Page 75 of Ace My Heart

Push & Pull

“You deserve a bit of sightseeing,” Joel shouted over the cacophonous buzz of the moped. I clung to his back as he weaved through the narrow laneways of the city. “Semi-final appearances at Madrid and Rome; you’re on fire!”

Since my semi-final loss at Internazionali D’Italia, we’d visited the Colosseum, thrown coins in the Trevi Fountain, and eaten a lunch of crusty bread, cold meat and cheese on the Spanish Steps.

Joel had one more surprise in store for our last full day in Rome before we headed to Paris for the French Open.

“I’ll explain when we get there, keep your panties on,” he’d said when I’d asked for more detail.

I dug my nails tighter into his stomach, the memory of his teasing sending a wave of … something through me. His muscles contracted under my fingers.

We pulled up on a random bit of pavement – Joel seemed to be quite at home with the Italian method of parking – and he crossed the road, threading between the traffic like a pro, heading towards the stone arch of a stucco building.

“This is theBasilica di Santa Maria,” he told me in a hushed tone, leading me through the ancient church, through several stone archways and onto a colonnade, hemmed in on one side by the church wall and on the other by barred archways. Tourists were lined up toget up close to a big round stone face with a gaping mouth at the end.

I raised an eyebrow at Joel, who spread his arms wide, grinning.

“Here we are –La Bocca della Verita; the Mouth of Truth.” Joel explained, passing coins to an attendant as the line progressed us closer. “Legend says that you put your hand in there, and if you’ve ever lied about anything, it’ll bite your hand off.”

I gaped at him in horror.

He laughed. “You game?”

I shivered all over. The claim sounded pretty far fetched, but I was a superstitious Catholic after all. I wracked my brain trying to catalogue all my past lies. There had been some doozies.

We reached the front of the queue.

“You go first,” I said, pushing him towards it. He looked dubiously at the black gaping mouth for a long time. His hand stretched out towards it. He paused.

“Joel, don’t!” I cried. He turned to me, expression grim. What lies had he told to make him feelthatsick about it?

“Don’t do it – I want you to keep both your hands!”

He chuckled but stepped back hastily. “Okay, do you want to do it, or not?”

I shook my head emphatically. The people lined up behind us chortled at our stupidity; we’d just watched over a dozen people pose with their hands in the stupid mouth, with no adverse effects. I dragged Joel to the side, and we left quickly.

Joel was subdued all afternoon. We ate pasta at a little café near the Roman Forum, and he was virtually silent. We returned the moped to the hire place, and walked back towards our hotel, over the Ponte Sant’Angelo. Still nothing.

I was going crazy – Joel was never like this.

My curiosity overwhelmed me as we returned to the apartment. Joel headed towards his room, but I grabbed him by the arm. He looked at me questioningly.

“So, what’s your big lie?” I asked.

He refused to meet my eyes. “What do you mean?”

I snorted, keeping a hold of his arm. “I mean, you freaked thefuck out at that stone mouth. And you’ve been weird all afternoon. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Joel said dismissively, pulling his arm out of my grip and turning away.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“It was stupid, I got caught up in the moment. That’s all.”

He reached his bedroom. I followed, forcing my way into the room even as he tried to close the door on me.

“I don’t believe that for a second, Joel.”

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