork, and was often caught using textbooks as a pillow or sketch oddly elaborate pictures in the margins instead of studying. And yet, he aced almost every exam he sat that year. Some teachers called him a genius. Others called him a waste of time.

But everyone called him mystery.

At sixteen, he was reckless. He had a complete disregard for rules, authority, and personal safety. He was the guy you wanted to be with when you felt like rebelling against the confines of everyday life. The days of innocently not paying attention to class were replaced with ditching school all together to play pool, smoke, or see a movie. While those, in hindsight, weren't as bad as they seemed at the time- they were the gateway into bigger and better things.

Namely, theft. A distraction. A sleight of hand. A talent.

Stealing a soda turned into stealing a pen. Stealing a pen had turned into stealing a watch. Stealing a watch had somehow turned into stealing a mint condition Mercedes Benz from the dealer without being noticed.

Stealing a car had turned into, well, a criminal record.

At seventeen, he changed more than new zip code. With a one way ticket to New York and his father's address, Cam had turned into someone else. He attended school and actually paid attention, even taking night classes after soccer practice (something had to replace the habit of thievery and smoking) so he could graduate early. With honors. He was never caught doing something that would even constitute as illegal.

His father, who had been expecting the criminal his mother mad him out to be, was utterly confused. His mother didn't buy the personality transplant. His new teachers adored him. His old mates said he went soft.

But anybody who knew Cam Fisher at the age of sixteen was completely stunned beyond words when he announced that he was made the youngest private investigator in history of his department. Some said it was impossible because he had a criminal record. Others believed he had the right connections. Many, needless to say, claimed he had a lobotomy and therefore he had no clue as to what he was doing at all.

At eighteen, however, he did have a clue as to what he was doing. As he stepped off his rather quick flight to Florence, he knew that the girl who had been giving him quite the hard time was here. Not because he had gotten one of the ladies at the airport cross search any names containing the letters from "Alicia Rivera" into the database (because it wasn't there), or because he had seen a girl resembling her at the French embassy demanding a passport (because it wasn't her.)

He knew she was there because if she was every bit as good as she claimed she was— and he was starting to believe her—she would go the one place where he would expect to look. Somewhere he had mentioned before, somewhere that made sense for her character.

And maybe, and he wasn't sure yet, because she would want to be found.



The first thing Cam had noticed was that she changed her appearance. Alicia's wavy dark locks were now cut choppily to her ears, with a side fringe shielding her eyes. She had aptly ditched the thrift store outfits for a clean pair of jeans, a loose purple t-shirt, and flats. Trendy enough to blend in, but not edgy enough for anyone to remember or even notice., something that her passive expression only helped.

She was good.

As he spotted her sitting down doing a crossword puzzle at an outdoor cafe (from a safe distance across the street, of course), he quickly realized that he wasn't the only one watching her. Two tables over, a group of loud local guys kept looking over to her and making what seemed to be very crude conversation, judging by their smug looks. Cam didn't speak Italian, but he was fluent in the language of hitting-on-girls and he understood what was about to happen.

One of the guys stood up and strutted over to Alicia. For pure observational reasons, Cam discreetly took a table in the cafe. And also because he was extremely curious as to how she would respond—quick put-down or slap in the face?

Now, the guy had taken the empty seat next to her. It was a full eleven seconds before she even registered him being there, which put a tiny grin on Cam's face.

He leaned into Alicia, obviously trying to be seductive but failing, and said something to her. She raised her eyebrows in contempt and returned to her crossword puzzle without a response. He ignored her unsubtle dis and continued talking to her, and Cam could pick out some words from the conversation, like "dancing" and "tonight." Something told him, namely the look of mild disgust on her face, that she wasn't too fond of dancing.

Cam had never been more entertained in his life. Their little exchange went on for several minutes, and the guy wouldn't take no for an answer. She hadn't actually said a word to him, she just kept ignoring him so he would go away. The guy, obviously believing he had caught himself a naive tourist (and she was anything but), kept pestering her. He was getting too close, speaking too loudly, and smirking far too much.

Until she snapped.

With the spit fire that he had come to expect from him, Alicia let out a quick speech in Italian, albeit American accented Italian. Her eyes were flaring, her fists curled, and it looked like her head might actually explode from anger. A quick look at the guy and the other patron's faces made it extremely obvious that she was rejecting him in the cruelest way possible. And yet when she was done and returned to her crossword defiantly, he brushed the little incident off and smiled at her like she had just proclaimed her love for him.

Time to intervene. He could barely handle a runaway heiress, a murderous runaway heiress was pushing it.

In a few smooth steps, Cam plopped down on the other side of Alicia and threw an arm casually around her. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, but the curt nod he gave her was enough explanation: "go with it."

Her dense would-be suitor glared at Cam. "Chi è?" he snarled, with his mates laughing loudly at his expense.

Alicia didn't miss a beat. If anything, she moved her chair closer to him, her short hair tickling his chin and ears. Throwing Cam the sweetest smile possible, she said, "Il mio ragazzo." She mouthed "boyfriend" quickly to explain. Her harasser's face fell dejectedly.

Without another word, the guy stood up and spit at the ground next to them. He walked dejectedly back to his table, and within a few humiliating moments, he and his pack of friends were gone.

"Pity," Cam said to break the quiet air, "he seemed like a keeper."

Alicia scoffed and pushed his arm off of her. "Yeah, I'm absolutely devastated that he got away," she snorted.

"At least you got a new boyfriend instead," he sighed, batting his eyelashes at her jokingly. "When's our anniversary, darling?"

She rolled her eyes. "Today. I'd like a plane ticket to Zimbabwe, please."

"Why? I hear your family's Manhattan penthouse is lovely this time of year." After all, he wasn't going to let her forget the reason he was here. He did win their little game by finding her so quickly, but he had a feeling there was no real prize.

Usually at this point, she would ask him how he found her—usually with a thin veil of malice. Then, they would engage in some sort of banter until she managed to get away. It was their script. But this time, Alicia went off the script and improvised.

Swirling her ice tea with a straw, she didn't look him in the eye. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, though they both knew he was fully aware of what she was asking.

"You know," she said, "get rid of that guy for me. Make him think you're my boyfriend. That."

Cam shrugged. "What can I say, I have a thing for damsels in distress." He paused before adding, "and you looked seriously distressed."

If she had stuck to the script, she would have responded with a comment about how he shouldn't have helped her out because she didn't need it. Instead, she whispered in a low voice, "Thanks." Then, she regained her normal brisk tone. "I should have just punched him the face."

"Nah," Cam waved his hand carelessly, "you're more of a kicker, I think. The whole ball buster thing suits you."

She nodded gravely. "You know, that's exactly what I told the school career counselor. Apparently, ball busting isn't an actual job. What a shame." She smiled a bit, and it was the first joke that they had shared together and not at the expense of each other.

"There's always the family business."

"Oh?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Like banging secretaries two at a time, suing people for looking at you the wrong way, or getting drunk before ten in the morning?" Her tone was light, but her words were pure lead.

Cam shook his head in disbelief. "That sounds fantastic," he said eagerly, "any chance I can join your family?" There was a part of him who, despite having met Mr. and Mrs. Rivera and their luxe lifestyle, couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that people really lived like that.

"Feel free to take my place." Before she could say more, a waitress appeared at their side. From what he could make of it, Alicia ordered for the both of him. He mystified at her language skills, her confidence in her speaking abilities even if her own accent was apparent.

She turned to face him again. "I got you panzanella, if that's okay. It's like a bread salad, good in this heat." Cam had barely noticed the perfect, sweltering summer day. The sun was high and there were no clouds to be seen. Tourists and wannabe scholars walked around them on the old cobbled streets. To anyone else, they looked like a boy and a girl enjoying the day together. If only they knew.

Cam leaned back in his chair. "You speak Italian?" he couldn't help but ask.

She put the cap back on her green pen and closed her crossword book. There were no mistakes and nothing was crossed out, each letter was in their correct place. "Yeah, I do. Along with French and Spanish. I'm sort of a linguaphile."

"Three languages, four if you count English?" he clarified, mulling that idea over in his head. "All the easier to run away, then."

"They made us take Latin until seventh grade," she explained defensively, "it's really easy to learn from there."

Cam snorted. "What school did you go to, Hogwarts?" The waitress had reappeared and left two plates of bread covered with tomatoes and herbs on it. As a general rule he devised when he was ten, he avoided vegetables like the plague. But, heiress hunting made him ravenous and he started eating without a second thought.

"Don't make me hex you," she joked, taking a big bite of panzanella. Something was up, she was acting far too nice. Far too unguarded. It was almost as if they were playing chess, and she had just sacrificed her queen. Maybe it was a major move, maybe it was foolishness.

They ate in silence, with only the chatter of other patrons between them. It was an odd feeling to be sitting with her and enjoying some food, but then again, almost everything about her was odd. No doubt about it.

"So," she began, finishing off her panzanella, "how crazy were they when they found out?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she spoke slowly, as if talking to a little child, "my family. My parents. My sister." She sighed with a victorious smile. "Go on, how bad was it? Paint me a picture. I imagine a lot of expletives and sobbing."

Cam swallowed his food with a lump in his throat. From the moment his detective department had sent him to the Rivera house to track down their daughter, he had braced himself for an abundance of mental anguish— something that Alicia seemed to be expecting as well. How was he supposed to break it to her that Mr. Rivera's lawyer, her art teacher, and the house help were the only people who briefed him on what he needed to know about her?

How could he tell her that her father spent more time yelling into the phone about how this all better not get to the media? Or how her mother simply shrugged and assumed Alicia was staying with some friends in Monaco, and then went to go make a drink? Or how her sister was more occupied pouting about how her "art freak" sister was going to ruin her charity gala while simultaneously trying to get Cam's number?

Simple. He couldn't. No matter how much Alicia seemed to be aware of how much her family sucked, this was just too much. So, he did what he always did best when he didn't know what to do. Lie.

"They were upset," he said dazedly, not entirely bluffing. Just not about you, he mentally finished for himself, mostly.

Then, many emotions flashed through her eyes. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. And then, when her brown eyes stopped whirring and darkened, apathy.

Standing up, she dropped her bag on her chair with a resounding "thud". She was blank of any emotion, except for the little half smile that her lips found themselves curling up in. "You know, you're a lot of things, Cam Fisher." His eyes widened at the return of her own guarded self.

"I didn't think a liar was one of them," she finished with a hint of hostility, making a beeline for the cafe's inside entrance. "I'm going to the bathroom. Watch my stuff." As she walked away, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt. He should have just told her the truth and made a joke about it, she would probably grin and make a snide retort and everything would be the way it was again.

Five minutes passed and she wasn't back. Then ten. Then fifteen.

Twenty minutes later, Cam grabbed her patched up messenger back and headed for the bathrooms. After narrowly dodging a few old women who just knew he was up to know good, he pounded on the single woman's restroom. No response.

"Alicia?" he called out. "Alicia, come out, I know you're in there." More pounding, his fist was getting redder by the moment. He couldn't hear anything besides the running water of the sink, she had to be in there.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Cam pushed the doors open with as much force as he could open. He was gobsmacked at what he found, but he couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh at his own carelessness.

The window had been kicked open, the sweet summer air pouring into the musty stall seemed to be laughing at him as well. The sink was still running haphazardly, and as he turned to shut it, a note scribbled in green ink stuck to the dirty mirror caught his attention.

"C,

Game on.

-A"

She was gone.


AN: Brand spankin' new chapter :D Alicia is a sneaky little fox, isn't she?

Thanks for the reviews, guys, they're awesome. Makes me want to update faster, along with writing Cam/Alcia banter xD

Reviews for this chapter would be absolutely lovely.

xo, Ren.