“Ava, it’s ten o’clock in the morning!”
“Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me. You know you love a great Sangiovese,” she teases me.
I can’t deny it.
“Okay, let me just pack some art supplies.” I open a cloth tote and put in my 11 x 12 sketchbook and my boxes of treasured charcoals.
I glance over at Ava, who’s fluffing up her hair and painting her smile a little more thickly with a bright red lipstick. Princess.
“I’m just going to add some bronzer to my face and then we can head out,” I announce, so she knows to be ready.
Looking like a model takes time and is one lesson I’ve learned from her. Not that I aspire to be a model, but I couldn’t turn down her offer to help, Besides, she makes me seem more accomplished and confident in a way. I’ve never been on to fit in.
Ava is the first roommate I’ve had who doesn’t have a steady boyfriend. I don’t have one either, never have. My take on boyfriends is that they consume and monopolize a girl’s entire life. Girls drop everything when a man comes along. I mean, is it the guy? The thrill of something new? Or is the sex so great that they forget all their dreams and goals when they drop out of school?
Even though I’m young and have this incredible, vibrant city at my disposal, I lonely at times. I’m not one for joining clubs, and making new friends is intimidating for me, so I never get an invite to hang out with other students or to attend off-campus parties. I have no one to blame but myself. These are issues I should have overcome by now, I’m twenty-one and I expected to be further along in my career goals, but Mom calls me a late bloomer and I guess she’s right.
At the end of summer, I’ll get another roommate. I don’t like not knowing who I’ll get in the roommate lotto, but Dad thinks it’s safer for me to live in the dorms and I’m sure he knows best. Plus, rent in the city is crazy expensive. I don’t want my parents going broke paying for me to pursue my dreams, dreams that may never even materialize.
It’s difficult to break into the art scene anywhere, let alone here! But I want to work in the creative field as that’s my true calling. I can’t shut down my creative mind—whether it colors in a painting, or settling into graphic artwork I’m sure I’ll find something that fits me which is why I’m savvy with all the software artists use today.
“Ready.” Ava announces as she walks to the door with her tote in hand, one that matches mine. They were given to us at summer registration and have our school’s emblem on them with the Fleur-De-Lis.
I lock the door behind us before we make our way into the courtyard where students gather on benches to draw the surrounding evergreens that line the banks of the Arno River. The trees provide welcome shade as well as a touch of nature in the city.
I’m wearing a cherry red sundress as it’s warm outside and the color complements my dark olive skin tone. My skin is darker than most Tuscans and definitely darker than my parents. We joke that someone way back in the family tree must have married a Sicilian.
The courtyard has students coming and going, and I hear shouts and car horns coming from the busy streets and bouncing off the surrounding buildings.
“It’s the dean.” Ava nudges my arm with her elbow.
“Really?”
“Oh, yes, he’s involved in the exchange program. Like a good will ambassador, I guess. And look at that hunk talking to him!”
I check out the man standing next to Dean Santini. The stranger is dressed in black, and even though it’s just a casual dress shirt and slacks with leather designer shoes, he looks sharp, like James Bond without the jacket and tie. He preens like a peacock, proud and confident. The dean appears to shrink in his shadow.
“I wonder who he is.”
“No idea. I’ve never seen him before, but boy, I wish I had,” she murmurs quietly as we draw closer to him.
Ava puts one hand casually on her Marc Jacobs tote and slides her canvas bag onto the same arm, leaving one hand free as we approach.
I shy away, but they are standing near our exit, making it difficult for me to not engage should the situation arise.
“Good morning, ladies,” the dean addresses Ava with a smile, so we stop and chat.
It’s such an Italian thing to do, to take time out for a brief chat with an acquaintance or a friend when you casually bump into them. There is never an excuse that you’re in a hurry because in Italy, everything can be a few minutes later and it’s never a problem.
“Hello, how are you?”
“Just fine, thank you. I want to introduce you to Mr. Micheli. He’s one of our benefactors here at the school.”
“I love the arts,” Mr. Micheli adds without a smile.
Ava extends her hand to the sexy stranger, who takes it in his before leaning in to exchange the traditional small kiss on both cheeks before turning to me.
“Mr. Micheli, nice to meet you . . .” He leaves the sentence unfinished, suspended in the air between us.