Page 15 of Prosecco with My Professor
Parker
Not until 10 and im working on an assignment. Youll understand when youre older
Emma
When I’m older?
Parker
Technically true. I bet two weeks from now youll be staying up late to work on school stuff. Haha
Emma
I’m rolling my eyes. Go to bed and eat your vegetables.
They send a kiss emoji back just as a throat at the front of the room clears. A white man who looks to be in his forties stands at the podium. Behind him on stage are a few rows of seats, all of which are filled with, I presume, staff. The room quiets, and anticipation bubbles in my chest. This is it. I’m finally starting my MBA.
The man introduces himself as the director, welcomes us, the students, and gives us an overview of the university’s history. The website says everything is taught in English, but I’m still relieved that this is, in fact, in English.
I look around the room in front of me. The students are mostly white and young, but a good percentage of them are Asian. Everyone is dressed so well, too. I look down at my own clothes. I’m wearing slacks and a button-up blouse, but I already feel frumpy in America. Here, everyone is fashionable and chic whereas I wear mom-jeans.
It’s okay, I am a mom. Thrice.
We’ve moved on to professor introductions. As the director announces their names, they stand and wave.
I might get mistaken for a professor. They’re closer to my age. Hell, I might be older than some of them.
While I recognize the courses and specialties of the professors being introduced, it’s a lot of names to remember, so I don’t pay a lot of attention until one name stands out.
“—Santo Offredi?—”
I freeze, eyes wide as I watch Santo, the hunky Italian silver fox who tried to give me my first non-solo orgasm in years, stand up from his seat and wave to the crowd.
Oh, my god.
Please don’t let him be teaching my classes, please don’t let him be teaching my classes…
“Mr. Offredi will teach many of your business fundamentals courses, especially financial basics. He has an extensive background with startups and technology companies, and was named our Educator of the Year last year.”
I sink into my chair. Not that Santo—oh crap, Professor Offredi—has noticed me. The first six months of the program are divided into six-week terms, where we have four classes a day. I cannot believe my bad luck. Of all the hot, nice, sexy men in my age range in Rome who happened to be in the right bar on the right night and who met the approval of my friends and who was actually interested in me, I had to pick the one who is my professor?
7
Santo
I am notsure if it’s being on stage in front of the entire student body or if there’s something else going on, but the skin on the back of my neck prickles like someone is staring at me. I tune out the speaker for a few minutes, casting my gaze through the students in the seats, but no one really meets my eye. They’re too busy paying attention, as they should be.
I direct my gaze back to Director Greco, but the feeling intensifies. When I glance back out at the audience, a flash of movement catches my eye.
Someone is slouching, sitting perfectly behind another student, so I can’t see them, but I can see their bag on the seat next to them.
I shift to the left, and I glimpse long, loose hair before it shifts out of my sight.
Gray hair.
My heart unnecessarily speeds up, as if there aren’t millions of people in Italy with gray hair, people who aren’t Americans who are probably back home and back to their regular jobs.
People who are avoiding me.
