Italian Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story Part 20

Rationally, I knew there was no way he could know. But I knew. I knew that I'd almost folded.

If only this were as simple as a game of cards. I could call his bluff and that would be that. Except this wasn't a prize pot at stake, but my academic career, my future. And what if he wasn't bluffing?

He certainly seemed to be holding all the right cards. A royal flush against my pair of twos.

But there had to be a way to get through this. Liam had said he'd wanted to quit, that he had felt that he was going to fail. Yet he'd succeeded. He'd succeeded all the way to the bank.

I got to cla.s.s and took my seat. By some miracle, I wasn't late. I'd sat down pretty much just as Dr. Aretino entered the lecture hall, toting that briefcase in one hand and wiping at the sweat on his expansive forehead with the other.

"Emma, have you reconsidered my offer? I heard that the review board sent you a letter. Does it say what I fear it said? I am happy that you are still here. It gives me hope that you will see that I am right," Dr. Aretino said, stopping beside my row of seats and leaning against the outermost one as he spoke.

"I haven't reconsidered, professor. And I did get the letter. I'm still confident I can make you see things my way."

He clicked his tongue at me like I was a particularly stubborn child who refused to learn her lesson. "You should not worry so much about such things when the solution is obvious. It will age you, Ragazzo D'oro, and you are too young to begin looking old."

By then cla.s.s should have started. My cla.s.smates had shifted in their seats to look at the two of us and wonder at the delay.

He went to the lectern at the front of the cla.s.s, apologizing about the delay.

I listened to the lecture with only one ear. My mind was preoccupied, searching for some way to fix all this.

Several ideas popped into my head as I watched him take a question from a pretty girl who always sat near the front. I could record him coming onto female students. Get him to state something less than professional with my cell in my pocket recording the conversation. Trap him, basically.

Except there were several obvious problems with that. The first was whether or not the rest of the faculty or the dean would even care. Clearly they knew at least something of how he used his position.

Besides, Dr. Aretino had tenure, that Holy Grail sought by all academics. He could probably get away with anything short of out and out murder without worrying about losing his job.

And then there was that whole he-said-she-said thing I'd run up against in my earlier attempts to figure out some way to beat him. He was tenured, respected, published. I was a foreign student with apparently poor grades.

It also smacked of dishonesty, subterfuge, blackmail. All things that left me feeling slimy and tainted. Like I'd be sinking to his level to go through with anything like that.

I wanted to be the person Liam saw when he looked at me. The girl with integrity, intelligence, honesty. I wanted to look into his eyes and see that girl reflected back at me.

But how? That question echoed around inside my skull.

I came pretty close to accepting Liam's offer to help. If he could bury Abigail in an avalanche of shark-toothed lawyers and mounds of litigation I knew he could probably do something similar with Dr. Aretino.

That would be him fixing my problem for me, though. And that would definitely not make me the person he saw when he looked at me.

Being honest, maintaining your integrity, was hard work. They say that crime doesn't pay, but it sure seemed like the rent was cheaper.

Cla.s.s ended, and I scurried away before the good professor could request my company.

I found myself drawn to the library. Like many campus libraries, it was designed along the lines of a fortress, as though to provide a solid bulwark to guard the knowledge contained within.

Perhaps I felt like I needed some protection, some sort of safety to retreat to and regroup from.

They had a nice little cafe in the lobby, something like most people back home would consider an upscale coffee shop. A gla.s.sed in counter with various confections and baked goods. Lights hanging from the ceiling at different levels. A shiny espresso machine.

The only thing that ruined the effect was the tall, boxy c.o.ke cooler behind the counter.

I ordered a cinnamon cookie and a latte. It seemed like sacrilege to order something from an Italian coffee shop that didn't contain espresso, so I always made sure I did.

My phone started buzzing again. It was Isabella. She wanted to know if I wanted to get something to eat or drink.

Part of me wished that it had been Liam letting me know he'd come up with a brilliant solution that was both highly effective as well as above board.

At the library cafe, I texted.

UM, she returned. Uno Momento.

I hadn't realized how much I'd have missed Isabella until I saw her stride into the cafe. She spotted me right away and came to join me after placing her order with the barista.

I hugged her and caught a whiff of her perfume. It was vanilla scented and it was beguiling.

"You act like we haven't seen each other in some time," she said.

"Something like that," I replied. I took the plastic lid off my espresso to let some of the steam waft away.

"Perhaps you should have ordered it iced?"

Isabella and a few of the others always liked to mock me gently for letting my drinks cool a little before I sipped at them. I guess that Italians liked to scald their mouths. Either that, or they were born with the innate ability to down hot espresso.

"Next time I'll get a cold one," I returned.

Usually I took the teasing in stride. Sitting there, I didn't realize how much I would have missed it until she brought it up.

"You are certain? You seem... sad?" Isabella tried, searching for the right English word.

I kept getting this urge to tell her everything. To tell her that I couldn't come up with any way to get Dr. Aretino to lay off.

Except my desire to fix this all by myself kept intercepting that impulse. There has to be a way. I'm just not seeing it yet.

"Has Professor Di Cenzo fixed that paper for you, yet?" she asked. The barista came over with Isabella's latte and set it on the table beside her. "Grazi." She sipped from it right away, not even flinching at the heat.

I shrugged. "Not yet."

"You told him that he made an error? You told him that I helped you with that paper?"

"Yes to the first, no to the second."

"You should tell him. He would reconsider if he knew."

"The work should stand on its own, though. I just don't know what to do about it anymore. It's like there's nothing I can do!" Frustration clouding my judgment, I grabbed my latte and took a sip. It was still too hot. I sucked in a breath through my teeth at the sudden pain.

"Are you certain you are all right? You seem... I believe the word is preoccupied?"

"It's nothing," I started to say. I couldn't finish, though. There comes a point where you have to let something out, or else you would burst. And I didn't like keeping this from Isabella. She knew something of what was going on, true. But not the full extent.

So I told her. I filled her in on everything. On how Dr. Aretino refused to budge, on Professor Di Cenzo and the rest of the faculty siding with him, on how I'd come so close to leaving, on how Liam had come and saved me from myself there.

And how I felt my hands were tied, how I couldn't figure out how to fix this that didn't involve me lowering myself to Dr. Aretino's level.

Isabella listened carefully, that little dimple of concentration forming between her eyebrows. She took sips from her latte, then pressed her lips together.

When I finished, she said, "You didn't think to say goodbye to me?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course."

We hugged again and I experienced this burst of grat.i.tude and friendship for her.

"You say you don't want to be like him. I do not mind so much. Let me take care of this for you. There is a baron with an estate near Napoli, he wants my attention so badly, he will do anything I ask him. Anything, I tell you. I could get him to..."

I put my hand on hers. "Thanks, really. But I really feel like I need to take care of this myself."

She smiled in a way that would make an angel blush. "Fine. If you feel you must, then you must. You won't accept any help at all? Not even from your Liam?"

"I want to do this myself," I reiterated. Isabella held up her hand to stop me from saying anymore.

"I think that you've become so involved in this that you have forgotten something. There is a difference between asking for help and advice and getting someone to do a thing for you."

"I don't see your point," I said.

"If your Liam feels for you like I think he does, then he would very much like to help you. You should let him."

"No," I shook my head.

She blinked, then glanced around the cafe, trying to find some way to explain what she meant. Then she smiled. "Your paper for Professor Di Cenzo, you let me help you with that. You let me suggest changes and additions. Was that cheating?"

"Of course not," I replied. Teachers and professors were always bugging students to review each other's work. "Oh," I finished, finally seeing her point.

Isabella shrugged, then looked at me over the rim of her cup while she took another sip of her latte.

She set the cup down and then lightly tapped the tabletop with her manicured nails. "So here is my advice to you: accept help. Let him help you."

We finished our drinks together. I didn't pity that baron trying to court her. He didn't stand a chance.

Chapter 16.

Liam picked me up from the campus. The sun had begun its descent into the west, and we had to pull the visors down to keep it out of our eyes. A bar of shadow ran over Liam's face starting at his nose, making it look like he wore a mask.

"Is this the same one as before?" I said, nodding at the BMW's dash.

"Yes, actually. They tried to offer me a different one, but I insisted. I have too many good memories with this car to let it go so easily."

We purposely avoided talking about school. I could tell he wanted to, from the way we danced around the subject.

Instead, we talked about how pretty the city looked in the slowly dying light, about what we hoped to see at the museum. That sort of thing. Anything but Dr. Aretino and how I planned on winning.

And then I kept thinking about what Isabella had told me. I wanted to do like she suggested, I really did. It just didn't feel like the right time, though. Like some important piece was missing from the equation.

We reached the Capitoline Hill and it was just as beautiful and breathtaking as I remembered. With it being so late in the day and the season, it was nearly deserted, too.

Liam took my hand and we wandered past the central square with its starburst floor and its bronze statue and into the building that looked down on it.

It was called the Palazzo dei Conservatori, and we'd only been in to see the ground floor that first visit.

At first I thought it was closed. But when Liam reached for the door it opened with his grasp.

A guard wandered by, resting one hand on the black leather case that contained his cuffs. He gave us a quick once over before turning his nose up and wandering down the polished floor of a nearby hallway.

Excitement thrilled through me, buzzing in my chest. All of my senses opened up. I couldn't believe how empty the place was, that I wouldn't have to deal with people jostling us to get a look at some tapestry.

I really needed this.

It was an incredibly opulent building with paintings and frescoes and statuary. So the two of us looked the part of the tourist couple. I still wore my casual clothes from school: a comfy pair of jeans, a shirt and a light jacket over that to ward off the cooling evening air.

Liam wore his polo shirt and khaki pants, the shirt pulled out so that you couldn't see the brown belt he had on. The slight chill in the air didn't seem to affect him.

So definitely a pair of tourists. Though neither of us had a Nikon or Canon slung around our neck, which I suppose probably made us more conspicuous. Tourists that weren't there to take pictures were usually there to touch.

"He probably thinks we're going to try and touch the paintings," Liam said, picking the words out of my mind.

Surrounded by all those priceless works of art, it was easy to forget my troubles, easy to let myself fall into the moment. Especially with Liam's warm hand pressed against mine.

"Come on, I think the stairs up are over this way," I said, tugging him along like I was an impatient kid wanting to find the best aisle at Toys R Us.

"There," Liam said, pointing at the square sign poking off the wall with the picture of a stickman mounting stairs.

We pushed through the doors and I started up, our footsteps echoing up and down so that it sounded like dozens of people took the trip with us.

We were alone, though. A fact that Liam didn't forget. We reached a landing. I wanted to use my momentum to swing me around to the next flight, but Liam held me firm.

"What...?" I started.

He pulled me to him, pinning me against him with those strong arms of his. "You're so beautiful. Especially when you're happy." He kissed me, his mouth eager and hot on mine.

It was nice, but I felt so self conscious. "What if the guard comes? Or other visitors?" I hissed at him.