Page 39 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Paolo chose the restaurant this week and got us a table on the balcony with a view of il Duomo.

“How was the enemy combatant?” he asks as soon as I sit. “Did you follow my training?”

“She wasn’t that bad,” I say, trying to be diplomatic. “I think she might have been jet lagged.”

He makes me recount the whole evening in excruciating detail and then draws his own conclusion.

“She’s a terrible human being.”

“There may be some evidence to support that theory,” I say. I take another bite of my soup. Soup is the best. Then I ask the question that’s been rattling in my brain all night.

“Paolo, do you think I’m good enough for Jake?”

Paolo stops eating and folds his napkin next to his plate. I think I’m getting another big speech, but he looks me in the eyes and says simply, “Dolcetta, you are the bestie of Paolo Zarantonella, you are good enough for any man on this earth.”

I nod, embarrassed I asked. I hate feeling insecure.

“I really don’t want to hang out with Naomi anymore.” I moan and plop my chin into my hand. My head feels too heavy to stay up on its own.

“And she’s here all week?” Paolo asks.

“Yes. And just thinking about being around her makes my head hurt.”

“Julieta, is your head hurting right now?” Paolo asks.

“Yes.”

“Hold on.” He gets out of his chair and puts his hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

I put my hand to my head.

“I don’t feel hot at all,” I say and earn a snort of derision from Paolo.

“Your head doesn’t feel hot to you because your hand is also hot.”

“Oh man. I never get sick.”

Paolo has a scheming look in his eye.

“This is perfect,” he says. “You’re too sick to go traveling with Jake and his sister.”

“Ooh, that is good. I really didn’t want to do that.”

Somehow realizing I’m sick makes it even worse, because suddenly, I want to lay my head down on the table. I’m slowly moving in that direction when Paolo says, “We’ve got to go find Jake. He’s shopping downtown right?”

His thumbs fly over his phone as he texts Jake.

“Yeah, but I just want to go home and crawl into bed. I don’t want to see Naomi.”

Paolo shakes his head. “He’s got to see you. That will seal the deal. Trust me, you look awful.”

I think about hitting him, but it’s too much effort.

“Hang in there for another fifteen minutes, and you’ll get out of everything for the rest of the week, I promise.”

“Okay,” I say. “But I feel bad tricking him.”

Paolo laughs. “Julieta, you’re not tricking anyone. You really are sick. You’re just taking advantage of the good timing.” He checks his phone and grins. “Jake is on his way.”

We walk over to the steps, and by the time Jake and Naomi arrive, my head is throbbing.

“Juls!” Jake sits next to me and puts a hand to my head. “Wow, you definitely have a fever.”

“My head feels like a bowling ball being hit with a hammer. And my bones are cold.”

“I’m so sorry, amore .” He gives me a little kiss. Naomi doesn’t understand Italian, but can see enough to keep her distance, which is nice.

“Paolo, can you stay with her while I run into the pharmacy and get some meds?”

The pharmacy is right off the piazza, and we watch Jake go in. Once he’s inside, Naomi turns to Paolo and says, “So, Paolo, you’re Italian?”

Paolo nods.

Naomi gives him a big smile showing off bright, even teeth. “I love Italy. It’s so romantic. What are you doing later?”

“I have a girlfriend,” he says.

It’s funny hearing Paolo speak English. He sounds British.

Naomi is undeterred. “I don’t see her around,” she says. “Why don’t I let you buy me dinner tonight?” She’s literally batting her eyelashes.

“No thank you,” Paolo says, and I want to cheer. But I also don’t want to move.

Naomi darts a look at me, but I don’t even have the energy to gloat at her rejection.

Jake comes back with some pills and a bottle of water.

“Here, take this,” he says, handing me two pills. My throat feels tight and lumpy, but I get them down.

“Thanks,” I say. Jake looks at me, and it’s nice to see that he still has the sparkly love eyes, even when I must look terrible.

“We’re not leaving for Malta until tomorrow,” he says. “Maybe you’ll be feeling better by then?”

“Maybe,” I say.

Paolo shakes his head. “They won’t even let her on a plane looking like that. Better she stays here and rests.”

Jake nods his head. “I’m so sorry,” he says again.

“S’okay.” I say. “I’ll rest and be good as new when you get back.”

Jake squeezes my hand. “Okay. Let me get you home.”

I don’t hear what he says to Naomi, but her response is loud enough for all of us to hear.

“What? We haven’t even made it to Prada!” I notice the pile of designer bags behind her.

“We’ll be back in an hour, I promise,” Jake says.

“I can get home on my own,” I say. “It’s just sitting on a bus.”

“It’s not safe,” Jake says. “Those meds are going to kick in soon, they’re pretty powerful.”

“I’ll take her home,” Paolo says. “I have some errands to do out that way anyway.” Paolo couldn’t possibly have errands by my apartment, because there is nothing in that area that they don’t have downtown. But his voice is so authoritative there’s no arguing.

We say goodbye to Jake and Naomi, and then Paolo and I walk to the bus stop. By the time we get to the Rossis’, I can barely stay on my feet.

“Paolo, remember that time after my birthday with all the pomegranates in the elevator?” I start to giggle, and I can’t stop.

“I do remember, dear girl. What I don’t know is what in the world Jake gave you.”

“I’ll be fine. He’s a doctor.”

Paolo helps me to my bed. I close my eyes. With supreme effort, I open my eyes and then take off my left boot. My right boot does not want to come off, but Paolo unzips it and takes it off for me. He’s a good friend.

“I love you,” I tell Paolo. “Not like that, not like that. But you know, friend love.”

Paolo looks amused. I may be slurring a little. “I love you too, Dolcetta.” And that’s the last thing I remember for the next twelve hours.

When I wake up it’s dark outside. My head feels better, but my limbs feel like they’re made of cement. I check my phone, and I have a bunch of texts and a voicemail from Jake. I text him to let him know I’m okay and then immediately fall back asleep.

Many hours later, there’s a knock on the door. I’m sweaty and for some reason, I’m sleeping on the living room couch instead of my bed. I stumble my way to the door and manage to open it on the second try. It’s Paolo and Valentina.

“Hello!” I croak. Whoa. My voice does not sound good.

“Oh, Julieta!” Valentina says. I can tell from her face I look dreadful.

“Come in,” I say. My voice sounds better the second time.

“We brought dinner,” Paolo says. I look at the clock on the wall, and I’m surprised it’s 6:30 p.m.

“How are you feeling?” Valentina asks.

“Better than yesterday. Paolo helped me get home and into bed.”

“He told me,” Valentina says.

“He also turned down Jake’s sister who was putting the moves on him,” I add.

“Hmm, he didn’t tell me about that,” Valentina turns to look at Paolo.

“He said he had a girlfriend, but she still said he should buy her dinner. And Paolo said, ‘No thank you.’”

“You remember all of that, but you don’t remember how to take off your boot?” Paolo mutters under his breath.

They stay for the next hour and hearing about Valentina’s experience with Paolo’s family makes me feel a bit better about Naomi.

“Thank you,” I tell them as they go, “for the soup and the visit.”

“ Di niente, ” Paolo says. “If a best friend can’t bring you dinner when you’re sick and your boyfriend has gone off with his horrible sister, what are we even here for?”

* * *

I spend the next week resting so much, my body is forced to get better. Jake and Naomi get home this afternoon, and we’re meeting up for dinner tonight.

Maybe it's what I overheard Naomi say to Jake about Gwen being prettier than me. Or maybe it’s the fact that the last time they saw me, I looked a total mess.

But I want to look stupendous for dinner tonight.

I take a shower and wash my hair. I follow a makeup tutorial on YouTube.

I wear one of the outfits Isa always chose for me: loose turquoise blouse, black fitted pants, ankle boots.

This time, I make it to the restaurant before them and stand outside the door to wait. And because the universe loves me, or because I’m a blonde woman in Italy, I’m being offered a ride on a Vespa by an attractive man named Giuseppe when Jake and Naomi arrive.

“Thanks for the invitation,” I say. “But my boyfriend’s here, and we’re going out to dinner.”

Giuseppe gives Jake a head nod and then rides off.

I turn and smile at Jake and Naomi. I don’t say anything about Giuseppe to make the point that this kind of thing happens so often, it’s not even worth mentioning.

“Welcome back!” I say. “How were your travels?”

I miss Naomi’s reply because Jake has scooped me up and is whispering in my ear, “I missed you so much. I love you. You look gorgeous tonight.” We hug for a long time.

We go inside the restaurant and dinner goes a lot better than last time. Not because Naomi’s less obnoxious—she’s somehow worse—but it doesn’t bother me the same way.

She complains about how crowded the plane was, how much walking there was, and how terrible the food in Malta was. Out of nowhere she asks me, “Is your dad a lawyer?”

“Nope. Runs a dry-cleaning shop.”

I enjoy the appalled look on her face. I could have said he’s retired, but her question was obviously trying to make a point, and so was my answer.

I give her a look that says, ‘Your watch may cost more than my car, but you’re not better than me.

’ At least I try to. It’s not easy to get all that in a look.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Jake says for the third time as we leave the restaurant.

“Me too,” I say. “I’m just glad it happened now and not next week.”

“What’s happening next week?” Naomi says.

“We’re flying to Greece,” Jake says. “I told you about it on the plane to Malta.”

“I wasn’t listening,” she says, unapologetically. “Greece...That sounds interesting…” She has a calculating look in her eye.

“You know—” she starts, but I interrupt her.

“I better catch my bus. Safe trip home tomorrow!” I tell her cheerfully. Then I give Jake a kiss and book it out of there as fast as I can.