Page 9 of Tour Wars
He flashed her a sly grin. “Lucky you. I know how much youloveleading tourists around Pompeii.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I don’t understand why you always say you’re available to give tours. You know it’s optional, right?”
For you, maybe. Unlike the Europeans working at Pompeii, who weren’t burdened by crushing student loans, Emilia never turned down a chance to boost her income. Even if she’d been hired as an archaeologist, moonlighting as a weekend tour guide was a convenient side hustle. She didn’t even need a license since the company she worked for—Buon Viaggio Tours—was owned by the dig director’s brother. Weekends at Pompeii were so busy that his company was always in need of extra help. While she didn’t enjoy coddling needy tourists, the pay was decent, and the tips were great.
“I wouldn’t mind giving tours if I didn’t get stuck with Americans,” she said. “They’re the worst, and I’m saying thisasan American.” Case in point, they were now stuck behind an English-speaking group that was blocking the street in an unwieldy clump, oblivious to those trying to get around them.
Paulo grimaced. “I had a group from Texas two weeks ago. Three of them kept asking me when we were going to visit the ‘infamous brothel.’ They were so disappointed when they realized the lupanar was just a few empty rooms and some faded paintings.”
“It doesn’t live up to the hype. In most of the murals, you can barely see what the people are doing.” Even if the wall paintings adorning the ancient brothel depicted couples in various sexual positions, the colors were dull and faded from decades of exposure.
Paulo lowered his voice to a sexy whisper. “Does that mean you’ve studied the pictures closely? For ideas?”
“I don’t need them for inspiration. I can come up with plenty of ideas on my own.” When he chuckled, a flush of excitement raced through her. It was time she took things further than flirtation.
Once the group of Americans moved on, she and Paulo made their way through the ancient Forum, an open area of the site lined with tall stone columns. Around them, tourists posed for group shots, pored over guidebooks, and took selfies next to the statue of the Greek god Apollo. Emilia had lost track of how many photos she’d been asked to take as a guide—the same poses, over and over, with a multitude of different phones.
After passing through the western exit of the ruins, known as the Porta Marina, she and Paulo strolled past idling minibuses, souvenir stands, and clusters of tourists gathered around the outdoor snack bar across from the site. They bypassed the crowds and headed for the train station, which was less than five minutes’ walk.
Though living in modern Pompeii would have been more convenient, all the archaeologists in her cohort were staying at a hostel in the nearby town of Ercolano. Not that Emilia had any complaints. The hostel was cheap and comfortable, with a funky rooftop patio that overlooked the city.
In all honesty, she would have been equally happy living in a tent or crashing on someone’s couch. All that mattered was that she’d landed a job at one of the best-known sites in the ancient world.
Back in the spring, as each teaching post slipped through her fingers, she’d had to recalibrate her goals. Rather than wallow in self-pity, she’d sent out a flurry of applications: post-docs, research grants, fellowships, and lab tech positions.
She’d almost resigned herself to going back into cultural resource management when she received a traveling fellowship to work in the Mediterranean. As luck would have it, that same week, Stuart told her about a six-month dig in Pompeii called the Via Stabiana Project. Led by Italian archaeologist Dr. Maurizio Roberti, the project was accepting applications from archaeologists all over the world, provided they spoke Italian.
When she found out she’d been accepted, her relief was so intense she almost burst into tears. With her fellowship covering her travel and lodging expenses, she could save every euro she earned from the Pompeii job to set aside for the future.
At the arrival of the local train, known as the Circumvesuviana, she stepped back to avoid the throngs of tourists disembarking. As she was following Paulo on board, a familiar voice made her wince. “Just made it. Talk about good timing.”
If there was one thing that she didn’tlove about the Via Stabiana Project, it was having to work with TJ.Again.
Like her, he hadn’t been able to find a permanent post at a college or a museum. In all fairness, he’d been the one to tell her about the traveling fellowships offered by the Carter Institute of Classical Studies. And they’d both learned about the Pompeii gig from Stuart. But Emilia hadn’t expected she and TJ would be theonlytwo Americans accepted on the dig.
Standing beside him was Marie, a petite Swiss woman with a blond bob and an irritating giggle. Emilia couldn’t tell if TJ was interested in her, but she’d clearly set her sights on him. Every time she laughed at one of his jokes or gushed in excitement over his dig stories, Emilia wanted to roll her eyes.
Not that she was jealous. So what if she and TJ had shared a passionate kiss seven months ago? It had merely been a lapse of judgment on her part. True, she’d had a few dreams where they’d done more than kiss, but only because she’d gone without sex for so long. Once she got together with Paulo, her dry spell would be over.
As the train left the station, she squeezed in next to Paulo, grateful their car wasn’t packed with hot, sweaty tourists. Even so, the AC barely seemed to be functioning. She took off her hat and tightened her ponytail to ensure her hair wasn’t sticking to the back of her neck.
Paulo leaned across the aisle to address Marie. “Ready for the weekend? Is the Swiss contingent headed for Positano again?”
“Of course,” Marie said. “Swimming, sunbathing, and limoncello. We’ve got the perfect weather for it. How about you?”
“Taking the train up to Roma to meet with a few friends,” he said.
During their weekends off, the archaeologists on the Via Stabiana Project could spend their time however they chose. Since Emilia was on a tight budget, she rarely ever traveled. Over the past three months, she’d only spent two weekends in Naples and one on the Amalfi Coast.
“No time off for me,” TJ said. “I’m leading tours of Pompeii on Saturday and Sunday. With Emilia.”
Marie placed her hand on his shoulder. “You poor thing. You’ll be so tired on Monday.”
Emilia groaned. If giving up her weekend wasn’t bad enough, now she had to spend it with TJ. “Why do they insist on pairing us up? They should know we don’t work well together.”
“Don’t blame me,” he said. “You always rush through your spiel, and then my group can’t catch up. It’s like you just want to get it over with.”
