A Veil of Glass and Rain by Petra F. Bagnardi Read Free Book Online Page A

partner, then stares
    at me.
    “Go,” she mouths.
    I nod, and look behind her for Marco and
    Virginie. They are dancing and kissing. It's a
    brief, soft, innocent brush of lips, nevertheless
    it makes me uncomfortable.
    Clém, whose attention is still on me,
    mistakes my expression for something else, for
    she bends a little to utter in my ear, “It's all
    right. We'll catch a cab. Go. You don't have to
    see this.”
    Rome is chaotic, but it can also be soothing.
    As I cross the stone bridge that leads to
    where we parked the car, I feel my heart
    pulsing in my ears. The smells of the club,
    alcohol, sweat, perfumes, still linger on my
    clothes and on my skin.
    I pause.
    The stone beneath my feet still holds the
    day warmth. It bleeds into my skin. I realize
    it's a temporary relief, but I appreciate it
    nonetheless.
    Cars are not allowed on this particular
    bridge, because it's ancient. People stroll by
    on either side of me. They talk, they laugh,
    they murmur.
    I listen to them for a while, without really
    taking in their words, then I make myself cross
    the bridge.
    When I reach my car, I feel calm enough to
    drive.
    My car is small but sturdy. My parents gave
    it to me for my eighteenth birthday. They
    chose the brand, but I picked the color. My car
    is yellow: Eagan's favorite color.
    With endless patience and persistence I
    manage to get the car out of the narrow
    parking spot we were able to find. I shift
    gears, but as I'm about to pick up speed, all of
    a sudden someone appears in front of the
    vehicle. I break and my car groans unhappily.
    “Are you crazy?” I yell from the open
    window. I kill the engine, then I rest my
    forehead against the steering wheel; my
    fingers grip it tightly. After a few moments, I
    feel a warm and gentle hand on my nape.
    “Brina, it's me,” Eagan says.
    I jerk my head up. The sudden movement
    dislodges Eagan's hand from my neck. When I
    glare at him, he smiles.
    “Are you crazy, Eagan?” I unwrap my fingers
    from around the steering wheel and place my
    hands on my legs. I stroke my thighs with slow,
    soothing motions.
    Eagan stares at my legs for a long moment,
    then he positions his hands on the car hood
    and leans in. The pose flaunts his broad chest
    and strong arms. I try very hard not to gape.
    “Where are you running, kitty-cat?”
    “I'm going to the cinema.”
    “Cool.” He pushes away from the car and
    walks around it until he reaches the passenger
    side. He opens the door and slides into the
    seat. “What are we going to see?”
    I unbuckle myself and twist toward him.
    “We?”
    “Yeah.” He grins.
    “It's a student film festival. The movies will
    likely be long and full of obscure meanings and
    metaphors.” I wrap my arms across my chest
    and wait for him to give up.
    “With English subtitles?” He demands.
    “Yes.”
    “Bring it,” he says, still smiling.
    I have to force my lips not to curl into a
    smile in response. “What about your office
    party?”
    He shrugs. “You and the very long flicks are
    much more appealing.”
    Even if both the driver and the passenger
    windows are open, the scents of cinnamon,
    sweat and male skin saturate the car. It is a
    heady mixture that makes my insides clench.
    I lose the battle against myself and beam.
    “How did you find me, anyway?”
    His eyes rove my face and my body. His lips
    part and a peculiar spark flickers in his bright
    blue eyes. “Your friend, Clém. She approached
    me. She introduced herself. And she told me
    where to find you.”
    His gaze drifts away from me. He buckles
    himself, and I do the same.
    “What about your dark haired lady?” I
    inquire, as I restart the car.
    “Who?”
    Good answer.
    “Traffic lights are there for a reason. Stop
    signs are there for a reason. And speed limits
    are there for very good reasons.” One of
    Eagan's hands is braced against the dashboard,
    the other one grips the edge of his seat.
    “Eagan, trust me. In Rome, following the
    rules is