Page 56 of Problematic Summer Romance

“That’s not…Let me find out,” he says, husky, before asking Lucrezia about theproblema. He listens for a few moments. Turns with a small smile. “Lucrezia is very worried about you.”

“Is it because I am a…harlot?”

“Did you just use the word ‘harlot’?”

“I was going to say ‘whore,’ but it didn’t sound churchy enough.”

“This has nothing to do with churchiness. Or with your suit.”

“What, then?”

“If you go swimming in the ocean within two hours of eating you are going to drop dead.” Lucrezia adds something else, and he translates, “All your blood will be in your stomach, digesting. There will be none left in your limbs, and you will sink like a stone.”

I scratch my temple. “Tell her that doesn’t sound right.”

Conor snorts. “I will not do such a thing.”

“It’s a thoroughly debunked myth.”

“The science hasn’t reached Italy, clearly. And I am not going to contradict Lucrezia, Maya. About anything, ever.”

I edge forward, glaring at him. “Aww. You scawed? Of the cute middle-aged lady?”

“I am, and not too proud to admit it.”

“Thank her for her concern, but I’ll be fine. I’m a good swimmer.”

Another quick exchange in Italian, that culminates in: “She reminds you that this area has lots of unexpected currents. And she wants me to keep an eye on you and rescue you when you inevitably begin drowning.”

I look her in the eye. “Sadly, Lucrezia, Conor is much more likely to hold my head underwater than to—Ouch.” He’s pinching the back of my arm so tight, I’m going to have bruises. “This hardly disproves my point,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

“But it proves mine.”

“Which is?”

“That you should be quiet. And do as Lucrezia says.”

“But I want to—”

With an arm around my shoulder, he pulls me into him. Tells Lucrezia something that sounds disturbingly like a promise, and then turns us both toward the makeshift field where the others are idling with a ball. Our feet slip through the sand, his heat pressed into my bare flank, and the scent of pine and sunblock fills my nose. His forearm hangs down my collarbone, right above the swell of my breast.

“Come on, Trouble.”

“What is happening?”

“I’m kidnapping you. Just to spare Lucrezia’s peace of mind.”

Chapter 18

I beg my heart to slow the hell down. “Where are we going?”

“To play the best sport in the world.”

“I don’t think we can figure-skate on sand.”

“Football, Maya.”

“Your football, or ours?”

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