Rome, November 2005

He was reading the financial times again. It was a habit that deeply disturbed her. Her father did that every morning with his cup of coffee and this boy of nineteen was doing the same just across her. She didn't like it. How he seemed so mature, far wiser than their years. Far wiser than her.

"What's so interesting? Why do you read that crap?"

"Have to keep track of the market," he mumbled without looking up.

She stirred her latte and admired how he looked in his reading glasses. He hadn't bother to put on his contact lenses today but at least he had a shirt on. She also hated how she was being ignored.

"You scare me," she continued.

"You'd think someone rich like you would like to pay a little more attention." He glanced up from the paper to shoot her a condescending look.

She grinned. "I hire people to do that for me. The rich can afford that."

"You make me sick," he said without bite, getting back to his newspaper.

"Just keep on getting sicker. You'll just be helping my family's stocks in pharmaceuticals grow."

Having had enough with their conversation, Rhonda got up to get more cheese. One of the things she loved about Italy, and there were so many she had lost count, was the delicious cheeses. The bread too, real bread. Not like the sliced monstrosity they had back home. It had made for many delicious afternoon snacks. She sliced some Pecorino Toscano and then grabbed the honey from the cupboard.

Once done, she returned to her place at the breakfast nook. She dipped her cheese into the glossy golden syrup before taking a large bite. It was heaven how the sweetness of the honey and the nutty saltiness of the cheese combines.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked, still reading that blasted newspaper.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really want to go out. I'm still tired from last night."

The night before they went out dancing. There was a great bar with a live band just a short distance from the apartment. The band played great covers of upbeat classics that had everyone moving. Not only were dance moves aplenty, drinks were too.

She was extremely hungover. He, on the other hand, doesn't seem to show signs of partying the night before. She detested him even more.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Not really."

"Urgh. I had too much Chianti yesterday it makes me feel like my head is about to explode and here you are reading the newspaper like you aren't in pain," she groaned.

"High tolerance."

"Annoying."

"It's genetics. Not really my fault."

"Still unfair," she sing-songed, dipping her head on the table.

He sighed. "Drink some water. It's like you've never been hungover before."

If only that was true… "I've already been drinking as much as I can. I've been peeing every ten minutes if you haven't noticed."

"I haven't."

She let out another groan. He slapped the newspaper near her face which made her jump up.

"What the hell?" she yelled. He was smiling.

"I thought that would stop your bitching."

If he was annoying her before, now she wanted to strangle him. "When I get my hands on you…"

"Below the belt?" he joked.

"I'd snap your favourite appendage in half." she threatened.

"Why would you do that to my right arm?"

He got up to put his mug in the sink.

"You think you're very funny, don't you?"

He shot her a cocky look. "Babe, I think I'm hilarious."

Recently, they'd been calling each other pet names. However, unlike a month ago when they had been joking around. It had started feeling more natural. Which was dangerous. What happens when they go back home?

Home.

The thought of having to go home depressed her.

There was a knock on the door. They stared at each other.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Rhonda asked.

He shook his head, slightly confused. "No. I'll check who it is."

Thaddeus disappeared from the kitchen and she settled deeper into the cushions, grabbing the financial times from across the table. It was only seconds later when she heard him call out.

"Rhonda!"

"Yeah?" she yelled.

"You better come here."

She groaned. What was so bloody important? She marched out of the kitchen only to find Thaddeus standing beside her mother by the door. As usual, her lips were set in a tight line of disappointment.

"Hello, Rhonda."

…

Her mother had always been flawlessly elegant. Even when she had to confront her irresponsible daughter, she chose her garment well–open toed black pumps, form-fitting black slacks, a cream silk shirt, and a gold wristwatch. Her lips were lined with red, her favourite colour, and her cheeks had a touch of rose blush. She hadn't bother with her eyes. Understated, that was how her mother liked to dress. Old money style, Rhonda called it.

She had both hands clasped together on her lap. Brooke Lloyd's Connecticut accent peaked through when she thanked Thaddeus for the coffee he set in front of her.

The sofa dipped when he sat beside Rhonda. For whatever reason, he was there. Maybe it was for moral support or he just wanted to be entertained. With him, she never knew.

"This is lovely house, uh…"

"Thaddeus. Thad will do just fine, ma'am," he said in an aw shucks manner that pleased her mother. Rhonda wanted to roll her eyes but if his charm could help her get out this predicament, he could charm away.

Getting straight to the point, her mother asked, "How long have you two been living together?" She just wanted to die of embarrassment at the implication. She didn't risk looking at his face. But Rhonda's methods always involved fighting fire with fire. If her mother wanted to be frank, so be it.

"We're not sleeping with each other if that's what you want to know," she replied flatly.

"Rhonda!" Brooke gasped. "How crass."

To her right, Thaddeus shot her a look that screamed "Let me handle this."

"I don't care if you believe me but I'm telling the truth. We're roommates. Well, more like he's my landlord. I pay him rent."

She had disappointed her mother again if the frown was any indication. Annoyed by this turn of events, she took comfort in her own cup of coffee. Thaddeus had learnt how she likes it, with a lot of milk and sweetener, and makes it like a pro. It was sometimes nice to find a cup made just for her sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Rhonda is here to study art history. She's made great progress," he chimed in.

Brooke turned to him with a tight smile.

"Oh yes, she told us what her plans were before leaving. She also said she'd only be gone for two weeks. It's been nearly two months," her mother said in a clipped tone, still glaring at her daughter.

She met her mother's stare right back. If she was in the university or in any school for that matter, they didn't care, but as long as she's exposed to the real world to gain some experience they just had to have an apoplectic fit.

"I'm not leaving," she ground out.

Brooke sighed, a sigh of someone who'd lived a thousand lives. What an illusion. Her mother appeared exceptionally young. She didn't look a day over thirty which was unfair because she was supposed to be pushing fifty. Maybe it was one thing to look forward to when she gets older, Rhonda thought.

"I know I can't make you. You seem to be thinking you're your own person now. At nineteen."

"I don't want to talk about this," she dismissed.

"Tough luck!" her mother snapped.

Thaddeus started to rise. "I'll give you two privacy."

"Stay," Rhonda ordered him. He felt like her armour. Her protective shield. If he left, she would be vulnerable to her mother's full assault but with him in the room she would never cross the line. Lloyds don't air their dirty laundry in public.

"I should really go," he started to say.

She gripped his hand.

Stay. Please.

He got the message. He stayed put and gave her hand a squeeze back. She'd been there for him and he'd be there for her.

"Fine, you want to get this innocent boy involved…"

"He's not that innocent," Rhonda muttered.

"I'm not quite done, young lady."

Her mother's eyes burned with fury. Rhonda had been pushing her to the edge so she kept quiet. There was an Italian breeze that made the curtains dance. If her mother decided she had to be back home, she would have to leave this beautiful house. The sadness she felt before stepping into Rome crept back.

Brooke cleared her throat.

"You seem to forget that you're an heiress to a fortune and that there are people who are dependent on your very existence and safety. You have responsibilities back at the manor. Responsibilities you have been ignoring whilst you're here on your little trip. Not to mention, your father has been worried sick."

She wanted to laugh.

"He's not. Let's be honest."

"Of course he's been worried. He's your father!" Brooke exclaimed.

"And were you? Were you worried?"

The question stumped her mother. Rhonda had always known she'd gotten her stubborn determination from her mother. Her father was too soft. He loved cashmere sweaters, chess, wine, and his wife. Not in any particular order. A masculine image is not exactly his top priority. Her father was more of a child sometimes. A strict, mildly unreasonable, rich child.

"No, I wasn't," Brooke said.

Rhonda could feign apathy but she was affected by that answer.

"I know you'd be alright," she told her daughter, her gaze softening. "Why didn't you just call us, dear? Tell us what you've been up to. We need to know things like that. We deserve to, at the very least."

She hadn't been telling them because she wanted to get away from them. Her parents loved her, yes, in their twisted minds, they do, but they suffocated her. Guards, tutors, nannies… It never ended. Every year was just an upgrade.

"My cellphone got stolen on my first night here," she confessed.

Brooke was not impressed. "You couldn't get a new one?" she said flatly.

Rhonda sighed. "I didn't want to. If I was in trouble, I would have called. Believe me. I needed to do this on my own, mother. You don't have to watch me all the time. I'm not a child."

"Then stop behaving like one," Brooke hissed."Being an adult means being responsible. It means not being selfish and treating the people who care about you like dirt."

It took a while for the older Lloyd to compose herself, taking a deep breath and dusting imaginary lint from her pants. Rhonda was still grasping Thaddeus' hand. It was her lifeline now. He had taken a close peek into her life. Hopefully, with that, came a better understanding.

Brooke's eyes snapped back to the two teenagers. She regarded Thaddeus with a cool gaze before she settled in on her daughter.

"You have two weeks. That's all I'm going to give you," Brooke simply said before taking a sip from the coffee that had been offered to her. She placed the cup back on the saucer and its clink was the only sound in the room.

"I know I can't make you leave now but I think two weeks is generous."

All three of them sat in silence.

"You can't make me leave," Rhonda said with a grim determination.

Her heart started hammering in her chest. They are not taking this away from her. This had been the best time of her life.

"I think you better listen to your mother," Thaddeus said beside her. She pretended he wasn't there and continued glaring at the woman who's had control over her life for nineteen years.

"Thank you, Thaddeus," Brooke said. "This coffee is delicious by the way."

The older woman stood up, smoothing her blouse. "We await your return on the 16th. You'll receive your ticket by mail."

Once again, her happiness will be snatched away. Rhonda was so furious that her mother could just show up and ruin everything. She wanted to hurl her coffee cup at her but Brooke had already disappeared through the front door. The sound of her heels echoed down the corridor. Rhonda continued to sit, shaking with so much anger that tears had started to fall from her eyes.

"I hate her. I hate her so much," she breathed out.

She snatched her hand from Thaddeus' grip to wipe her angry tears away.

"Maybe it's time. to go back," he said softly.

In one harsh move, she whipped her head towards him and growled. "Are you kidding me? You're on her fucking side?"

"No! I'm not on anyone's side. Look, all I'm saying is that you can't stay here forever. You must have realised that."

She stood up, her anger now directed at someone else. Maybe someone who didn't deserve it but she didn't care. Hell hath no fury and whatnot. "You said I could stay here until December!"

"I never said that. You assumed that," he pointed out.

She gave a mocking laugh and threw her hands up. "So, that's it. You're kicking me out? Isn't this just peachy? Goddamn it, Curly. I thought you're smarter than this."

"Don't call me that," he said, standing up as well so he could look her eye to eye. Instead of stepping back, she bent forward. She wasn't going to let him bully her.

"Call you what? Curly? I'll call you whatever I want. Asshole. Bastard. Backstabber. Curly… Curly, Curly, Curly, Curly, Cur–Omph!"

He cut her off with his lips. They were warm and soft. Pliant. He tasted like Espresso and sin. It was a delicious mix and she wanted more. His arm already snaked around her waist so she leaned forward to grant him better access. She wrapped her arms around his neck and weaved her fingers through his hair.

Just as sudden as the kiss, he pulled away.

"Shit! Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was thinking," he cursed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. He couldn't look her in the eye.

Her lips were still glossy and moist. Thaddeus had just kissed her for the very first time. And… she liked it. Loved it. Wanted more.

"It's alright," she whispered.

"We were both upset and y-you were yelling. I c-couldn't–"

"Shh," she said, coming closer, putting a finger on his lips. His eyes widened as he realised what she was about to do.

"Sit down on the couch," she commanded.

"Now?" he asked, so confused at how everything is turning out.

She nodded. He sat down. As soon as he did, she straddled his lap, both legs on either side of him. He was starting to breathe heavily. He still wasn't touching her, unsure of what to do with his hands. She placed them on her hips.

They stared into each other's eyes.

Rhonda hooked her arms over his shoulders.

"You know how I told my mother just now that we weren't sleeping together?" she asked, rocking her hips back and forth.

He nodded dumbly, biting his bottom lip.

"What if we changed that?" she whispered, giving his ear a little kiss. She knew she was only trying to avoid the anger and confrontation. There would be time after when they had to discuss what had happened and what has to happen.

But this seemed inevitable. The tension had been crackling between them for weeks. She wanted him. She had wanted him for some time. It would be foolish of her to deny this opportunity when she could be gone in two weeks.

He hissed, his large hands digging into her hips, begging her to slow down.

"We can't," he said.

She pulled back to look at him again. He was staring at her with such adoration in his eyes that she knew his restraint was only out of respect. "Why? Don't you want me?"

"Of course, I do," he exhaled in a hoarse whisper. "But this is wrong. We're both angry at each other."

"I don't feel angry now," she said, giving her hips another roll.

He shut his eyes and released a low moan. "Rhonda, please, try to think. Stop."

She sighed. She pulled him close until his breath tickled her face. Their foreheads touching.

"I'll be gone in two weeks. I have to go. I know that. You were trying to tell me that earlier. I think they might stop paying for my tuition fees if I don't get back. I just don't want to accept that."

The bottomline was that she didn't want to leave him.

"I know," he said, sounding sad. "It doesn't matter. That's not a reason for us to do this."

"I really like you, you know," she said, suppressing her disappointment by covering her words with a light tone.

She saw him smile.

"Finally."

She laughed. Then, she give him a peck on the lips.

"High school wasn't kind to me, you know," he said.

"What? Excuse me, you were almost crowned Prom King. Don't throw a pity party now. You were popular."

"But I didn't get the girl."

"You got plenty of girls," she scoffed.

"Not the one I wanted," he said sincerely.

Her heart sang.

"You got her now."

…

In the end, his initial resistance didn't matter. She sneaked into his room that night. It was the last straw. Upon finding her in his bed, he pulled her against him and showered her with kisses. They explored each other's skin and memorised each mark and screamed into the night. She turned him into a man.

They both laid on his bed, panting. Sweat seeping into his sheets.

"Can we just go again? Let's make the best of my two weeks," she giggled into her pillow. His arm was casually around her waist, his hand on her breast.

Rhonda felt his laugh on the back of her neck. "Can you give me time to breathe? I promise you we'll go again."

She flipped around to face him. "If only my mother could see me now…"

"God, no. She'll probably have me shot and you sent to a convent for dallying with a commoner."

She snorted, placing a hand on his face. "Oh please. She already thought we were doing it."

It was his turn to be affronted. He rolled his eyes. "She had too much faith in me then."

Rhonda waggled her eyebrows. "But not enough in me."

"I never knew you were such a pervert," he said, putting his hands on her ass and squeezing. "Not that I mind, really."

"It takes one to know one."

She kissed him and then some. Just to show him how perverted she could be.

…

Her ticket had arrived in the mail.

She tossed the envelope on the table and sighed. The end was looming closer and it brought back the same doubts she had before she met Thaddeus in Italy. What would the future hold? How does he fit into it? Could they make it work? Their universities were states apart. A three hour plane ride away.

Her eyes swept their cozy apartment. She was caught in surprise when they started to water. They had made love on almost every surface by now. The kitchen table, the countertops, and even the steps of the sunken living room. Just this morning, they christened her clawfoot tub.

It was going to be a challenge to leave Italy. She already feel her heart wrenching at the thought of being away from him. Her best friend, her confidant, her lover…

"What are you thinking about?" Thaddeus asked, wrapping his arms around her. He gave her shoulder a butterfly kiss. She closed her eyes as he snuggled in the crook of her neck,

"Just how much I'll miss this place."

"Just the place?"

"Yeah. No particular person in mind at all. Just this apartment and the furniture."

"Hmm," he started nibbling on her skin.

"Thad."

"Yeah?"

"What's going to happen when I go back?"

He froze.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean? What happens to us?"

His arms fell back to his side and she inched away from him to see his face. His brows were furrowed. That was the moment she knew he was as clueless as she was. This intelligent boy, this amazingly sweet and considerate boy, had no ideas or plans for their future. The thought upset her more than she thought it would.

"I'll call you."

"That's it?"

"We'll make it work."

"How?"

"I don't know, Rhonda. Let's take it one day at a time. Alright?"

She wasn't satisfied with that answer but she didn't want to fight him when she only had a few days left. She'll make do with the time left. She want to remember this whole period of her life as perfect. So, she smiled.

"Alright."

He gave her one back. As uneasy as hers had been.

"Do you want to go to my prozio's place for dinner?"

"Sure. It'll be lovely to say hi to Alfredo. "

…

She went back home with a heavy heart a week later. Months passed and he never called as he said he would. She didn't either. She never picked up the phone to avoid seeming desperate. The semester started and Rhonda got caught up in the stacks of papers, exams, and projects.

Across the country, after two more months in Italy, the same thing was happening to him. A year passes. They haven't heard news of each other. They thought about each other a lot though, both dreamt of their time in Italy as they slept in their dorms.

She went on dates with a few cute boys from a nearby fraternity. He went out with voluptuous Amber from Management Accounting 001.

It was spring break when they were both home. A coincidence, really, that they both wanted to have pasta for dinner that night. The tomatoes were ripe and on sale at the produce aisle.

They weren't paying attention to other people. She was listening to music and he was inspecting a tomato.

It was then that he smelled a familiar scent. A fruity, tropical perfume that he had known only one woman in his life wore. He glanced up and there she was. She was wearing a navy blue summer dress with white ballet flats, inspecting a tomato like he was. Her hair was longer than he remembered, cascading down her back in an inky waterfall.

She must have sensed someone watching her because she looked up.

Their eyes met. They don't say anything to each other.

The look translated everything they wanted to convey. Longing. Betrayal. Hurt. Lust. It's as if the year melted away and they were back in the supermercato.

She gives a slight nod.

Before turning back with her basket, disappearing behind a shelf, and leaving him standing there.

The tomato had turned into a pulp in his hand.