Stick Shift

Lucy wondered where inside this tiny flash on wheels was the luggage going to fit. He opened her door, of course, making sure she was comfortable before he crammed the luggage into the itty-bitty trunk.

When he got in and shut his door, Lucy realized just how close they were. She could actually hear him breathing.

Help!

Suddenly, she thought of Seth. Longed for Seth. Longed for his arms around her. His face next to hers. His body so close they were one. To be cuddling with him as they watched an old movie, or lingered over a spectacular sunset—even though they’d never watched an old movie or lingered over a sunset, she was sure they would once they were married.

“I’ve got to make a phone call,” she blurted and jumped out of the car. She didn’t care that Seth was on his workday-sleeping schedule and was probably tucked in for the night. She only cared about one thing…hearing his reassuring voice.

At first she couldn’t get through, then Seth’s phone began to ring.

“Hello,” he said into her ear. It felt great to hear his voice. Made her think everything was going to be fine. That this trip was worth the effort.

“Hi, Seth. Just wanted to tell you that I’m here,” she told him.

Just at that moment, the red sportscar roared to life. “I can’t hear you. You’ll have to shout,” Seth said. “Where are you?”

“In Rome.”

“I thought you were going to Naples.”

“I’m driving. Well, I’m not driving but…I met someone who—”

“You’re breaking up. All I got was something about you…meeting someone.”

“What? I can barely hear you.” She tried to shout louder over the revving engine, but the noise only grew worse.

She thought she could hear Seth as he yawned into the phone. “Everything’s under control here, so don’t worry. Just concentrate on work. Your mother phoned. She’s taking over the wedding. Ordering more flowers. Carnations. Red ones.” He yawned again. “Call me when you get to your room.”

“But you were supposed to handle all the last-minute stuff for me, not my mother. She’ll turn it into an Italian festival. I hate red carnations!”

“Don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine. I have to go to sleep now, or I won’t get my eight hours. You know I’m lousy without my eight.”

“Seth, I—”

“Bye,” he said before she could get another word out. Before she had a chance to tell him she loved him. Before he could tell her he loved her. Not that they had said it very often, twice to be exact, twice in the year and a half they had been dating, but it was an overused word anyway.

Wasn’t it?

The phone went dead.

For an instant Lucy thought she should call him back. Tell him it was some guy she met on the plane, some weird guy who eats his shoes and smells of garlic. She was getting a ride from a complete stranger who had an unhealthy fascination with garlic and leather. Someone who carries her luggage, opens her car door and flirts with every woman he sees.

Someone who makes her toes itch.

She wanted to tell Seth everything, wanted him to get angry, jealous, enraged, but instead she opened the car door and slid into the seat next to…oh my God, she still didn’t know his name.

4

“THE FASTEST WAY to Naples is the Autostrada del Sole,” Lucy ordered even before she closed her door, as if he were a taxi driver and she were the passenger. She was staring at her glossy map that she had purchased at Barnes and Noble the minute she found out she would be going to Italy. “You can drop me off at the Santa Maria. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes,” he calmly said. “A beautiful hotel.”

“And don’t get any ideas. I’m getting married on Saturday.”

“This Saturday?” he asked.

“Yes, this Saturday. Is there something wrong with Saturday?”

“No. What could be wrong? If you say you’re getting married on Saturday, then you’re getting married.”

“On Saturday,” she repeated.

“This Saturday,” he said, but there was something in his voice that drove her nuts. Some bit of sarcasm or skepticism that made her want to scream. She folded her arms across her chest.

They were silent as he backed the car out of the parking spot. The quiet made her tense. Agitated. She felt as if he were judging her.

“It’s not like it’s a big wedding. Just a hundred or so people. My fiancé is handling everything. And my mother is ordering more flowers, a girl can never have too many flowers…red carnations. I love red carnations.”

Okay, so she lied, but she was going for some kind of response here. She didn’t exactly know why, but she wanted a response.

Still nothing.

He drove the car around the parking lot, squealing through the turns, then slowing on the next guy’s bumper. He drove like a maniac.

Nutso.

He finally said, “I got to make a couple stops. We take Appia, you will like it better. I am Vittorio, Vittorio Bandini.”

“Lucy Mastronardo,” she told him, tensing as he hit the brakes, almost hitting the yellow Mini in front of them.

He turned to look at her. “Then, you are Italian!”

“Only by blood. I was born in America,” she said.

“You don’t like your blood?”

“No…yes. It’s fine blood. What I mean is, I’m marrying an American.”

“That’s nice, but you will still be Italian.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Perhaps, but you cannot change who you are by marrying someone you are not.”

She stared at him for a moment, then at her map and said, “The Appia will take too long. I can’t afford the time.”

“Lucia, this is Italia and you are Italian. All you got is time.” He shifted gears and drove the car out into the morning sun.