Part 23 (1/2)

We caught it via the Roma Termini, the first of two central transit hubs in Rome.

I wished we could have stayed there longer, but we were in something of a rush.

It was a rather modern, even futuristic looking building set in sharp relief with the cla.s.sical architecture of the city around it.

The roof caught my eye first, looking something like the cross section of a low wave traveling across the water. From inside, the rake of the ceiling gave the whole s.p.a.ce an incredible sense of depth.

Sleek fas.h.i.+on advertis.e.m.e.nts dotted the polished floor. All sorts of stores from newspaper stands to little cafes and restaurants lined the walls.

And there were people everywhere. Children marveling at the ultramodern look of the s.p.a.ce, men and women in business wear rus.h.i.+ng around, a few tourists taking everything in, camera flashes blinking.

I would have been happy spending the whole day there exploring with Liam.

He led me down to the train platform, where we found the Frecciarossa waiting for us. Like its name suggested, it was a speedy-looking shade of red. Except it had a streak of grey running between those strips of red.

”Where are we going?” I asked while Liam pulled out the tickets to scan them into the machine so we could board.

”Rome is nice and all,” Liam said, he took my hand and led me into the train. It was wider inside than I would have thought. The windows looked slightly tinted, shading the outside world, the platform on the other side and the people there waiting for a different train.

Groups of four wide-backed, comfy looking seats took up the sides of the aisle.

”However,” Liam continued, checking seat numbers against the tickets, ”If you really want to experience Italian art, there's really only one place you absolutely must go.”

The operator's voice came on. I heard the word Firenze and my heart sped up.

”We're going to Florence?” I said. I'd wanted to go to Florence, had been planning to go when I'd been planning my Rome trip before my dad got sick. But when I'd lost the will to study, to see Rome even though I lived in it, the idea of going to Florence had died as well.

”And at 300 kilometers per hour, we'll be there in an hour and a half,” Liam said, ”Here we go.” He motioned to an empty set of seats.

There was a lot of legroom, as well as a selection of new magazines on the thin table in the middle of our little group of seats. The Europeans knew how to travel in comfort and style.

They were as comfy as they looked, and I sighed as I sat. Liam sat across from me. We took the window seats, leaving the two by the aisle empty.

Soon, a man wearing the uniform of the line came over to us and asked us if we'd like any of the national papers for that day, and if we'd like any refreshments.

”Premium cla.s.s,” Liam said, ”I know you don't like me spending money on you, but I decided to get the nicer seats anyway.”

”I'll forgive you, this time,” I said.

Other people had begun to board as well, filling in the seats around us. Though no one sat in the two empty chairs in our little group. I gave Liam another look.

He shrugged, not apologetic in the least. ”I wanted you all to myself. What's the point of having money if you can't have nice things?”

It was sweet, and I had to admit I'd been feeling a little anxious about sitting so close to a pair of strangers the whole ride up.

I had just picked up an Italian edition of InStyle magazine when the train started humming. Although it was less a sound and more a feeling. It started moving away from the platform. Gliding described it better. Like we floated above the ground, it was so smooth.

And it picked up speed with deceptive quickness. I barely felt the inertia pus.h.i.+ng me back into the comfortable padding of my seat.

Yet when I looked out the window Rome had already disappeared, replaced by the rolling fields of the rich vineyards and farmland around the city.

And even that flashed by in a blur. If I wanted to look at any one thing, I had to focus on it and turn my head as fast as I could to get rid of some of the haze of speed.

”Wow,” I said again. I'd lost count of times Liam had done something to make me utter that exclamation.

”I never get tired of hearing you say that,” Liam said.

”Well it seems like every time I see you, you feed me some amazing food or show me some incredible thing.” Or come out of the shower with that body of yours still flushed from the heat of it and nothing but a towel to cover it. I didn't voice that last bit out loud.

”I can't help it. You make everything feel new to me, like it's the first time I'm seeing it, too,” he said.

The way he looked at me across the table, those baby blues fixed so intensely on my face, made me blush and look down at my hands, which I had clasped in my lap over the forgotten and glossy cover of InStyle.

I could sense something from him, some desire to say something, to express something, that he struggled with. What sort of thing did a man like Liam have to struggle with, especially involving me?

”Stop,” I said, my cheeks so hot that if they started smoking I wouldn't have been surprised.

”You know that I won't,” he said, ”You should have learned then when I chased you to the airport.”

”So we're going to the Uffizi?” I said, trying to change the subject. The Uffizi Gallery was the foremost museum of art in all of Italy. Perhaps all of Europe.

”That's not what I want to talk about right now,” Liam said.

I'd begun shaking a little. I clenched my hands into sweaty fists, crinkling the cover of the magazine. Had our train car heated up?

”Work, then?” I said, ”How's your business stuff going? That merger or whatever go through?”

”Emma, look at me. Please, look at me.”

I swallowed against a lump in my throat. It wasn't the train car that felt hot. It was me. I burned. It took every last ounce of willpower I had to drag my eyes away from the smiling model on the cover of the magazine to Liam.

He'd leaned his elbows on the table. His eyes kept flicking between my eyes, searching. He licked his lips as though nervous. My trembling intensified, seeing him like that.

”Yeah?” I said, my voice small.

”My business trip has been over for the last week,” he said.

”Then why are you still here? Don't you have a huge international corporation to run?” I knew the answer to my question. I just wasn't sure I could accept it.

”Business can wait.”

”Said no successful CEO ever,” I broke in. I tried to smile, but my lips refused to stop quivering.

”You're the reason I'm still in Rome. Well,” he said, glancing at the blurred landscape on the other side of the gla.s.s, ”Italy, at least.”

”Seems like a silly reason to me.”