Wish You Weren't Here

Chapter 27

James

By the time we get to Pesaro, my skin feels freshly slapped from Ava’s eyes studying me for over an hour. Despite the fact that we have a lot to unload between us, our silence in the car is like a physical force pressing down and in on us, heightening every thought of what I’d do to her if I just pulled the car over into one of the many moonlit fields we pass along the autostrada. Thank goodness for manual transmission, because if my hand wasn’t occupied with the gearshift it might have found its way up her thigh and—

“James,” she says, and when I swivel my gaze to her it’s obvious it’s not the first time she’s said my name.

She pulls her lips inward to suppress a smile.

“Should we get out?”

I wonder how long we’ve been parked here. The entrance to the Sezione polizia stradale Pesaro is dimly lit with the municipality’s red-and-blue flag dangling just above. I turn off the car and start the debriefing.

“Let me do the talking,” I start.

She rolls her eyes and salutes.

“The police here aren’t like the police where you’re from. You can’t litigate us out of this,” I say, pushing open the door and standing as she does the same. A rush of briny cool air floods over me and I breathe it in.

“Smells like Ocean City,” Ava says, grinning at me over the car. “And no one litigates with the police, James. You litigate in a courtroom.”

I wave her off as she makes her way around the car, her hair blowing softly over her shoulders. She stops and tilts her head.

“You can hear the ocean,” she says, her mouth curving into an easy smile.

“I wish we were here under better circumstances,” I say. “I could show you the beach.”

“Maybe next week …”

Her voice trails off, and I know she’s thinking about how little time she has left. That same thought that was once the promise of relief for me now torments me, a constant reminder of how stupid I am to let myself want her.

“Ready?” I ask, pulling her out of herself.

She nods once and I push open the door for her. She breezes by like she owns the place, leaving me to follow in her wake. There are three officers in uniform sitting behind a long counter, each in front of an oversized computer screen. Luca sits in a chair across from them and stands abruptly when he sees us. For the first time since I’ve met the kid, I can safely say he’s a mess.

“Ho provato a dirglielo,” he says, running a hand through his hair. He turns to Ava. “He would not listen.”

I put a hand on Luca’s shoulder and tell him everything will be fine, and before I can greet the officers I hear Ava say in a soft sweet voice, “Buonasera, signori.”

Apparently “let me handle it” didn’t resonate with her. Not that I’m surprised. I gesture for Luca to sit and make my way to the counter where Ava asks, “Parlate inglese?”

The officers are all leaning in toward her, nodding their heads, murmuring some variation of “Sì. Certo, bella.”

Ava smiles and they all smile back like we are playing some Italian version of Simon Says.

“Perfect,” she goes on. “We believe that you have one of our students in custody.”

She puts her hand out to me and I narrow my eyes at her, then fish Steven’s passport from my pocket and slap it against her open palm with more force than necessary.

“Grazie,” she says. She tosses me a devilish grin and then turns to her audience. “This is my associate, James.”

Associate? She sounds like she’s reading from Sherlock Holmes. Which means I’m Watson. I glance over at Luca and all of his fear seems to have been swept out to sea, replaced by obvious amusement as he watches Ava work the room.

The officers all lift a hand in greeting but keep their eyes on Ava as she slides the passport over to them. One opens it and nods gravely.

“Sì, cara. Steven Sanford has been incarcerated for trespassing and theft,” the middle officer says, opening his hands in a “what can one do?” gesture.

Ava shakes her head and purses her lips.

“May I ask where he trespassed and what he stole?”

“Certo. Certo. He climbed into an Etruscan dig site and took an artifact,” the officer says.

Holy shit. What was this moron thinking? I turn to Luca and he’s rubbing his hands over his face like he can scrub away Steven’s stupidity. Ava lets out a low hmmmm.

“Unacceptable,” she says and the men nod like bobbleheads. “An artifact? Really?”

The officer pulls a piece of paper out of a folder and pushes it over the counter at her. I can’t see her face, but I can tell by the set of her shoulders that she’s surprised. She lifts her head and slides the paper back.

“I wonder if we could ask you for a huge favor. It would mean so much to us if you’d allow us to handle his punishment,” she says.

They stop nodding.

“Obviously, we know you have it under control, but as a student in our program, it would really help us out if you were to release him into our custody and allow us to handle the rest. I can only imagine the legal headache that would come along with this if we were to involve his lawyers and the American embassy and—”

The officers glance at one another.

“The paperwork would be endless,” Ava says.

And that does it. The dreaded P word.

“Va bene, Signorina. You may have him.” The middle officer stands and makes his way to the door behind him, unlocking it and pulling it open. Steven is curled up in the fetal position on a bench, with red-rimmed swollen eyes, looking almost pathetic enough to make me feel bad.

“Let’s go, Steven,” I say, and I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. He scurries out of the cell and makes it to the door when I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Apologize,” I say, as one officer pushes a pile of Steven’s belongings across the counter.

Steven nods and sniffles, grabs his things, then looks up and says he’s sorry to the officers, who tip up their chins in a fuck-off signal.

“Grazie, signori. Tanti grazie,” Ava says, tipping her blonde head forward, and the officers start their choral murmuring again. Niente, bella. Certo. Prego.

I shake my head and wave goodbye to them, then open the door for everyone to hustle the hell out of here before they change their mind. When we are out in the street I turn to Luca and say, “Are you okay to drive your car?”

“Sì. Sì. I did not drink. Only,” he inclines his head toward Steven.

I nod. “Okay. Get him back to the dorm so he can pack.” I turn to Steven, take out my phone, and check the details of what Leo arranged while we drove. “You have a flight home at seven tomorrow morning. A car will gather you at two from the university and take you to Bologna. Your parents have been notified, but I think you owe them a call.”

Steven just stares at me with glassy eyes.

“If you are late or you don’t show up, I will personally drive you back to these officers and hand you over.”

This time he nods his understanding.

“What happens at home will be up to your college,” I tell him. “Now thank Miss Graham for saving your ass.”

Steven turns to her and looks like he’s about to start crying again. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

She waves it off.

“Drive safe, Luca,” I say and take Ava’s hand and pull her toward my car.

We slip inside and I wait until her door closes to turn to her and say, “Proud of yourself?”

“Very,” she says.

I try not to smile, but the smug satisfaction on her face defeats me.

“You are impossible,” I tell her, reaching out to trace the three freckles on her chin. “Impressive but impossible.”

She shuts her eyes and leans into my touch.

“You can’t ask me to remain quiet when I’m more persuasive than you,” she whispers, turning her face so her lips brush my palm

“You don’t think I’m persuasive?” I ask, trailing my fingers below her ear and then winding them in her hair. I lean in so my mouth is a breath away from hers.

“You are persuasive. But I’m more persuasive.”

“What did he steal, anyway?”

She lets out a throaty laugh and smiles wide, opening her eyes.

“A fertility statue.”

My laugh escapes me in a blast.

“What an idiot,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

I close the distance and press my lips to her jawline, kissing her softly, breathing in her scent as she tilts her head for me, giving me her neck. There’s a knock on her window and we jump, the side of her head smacking against the headrest.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmurs, rubbing at her temple.

Luca’s handsome face is in the window holding a slip of paper. He scrunches his nose as Ava puts down the window.

“Luca, if you aren’t dying—”

“Mi dispiace, Professore, ma.” He hands Ava the slip of paper. “There was a parking ticket on my car and I was wondering if Miss Graham might go work her magic with the—” He gestures toward the entrance of the station.

I keep my tone as flat as possible, channeling Liam Neeson in Taken.

“Luca, you have five seconds to take your ticket and get. The. Hell—”

He doesn’t let me finish. His eyes widen, and he snatches the ticket back from Ava and takes off in a sprint.

The sound of Ava’s laughter fills the car as I put it into drive and navigate us out of Pesaro. The duration of the ride passes like that, soft giggles and stupid grins, as we tell each other stories from our past, being careful to sidestep around anything heavy or painful as we drive, like two soldiers tiptoeing through a minefield. At some point, her fingers find the space between mine on the gearshift and they stay there, squeezing lightly any time I chuckle at something she says. If I thought fighting with her was fun, this—this comfortable, unforced levity—has me more relaxed than I’ve felt in a long time. By the time we arrive back in Urbino, my mouth hurts from smiling, but the air tastes thinner—easier to breathe. And I wonder if she can taste it too.