Page 25 of Italy Can Bite Me

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“ThatstupidLeaningTowerof Pisa is ruining my life!” I mutter.

Behind me, that world-famous hunk of slanted marble looms mockingly, as if to say,Nice try, but even I can tell how painfully unsexy you are.

Thanks to Matteo and his relaxed sense of time management, I have less than ten minutes of sunlight to capture a thirst trap sultry pose that’ll make Jared’s jaw drop. I hold out my phone and sum up every ounce of seductive femininity my body can muster.

Butt out.

Head tilted.

Lips pursed.

CLICK!

I compare the photo to the pose I’ve preselected in my binder.Grr!I can’t get the right angle. And why does my face give off serious constipated vibes? There’s no time to go back and get my selfie stick.Maybe if I lean the phone against this chunk of rubble on the ground?I set my timer and hurry into position.

Arch back.

Chest out.

Open mouth.

CLICK!

I cringe at the image. My sultry wish-you-were-here photo has turned into something straight out of a porno. My hands look like I’m molesting the tower while trying to give it a blow job!

“Very seductive, bella,” a deep, gravelly voice rumbles in my ear, a rush of warmth sweeping across my neck.

I nearly jump out of my skin as Matteo materializes, his maddening smirk plastered all over that annoyingly handsome face.

“Go away,” I snap, angling the phone away from him. “This is not for your pervy eyes. I’m trying to take a picture for my fiancé, Jared.”

Matteo grabs my phone and swipes through my pictures. “Your angles are all wrong. You do know I’m a photographer, right? Let me help you.”

I snatch back my phone. “I’d rather endure a twelve-hour root canal without novocaine than let you take my photo.”

“I think drilling you for twelve hours sounds like an incredible way to spend a day.”

Flames dance across my skin. “You’re—”

“MATTEO, darling!”

Oh, thank goodness.

Aunt Deb shouts through the crowd like a bedazzled foghorn. “We simplymustdiscuss the impressive length and girth of this phallic masterpiece!”

“Duty calls,bellissima.”

I watch him saunter away, trying very hard not to notice how well his pants fit(for purely professional reasons).I’m documenting suspicious tour guide behavior.

Right. Focus.

I can do this. I am a strong, independent woman who can take one damn sexy photo without help from Mr. Italian Stallion over there.

Channel your inner vixen. Work those angles. Make Jared eat his heart out.

CLICK!

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