Prompt: That kind of girl

Note: A short one; didn't even hit the hour mark on it. The italics show that Italian is being spoken, though the text appears in English.

Not Quite Lost In Translation

She stood still on the sidewalk in the bustling streets, watching with a folded map in her hands as the rest of Rome went about its business. Dressed in a sleeveless white cotton tank top and oatmeal colored, pleated knee-length skirt and dark brown flip-flops, Elizabeth Webber still looked almost obscenely like a tourist.

The city was moving quickly this morning as small cars and an almost infinite number of mopeds sped along, followed by the occasional livestock specimen. The sidewalks were filled with a steady stream of pedestrians, all of whom seemed to know exactly where they were.

She frowned down at the map she held, cursing her luck. She was standing in the middle of Rome, holding a worn map of Sienna. It would have helped if she had at least gotten the city right.

Stuffing the useless paper into her canvas tote bag, Elizabeth pushed her shades back to rest on her head like a tiara and studied the city. She was on the outskirts of downtown Rome, and all she wanted was to get to the Borghese Gallery. It held a large collection of Renaissance and Baroque paintings dating back to the eleventh century, and she'd never be able to look her art professor in the eye again if she went to Rome and didn't visit the gallery.

Turning around slowly in a circle, Elizabeth tried to find someone who could help her. A street vendor, a child, someone drinking a quick cup of espresso at the nearby café – anyone. But the rest of Rome was busy, and she was on her own.

With a sigh, she started walking toward the café, studying the street signs. That didn't help much and she was only a block away from where she started when she spotted him.

He was tall and broad-shouldered with blonde hair, but his darker coloring belied his Italian roots. Standing with his thin collared shirt half open, displaying a very appealing view of his chest, and the sleeves carelessly rolled up to his dark elbows, the man was Adonis manifested. He seemed to be a few years older than her, but the twinkle in his eyes and the boyish grin on his face as he joked with his companion made him seem much younger.

Elizabeth stood, transfixed, watching the god. He was leaning easily against his moped, a sleek black number that he obviously took good care of, and laughing at something that the taller, darker man with flowing black hair said to him. A group of young Italian women, dressed in fluttering cotton summer dresses and with their thick hair down in waves, passed by the two men and though the black-haired one grinned cockily and called something in their direction, the blonde one remained silent as they passed.

The corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitched as she eyed first the moped and then the blonde man. She had just spotted the perfect native to help her in her quest.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she quickly straightened her skirt and moved to cross the street. It proved a somewhat difficult task, what with the cars, pedestrians, mopeds, and even the occasional animal that populated the busy road. Squeezing through, she was halfway toward him when the older, darker one spotted her.

He stared openly in her direction for a moment and then his lips curled in a slow smile. Trying to suppress it, he nudged his younger friend with his elbow, his eyes never leaving her slender form. When the blonde one saw her, he started for a moment and almost upset his moped as it leaned against the kickstand. Elizabeth blushed, even though she was used to this sort of attention from the Italian men; she hated making generalizations on principle, but she couldn't deny that she had never seen a more confident, even cocky, womanizing bunch than the young men she met in Tuscany, Sienna, and now Rome.

She was drawing closer and now realized that the younger one's eyes were a startling shade of blue – even bluer than the Tuscan sky in the morning, or the canals in Venice. He was watching her silently, still leaning rigidly against his moped as his older friend smirked.

Elizabeth could feel his gaze wandering over her as she approached – first her legs, the A-line skirt that fluttered at her knees and embraced her hips, the light cotton top that left her shoulders practically bare, and then her face, where he held her gaze. He seemed unsure that she was walking toward him especially, but that doubt was dispelled the instant she came to a stop in front of the two men and the moped.

Biting her lip, Elizabeth shifted nervously, letting her gaze dart from one man to the other. Settling on the young blonde man, she toyed with her map of Sienna. "Uh…Bor-Borghese Galleria?"

The two men exchanged glances, and the taller one smirked. "Go ahead, Jason," he purred, wiggling his brows suggestively at the petite brunette. "I think the lady asked you a question."

Jason rolled his eyes at his transparent friend. Still, he couldn't resist the offer – and what an offer. He had seen the young Americana across the street as she looked around and then studied her map in confusion. Her five-foot-two frame barely came up to his chin, and he was mildly impressed with her for coming to a foreign country without so much as a tour guide or friend and exploring on her own. Most of the tourists he met in Rome traveled in big groups or pairs – students, usually, or young lovers. But this one was on her own, and though he admired that in the young woman, it did make him slightly nervous. There were parts of Rome that were dangerous at night.

"Go on, Jason, introduce yourself," his friend Lorenzo encouraged with a wicked grin. The young woman looked at the darker man in confusion and then up at him, looking unsure and mildly uncomfortable.

Jason smiled easily at her in an attempt to apologize for his best friend's rudeness. "Good morning, signorina. I am Jason, and this is Enzo."

She seemed to understand the general meaning and smiled up at him and even Enzo when the other man tipped his head at her.

"Elizabeth," she replied in a soft voice, extending an even softer hand. He shook it and let his hand linger there before dropping it. "Elizabeth Webber."

He nodded again, noticing for the first time how deep the young Americana's eyes were. A pure shade of blue and glittering under the morning sunlight, deep and wide, and Jason couldn't help but get lost in them. Apparently, he had remained still for a moment too long because Enzo coughed, clearly amused, and Elisabeta shifted again, scuffing her leather flip-flops against the rough cement.

Biting her full bottom lip, she tried again. "Borghese Galleria?"

Jason nodded in understanding, shaking himself out of it. He place a hand on her shoulder and gently guided her to turn, pointing in the distance. "You will walk five streets down and make a left, then walk three streets down and make a right. You will see a-"

"For Christ's sake, Jason." Enzo's rough voice interrupted him and both Jason and Elizabeth turned to stare at the man. "She doesn't understand a word you're saying."

Jason looked down at the brunette who was still nibbling on her lower lip with a troubled, if not worried, look on her face. Letting out a slow breath, he tried again, slower and a little louder this time. "Five streets – left. Three streets – right. Galleria-"

"She's American, Jason, not deaf," Enzo cut in, pulling his black hair into a ponytail.

Jason scowled at him and then looked down at Elisabeta, who peered up at him with wide, bright eyes. Well, this wasn't getting him anywhere. He glanced at his moped and the helmet that swung from the handlebars, his lips curling into a slow smile.

His eyes twinkled as he turned back to the girl, trying to remember what little English he knew. "Signorina, I take you."

Her face lit up at his words and the little brunette had to bite her lip to suppress a grin. "Grazie, grazie, Signore," she gushed, showing off a coarse American accent. Lorenzo chuckled as he watched Jason lead the little thing over to his bike. He took her bag from her and tucked it away in the cab before handing her a helmet.

The little brunette took it in her small hands and put it on, but had trouble cinching the belt, and Lorenzo had to bite his tongue when Jason gently brushed her hands away and did it for her.

He was still grinning when Jason helped the young Americana onto the back of his moped and turned the ignition. His friend had kicked down the stand and was getting ready to take off when he made the mistake of glancing back in Enzo's direction.

The native Italian's wide grin said it all. "Have fun, Jason," he said, tossing his best friend an audacious wink as the brunette beauty looked on quietly. "Maybe later, she'll want to ride more than just your moped!"

A small gasp was heard over his shoulder and Jason's eyes widened. Even Enzo, who had been laughing uproariously, turned toward the young woman in surprise.

Realizing her mistake, Elizabeth's face flamed. She shifted on the back of the bike as both men stared at her, and then dipped her head. Jason could feel her small fingers clench his shirt in mortification as the brunette muttered, "Mierda."

Lorenzo's dark brows shot up and he looked at Jason, and that was about when the older Italian lost it. Elizabeth cringed at his loud laughter, furious with herself for letting her cover slip. In truth, she spoke fluent Italian – and now Jason knew it. Certain that he was going to ask her to kindly step off his moped and walk in the other direction, she was surprised to hear him rev up his bike once more.

"Well-played, Elisabeta," he chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his waist before he took off down the cobbled Roman street.

The End.