Love & Gelato Read online

  Mine and Francesca’s apartment has become the official hangout. We all crowd onto the tiny balcony and have long discussions about things like shutter speed and exposure. Is this heaven?

  JULY 20

  Turns out you can’t learn Italian through osmosis, no matter how many times you fall asleep with Italian for Dummies propped open on your face. Francesca said that learning a language is the easiest thing in the world, but she said it while simultaneously smoking, studying aperture, and making homemade pesto, so she may not have a normal grasp on “easy.” I signed up for the institute’s beginner Italian class. It’s held evenings in the mixed-media room and meets three times a week. Finn and Howard are in the class too. They’re both much further along than I am, but I’m glad to have them for company.

  AUGUST 23

  It’s been more than a month since I’ve written, but I have good reason. I’m sure it will come as no surprise when I say that I’ve fallen in L-O-V-E. What a cliché! But seriously, move to Florence and eat a few forkfuls of pasta, then stroll in the twilight and just TRY not to fall for that guy you’ve been ogling from day one! You’ll probably fail. I love being in love in Italy. But truth be told, I would fall for X anywhere. He’s handsome, intelligent, charming, and everything I’ve ever dreamed of. We also have to keep things completely secret, which, if I’m totally honest, makes him all the more appealing. (Yes, X. I seriously don’t think anyone would read my journal, but I’m giving him a new name, just in case.)

  WHAT? I let the book fall onto my lap. It had taken only three pages for Howard to make the leap from squeaky-clean “Southern gentleman” to secret lover X. Apparently I hadn’t been giving him enough credit.

  I picked up my laptop and FaceTimed Addie again, and she answered almost immediately. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she was holding a half-eaten freezer waffle. “What’s up?”

  “They had to keep their relationship a secret.” I kept my voice down. It sounded like Howard’s guests were on their way out, but there was still some backslapping and “Let’s do this again soon” going on outside on the front porch.

  “Howard and your mom?”

  “Yeah. She talks about them being in the same group of friends, and then suddenly she’s calling him by a new name because she’s worried someone will pick up her journal and find out that they’re secretly dating.”

  “Scandalous!” Addie said happily. “Why did they have to be secretive? Was he in the mafia or something?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Call me back when you figure it out. Crap. I won’t be here! Ian’s driving me to the car dealership. I’m finally getting my car back.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Tell me about it. Last night Ian made me fold all his nasty laundry before he’d take me to Dylan’s. Call me tomorrow?”

  “Definitely.”

  SEPTEMBER 9

  Now that I’ve started writing about my storia d’amore, I might as well tell it from the very beginning. X was actually one of the very first people I met when I arrived in Florence. He gave one of the semester’s opening lectures, and afterward I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. He’s obviously talented, and the kind of good-looking that makes you stumble over words like “hello” and “good-bye,” but there was something else—he had this depth to him. It made me want to figure him out.

  Lucky for me we were able to spend a lot of time together in and out of class. It’s just that we were never alone. Ever. Francesca was either sitting in the corner rattling away on her phone or Simone and Alessio would ask us to weigh in on some ridiculous new argument, and our conversations just never seemed to get all that far. I had this big debate going on my head. IS HE OR ISN’T HE INTERESTED? Some days I was positive he was, and others I was less sure. Maybe I was just reading too much into things?

  But I kept catching him staring at me during class, and every time we talked, there was this something between us that I couldn’t ignore. This went on for weeks. And then, finally, just when I thought I was imagining the whole thing, I saw him at Space. Francesca calls it the official nightclub of FAAF, but he’d never come with us before. I had stepped outside for a little air, and when I came back in, there he was, leaning against the wall. Alone.

  I knew this was my chance, but as I started toward him I realized I had absolutely no idea what to say. “Hi. I hope this doesn’t sound crazy, but have you noticed this weird chemistry thing between us?” Luckily I didn’t even have to open my mouth. As soon as he saw me, he reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Hadley,” he said. And the way he said it—I knew that I hadn’t been imagining things.

  SEPTEMBER 15

  Met X at the Boboli Gardens so we could be alone for a while. It’s a sixteenth-century park, kind of an oasis in the middle of the city. Lots of architecture and fountains and enough space to let you forget you’re in a city. We both took our cameras, and when we’d captured everything we wanted to, we sat down under a tree and talked. He knows so much about art. And history. And literature. (And everything, really.) The grounds closed at seven thirty, but when I stood up to pack up my things, he pulled me back down and we kissed until a guard made us leave.

  SEPTEMBER 20

  The only hard part about being in love with X is not telling anyone about it. I know the school wouldn’t be okay with us dating, but it’s hard to keep something this big a secret. It’s torture to spend half our days within ten feet of each other and not even touch.

  I’m pretty bad at secret-keeping, and everyone seems to know I’m in love. Part of it is logistics. Most nights we meet up late, and I don’t get home until three or four a.m. I told Francesca that I’m out working on my night photography, but she just rolled her eyes and told me she knows all about “night photography.” Part of me wonders if everyone is just pretending not to know what’s going on. Are they really that dense? Our relationship is taking place right under their noses!

  OCTOBER 9

  X and I are starting to get really creative about where we meet. We knew that everyone else would be staying in studying tonight, so we went to Space (one and the same) and after we’d danced until we were exhausted we wandered around the city. X told me he had a surprise for me and we started winding our way through the dark streets until I could smell something amazing—a mixture of sugar and butter and something else. Bliss?

  Finally we turned a corner and saw a group of people gathered around a brightly lit doorway. It was a secret bakery—one of a few. Basically, commercial bakers work through the night to produce pastries for restaurants, and even though it’s illegal, they’ll give you a freshly baked pastry for a few euro. Only a few insiders know about it, but those who do, well . . . let’s just say they’re in danger of becoming nocturnal.

  Everyone in line was acting really quiet and nervous, and when it was our turn, X bought a chocolate-filled cornetta, a glazed croissant, and two stuffed cannoli. Then we sat down on a curb and devoured all of it. When I got home Francesca, Finn, and Simone were sprawled out on our tiny couches and they all teased me about what kind of night shots I’d gotten. I wish I could tell them.

  Wow.

  First of all, sign me up for a trip to the secret bakery. I didn’t even know what a cornetta or cannoli was, and I was still practically salivating all over the pages. But most important, what was the deal with all this secrecy?

  I flipped back through the entries. Did schools really have policies on students not dating assistant teachers? I could see it being a rule for actual professors, but research students? And my mom had been smitten. How was it possible that someone this crazy about their boyfriend had ended up walking out and keeping their child a secret for sixteen years?

  I marked my place in the journal, then walked over to the window. It was a gorgeous night. Clouds were drifting past the moon like ghost ships, and now that Howard’s friends had cleared out, everything was still and quiet.

  Suddenly a blur of movement caught my eye and I froze.
What was that? I leaned out the window, my heart hammering against my rib cage. A white figure was moving toward the house. It looked like a person, but it was moving way too fast, like a . . . I squinted. Was that Howard? On a long board?

  “What are you doing?” I whispered. He kicked off hard and went sailing past the driveway, like a seal gliding out to sea. Like it was something he did all the time.

  I had to figure this guy out.

  Chapter 11

  “LINA, YOU AWAKE? PHONE’S FOR you.” Howard knocked on my open bedroom door, and I shoved the journal under the bed. I’d been rereading the entries from the night before. And stalling. Because, yes, I wanted to know what had happened. But I also wanted to prolong the happy part. Sort of like the time I stopped Titanic halfway through and made Addie watch the first part over again.

  “Who is it?”

  “Ren. I’ve got to get you your own phone. You just hang on to my cell phone for now. I’ll use the landline.”

  “Thanks.” I got up and walked over to him. He looked wide-awake and very un-X-like. No evidence of his ghostly night riding. Or sketchy dating practices.

  He handed me the phone. “Will you please tell Ren that he doesn’t need to be afraid of me? He just set a world record for using ‘sir’ the most times in a single conversation.”

  “I can, but it probably won’t do any good. You really messed with him that first time you talked.”

  “I had good reason.” He smiled. “See you a little later? I should be off work around five.”

  “Okay.” I put the phone to my ear and Howard stepped out into the hallway. Ciao, mysterious X.

  “Hi, Ren.”

  “Ciao, Lina. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

  I leaned casually out the door and watched Howard walk down the stairs. He’d made out with my mom in a public park? Totally not the kind of thing you should have to know about your parents. And what had been so special about the way he’d said her name that first time they’d connected at Space? It sounded like a cheesy scene from one of those soap operas Addie’s mom pretended not to watch.

  “You there?” Ren asked.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m kind of distracted.” I closed my bedroom door, then sat on my bed.

  “So he wasn’t mad?”

  “No. He was having a party, and I don’t think he even noticed we were late.”

  “Fortunato. Have you gone running yet?”

  “No. I was just about to. Want to come?”

  “Already on my way. Meet me at the cemetery gates.”

  I changed, then ran out to meet him. Ren was wearing a bright orange T-shirt and was jogging in place like an old man. As usual his hair was in his eyes and he looked sort of warm and glowy from the run over.

  “How is this not American-looking?” I asked, plucking at his shirt.

  “It’s not American-looking when it’s on an Italian.”

  “Half-Italian,” I corrected.

  “Half is enough. Trust me.” We started up the road.

  “So your mom won a LensCulture Award,” he said.

  I looked at him. “How’d you know?”

  “There’s this thing called the Internet. It’s really helpful.”

  “Oh yeah, I vaguely remember that from back before I lived in Italy.” I’d tried to FaceTime Addie about ten times that morning to update her on the night’s reading, but so far I’d just gotten this annoying NO SERVIZIO message over and over. At least now I could use Howard’s phone whenever I wanted.

  “I found a bunch of articles on her. You didn’t tell me she was a big deal.”

  “The LensCulture jump-started her career. That’s when she started doing photography full-time.”

  “I liked the picture. I’ve never seen anything like it. What was it called? Erased?” He sprinted ahead of me, then wrapped his arms around himself, looking over one shoulder. The photograph had been of a woman who’d just had a tattooed name removed from her shoulder.

  I laughed. “Not bad.”

  He fell back in line with me. “I also saw the self-portraits she did while she was sick. They were pretty intense. And I saw you in some of them.”

  I kept my eyes laser focused on the road. “I don’t really like looking at those.”

  “Understandable.”

  The road dipped and I automatically sped up. Ren did too.

  “So . . . you hanging out with your friends again soon?” I asked.

  “You mean Thomas?”

  I flushed. “And . . . others.” Priority number one was figuring out what had gone on between Howard and my mother, but that didn’t mean I had to let my chance with Thomas go to waste, right?

  “It’s Marco, right? You really want to see him again, don’t you?”

  I laughed again. “Maybe.”

  “Didn’t Thomas get your number?”

  “I don’t even have a number. You keep calling me at the cemetery, remember?” Also, he hadn’t asked for it. Probably because he’d remembered his expensive watch after following me into the pool.

  “I also called you on your dad’s cell phone. Even though it was terrifying.”

  “How’d you even get that number?”

  “Sonia. But it took me like an hour to get up the courage to use it.”

  I sighed. “Ren, you’ve got to get over that first bad conversation with Howard. I mean, he’s a pretty nice guy. It’s not like he’s going to hurt you for being nice to me.”

  “Have you ever been yelled at by an ogre for something you didn’t do? It’s not that easy to get over.”

  “Ogre?” I laughed.

  “People just aren’t that tall here. I bet he gets stared at everywhere he goes.”

  “Probably.”

  The world’s tiniest truck sped past us, sending out a series of staccato beeps. Ren waved. “Hey, do you want to go into town with me tonight? We could get some ice cream or just walk around or something. Maybe like eight thirty?”

  “Think Swedish Model would be okay with that?”

  I meant it as a joke, but he looked at me seriously. “I think it will be all right.”

  When Ren arrived to pick me up, Howard and I were finishing dinner. He’d made a big bowl of pasta with fresh tomatoes and mozzarella, and I’d spent the whole meal staring at him like a complete weirdo. X is handsome, intelligent, and charming. Except for when you get pregnant with his baby? Then he’s suddenly so terrible that you flee halfway across the world and avoid him for the next sixteen years? I’d picked up the journal three different times that afternoon, and each time I’d had to set it back down. It was just so overwhelming.

  “Is everything all right?” Howard asked.

  “Yes. I was just . . . thinking.” Ever since we’d had that talk about not talking about my mom, things had been feeling a little better. He was actually pretty easy to be around. Sort of laid-back-beach-guy-meets-history-buff.

  I stabbed another forkful of pasta. “This is really good.”

  “Well, that’s in spite of the chef. It’s pretty hard to mess up when you have such great ingredients. So what do you think about tomorrow? I can take the whole day off so we’ll have plenty of time for sightseeing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where are you and Ren headed tonight?”

  “He just said he wants to go into town.”

  “Lina?” Ren poked his head into the kitchen.

  “Speak of the devil,” I said.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He caught sight of Howard and startled. “And I probably should have knocked. Sir.”

  Howard smiled. “Hey, Ren. Would you like some dinner? I made pasta con pomodori e mozzarella.”

  “Buonissimo. But no thanks. I already ate. My mom tried to re-create a Kentucky Fried Chicken meal and she made this giant pot of potatoes that basically turned to glue. I’m still trying to get over it.”

  “Ewww.”

  Howard laughed. “Been there. Sometimes you just have to have KFC.” He picked up his plate and walked into the ki
tchen.

  Ren sat down next to me and grabbed a noodle from my plate. “So, where should we go tonight?”

  “How should I know? You’re the one from Florence.”

  “Yeah, but I get the feeling you haven’t spent much time in the city. Anything you’ve been dying to see?”

  “Isn’t there like a leaning tower or something?”

  “Linaaa. That’s in Pisa.”

  “Relax, I’m joking. But actually, there is something I want to see. Come upstairs with me for a second.” I took my plate to the kitchen, then Ren followed me to my bedroom.

  “Is this really your room?” he asked when we stepped inside.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Haven’t you unpacked anything? It’s kind of bare in here.” He opened one of my empty dresser drawers, then slowly rolled it shut.

  “All my stuff’s over there.” I pointed to my suitcase. Everything was piled on top of it, and it looked like there had been some kind of explosion.

  “Aren’t you going to be here awhile?”

  “Just for the summer.”

  “That’s like two more months.”

  “Hopefully it will be less.” I shot a look at the open door. Yikes. Was it just me, or had my voice just reverberated through the whole cemetery?

  “I don’t think he can hear us.”

  “I hope not.” I crossed the room, then knelt to get the journal from under the bed and started flipping through the pages. “I just read about this place . . . Pont Ve-chee-o?”

  “Ponte Vecchio?” He looked at me incredulously. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I know I said it wrong.”

  “Well, yeah, I mean you totally butchered it. But you’ve never been there? How long have you been in Florence?”

  “Since Tuesday night.”

  “That means you should have seen Ponte Vecchio by Wednesday morning. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  I looked down at what I was wearing. “I am dressed.”

  “Sorry. Figure of speech. Get your purse or whatever. We’re going now. You have to see it. It’s in my top ten most favorite places in the entire world.”