ANDI woke to a pounding in her head. Actually it was just the now-all-too-familiar pulsating sound against the wall that was all that separated her from her host and his girlfriend. At it again. As it was, she was a default eavesdropper, which was super uncomfortable: she wasn’t a voyeur for a good reason. Thank goodness the place didn’t just have those flimsy standing screens for walls.
Are those two creatures in there humans or rabbits? she wondered. And is this an Italian thing? Or have I just been with the wrong guys? This was like the land of Our Lady of the Perpetual Fuck.
She stretched out on the couch for a few minutes, half wishing that was her and the naked prince making all that racket. But then she shook her head vigorously to eradicate that salacious thought.
I could never in a million years have sex with that man, she thought. Aside from the fact that he’s a man-whore. But really, his ego is so bloated. And he gets naked in public. In public! He’s nothing but a child. A spoiled child who has no burden or responsibility in the world, so he gallivants around, partying and picking up whomever his flavor of the moment is, whatever idiot female capitulates to his wiles. Not me.
To reinforce that vow, she shook her head yet again.
“Buongiorno, signora,” Elisabetta said when Andi couldn’t help but spy her sneaking toward the bathroom covered in nothing but a top sheet she held fast with her hand.
“’Giorno,” Andi said, looking away—as if it mattered, considering she’d been practically a third wheel to their goings-on for much of the night. Andi immediately regretted not nabbing the bathroom while she’d had the chance, so instead curled up on the mattress in a way that didn’t put too much pressure on her full bladder until she got her turn.
Rafaele came out of his room a few minutes later, a look of complete satiety—or was that exhaustion?—spread across his face. Andi could hardly complain about the awkward situation. After all, a free place to sleep is a free place to sleep. As her old high school economics teacher used to drill into her head, “Ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” Indeed. Or a restful night’s sleep when people within immediate earshot are doing it all night long with the stamina of a couple of teenagers, for that matter.
Andi let out a large yawn and scratched her head.
“Ciao, bellissima,” Rafaele said. “I trust you slept well?” Clearly the man was too caught up in his business to realize he was a wee bit noisy.
“Like a champ,” she said, forcing a tepid smile. She could only hope that Elisabetta was just a Saturday night kinda gal and would go elsewhere for the next two nights Andi was a guest. Either that or maybe he’d go to her place.
“What have you got planned for today?” her host asked her.
“I’m thinking of doing a bike tour of Rome,” she said, “and also I’d like to spend some time helping out at a soup kitchen. Although I think in Italy it should be called a pasta kitchen.” She winked at him.
“If it was a pasta kitchen, you might find me going there for meals too,” he said, rubbing his belly.
She decided not to comment about him having worked up an appetite. “Why don’t the two of you join me?” Andi said. “We’ll make a day of it.”
~*~
Rafaele enlisted his friend Simone, who ran a bicycle shop near the looming Colosseo, to get them all suited up and off to see the city in style on shock-absorbent bicycles that could handle cobblestoned streets with a bit more comfort. They decided they’d follow the general path of the ancient Aurelian walls of the city completed some 1700 years ago. It was remarkable how many Roman and Etruscan ruins remained in this history-rich city. With Simone’s leadership, they deftly navigated their way through multiple tourist-bus-laden lanes of traffic, past the overwrought Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II with its many statues, reliefs, and murals (overwhelming yet still a work of extraordinary art, Andi thought). They climbed first the Palatine Hill, which overlooked the famous Roman Forum and Circus Maximus. From there they could see the ancient ruins spread before them and marvel at how the city had been able to withstand the ravages of invasions and time for so long.
After that they followed the wall as best they could, which enabled them to take in much of the city from the Tiber River and past Tiber Island to the magnificent Saint Paul’s Cathedral in Vatican City to the Villa Borghese and sumptuous gardens surrounding it, complete with a spectacular view of the city at the nearby Pincio. Emma particularly enjoyed the large double archway of Porta Maggiore on the eastern side where they could see the genius of the Roman aqueduct system. She also loved the tomb of Eurysaces the Baker, whom Simone jokingly referred to as the first pizza maker in Rome because his tomb featured a frieze depicting scenes from baking bread, which was this former slave’s job. It was remarkably intact despite having been built over two thousand years ago.
After their long tour, they bade farewell to Simone and made their way to a large public kitchen and dining hall in the Trastevere neighborhood of Rome.
“A woman I met in Africa told me of this place,” Andi told Rafaele and Elisabetta as they opened the large double doors to enter. “Pippa said it was one of her good friend’s charities, and she thought I’d enjoy helping out. After all, when in Rome.” She tapped lightly on Rafaele’s head since he’d pulled that line on her about clubbing the night before.
They were introduced to a woman named Giulia who handed them aprons and knives to get started. Soon they were set up on a long prep line in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and cutting meat.
“This is a really nice facility,” Andi said as she diced onions, wishing she could wipe the tears from her eyes as the fumes caused her to weep.
“We are quite lucky,” Giulia said. “This is all courtesy of the Prince’s Trust.”
Andi cocked her head, curious. “But you don’t have any royalty in Italy anymore, do you?”
“There are those who claim the heritage, but none that are anything official,” she said. “But this comes to us from the Prince’s Trust in Monaforte. It’s a project near and dear to his heart.”
Andi furrowed her brow, remembering that darned prince in Monaforte, certain Giulia couldn’t be talking about him. But then she recalled that Zander had an older brother, Prince Adrian, who would take over the country one day. No doubt it was his trust.
“That’s so generous of him to set this up, and it’s not even his country.”
“Yes, but his father comes from Italian nobility of days gone by, so the family remains very connected to Italian culture. We owe a great deal to them all. In fact, the prince often comes here to lend a hand when he’s visiting.”
Andi tried to imagine Zander ever doing something like that. He ought to take a cue from his philanthropic brother and stop catting around and instead do some good in the world, she thought. But she knew a man like him would never have such depth.