Kissing in Italian by Lauren Henderson Read Free Book Online Page A

eyes,
You ran away from me last night, so why shouldn’t I go out with Elisa? I’m free to see whoever I like, aren’t I
?
    He is free. Of course he is. I scurry away as fast as if the cobblestones were burning my feet, around the corner of the piazza, past the big stall that sells plants and herbs and flowers set out in pots and vases all over the pavement. We shoot across the traffic lights, crossing the little bridge over the Greve River, quacking ducks below calling to one another as they float on the shallow water. We pass the huge iron sculpture of a black rooster, the symbol of Chianti and its wines, turn left before the cinema, and walk down the path to the village library. Kelly discovered it first—in part, I think, as somewhere to hang out when the rest of us were wandering around the shops or sitting in the piazza having coffees and debating purchases. She has very little cash, and saying she wanted to go to the library was a clever way to avoid spending money while simultaneously looking good.
    That’s Kelly in a nutshell. She thinks things over, works out solutions, plots and plans, uses her considerable brainpower to her best advantage. Of course, I would have bought her coffees, as many as she wanted, but she’s too proud for that. She’d see it as charity. And I admire her for her pride too, this clever new friend I’ve made in Italy.
    “Did you see Luca?” she asks as we trot down the path.
    “Yes,” I say shortly, flinching at the pain that every mention of Luca’s name gives me. “And I saw Elisa, too.”
    Luca’s father is a
principe
, which means “prince”; Luca will inherit the title, and the castle, so Elisa is utterly focused on snagging him. Ditto Catia, who’s very ambitious for her daughter. We’ve all seen Catia working her friendship with Luca’s mother, the principessa, to maneuver their children together; we’re all regularly snubbed by Elisa, who called us pigs the first time she saw us; and we all, in consequence, hate her guts.
    Kelly comments obliquely:
    “That’s why we need to find out about you.”
    I nod. The chink in Elisa’s armor is the attention that Luca pays me, the genuine feelings he has for me. It annoys her tremendously, and though of course that’s not the reason I’m so keen on Luca, I can’t help admitting that it’s an extra bonus, the icing on the cake. If somehow we can prove that he and I aren’t closely related, if we can be free to see each other, apart from making me ecstatic, it will drive Elisa crazy.
    “I’m emailing my mum as soon as we get back to the villa,” I say. “I’ve already got it mostly written in my head.”
    “Good,” Kelly says, turning to give me a very direct gaze, her hazel eyes clear. “And now we’ll start on the research side of things.”
    She reaches out and squeezes my hand. We walk together the last part of the way still holding hands, something I’d never do in England, where it’s for little girls only; but in Italy, people are much more openly affectionate. They kisseach other’s cheeks on greeting; they embrace when they feel affectionate; grown men walk down the street with their arms around each other.
    “Ciao, Kellee,”
says the librarian, smiling at us as we come in.
“Buon giorno.”
    “Buon giorno, Sandra,”
Kelly says.
“Questa è mia amica Violetta. Abbiamo bisogno di aiuto.”
    “We need help,” she’s saying. I nod and smile. I hatched this idea yesterday, on the drive home from Siena, but since Kelly’s Italian is better than mine, she launches into the words that explain what we’re after: I make out the words “Castello di Vesperi,” Luca’s home. The librarian’s nodding, standing up, leading us over to a section of books against the far wall, and I follow Kelly as we sit down where she indicates. We look at each other excitedly as the librarian pulls a large coffee-table book from the shelves, opens it, and places it triumphantly in front of us.
    It’s