Page 128 of Italy Can Bite Me

This is it.

I don’t need a plan.

I just need one wish.

And I know exactly what it is.

***

I’mclean.I’mdressed.I’m caffeinated.

In under an hour I transformed myself from heartbroken tourist to professional powerhouse. My hair’s blown out, my red lipstick’s applied, and I’m rocking my most confident sundress—the one that screams “I’m here to conquer the world and your heart(and maybe your bed too).”

Since Matteo is treating my texts as if they’re coated in radioactive man-repellant, I decided to show him what happens when you ghost a woman whose idea of foreplay is problem-solving.SoI’ve shown up at his workplace unannounced, like any self-respecting stalker(I mean, determined woman).

Natural light floods the Italy Express corporate office—all gleaming glass and polished marble with red accents. Above the reception desk is a large, mounted TV screen that displays overly smiley tourists riding on Segways. The air-conditioning hits me like a polar bear’s breath, and I swear my nipples could cut glass.

Personal memo: This thin sundress was not the power move I thought it was.

The receptionist—razor-sharp bob, perfectly manicured nails—wears a matter-of-fact smirk and is a corporate clone if I ever saw one. “Buongiorno, signorina. Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” I flash my most dazzling smile. “But I have an urgent matter to discuss with Antonio.”

“Antonio is very busy.”

“He’ll want to see me.” I lean in as though I’m about to share government secrets. “It’s about a serious legal issue with his number one tour guide.”

Five minutes later, I’m face-to-face with Antonio himself. His overly styled helmet of hair and starch-laden red polo shirt tells me this is a guy who thinks looking slick equals being respected. He recognizes me as he says, “Ah, another one of Matteo’s broken hearts.”

The words hit like a slap, but I keep my composure. “Actually, I didn’t get to finish my tour yesterday, and I really want to see more of Italy.”

He snorts. “You look like a woman who wants to wring Matteo’s neck.”

Well, he’s not entirely wrong about the neck-wringing part.

“I need to join Matteo’s tour. Today.”

“We don’t do last-minute additions. Company policy.”

Time to pull out the big guns. “Listen, I’d hate to have to leave a scathing review about how Italy Express isn’t accommodating to its customers—especially one who works with high-profile clients.”

His eyebrow does this thing that would make The Rock jealous. “High-profile clients?”

“Yes.” I keep my voice steady, channeling my inner con artist. “Prominent celebrities.”

“Which celebrities?”

My mind races. I don’t technically know Reece Dare—social media’s favorite prankster turned energy-drink mogul—but Cam practically lives in his back pocket as his videographer. And these are desperate times…

“Reece Dare, for one.” I drop the name as if it’s no big deal, even though my internal voice is screeching “Liar, Liar, sundress on fire!”

Antonio’s eyes light. “Reece Dare? The YouTuber?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then I’ll prove it,” I tell Antonio, hitting FaceTime and praying Cam answers.

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