Chapter 10
COLTON
JUNE — NINE WEEKS TO WIN OVER THE FACULTY
Maybe Quinn’s right and the professors are determined not to get along with her, but there’s no way that an art history professor is going to turn down access to the Galleria Borghese after hours, even if it means spending time with Quinn.
The scent of flowers from the villa’s garden wraps around me as I wait for Quinn and Sydney to arrive.
A few days ago, I watched over the top of my book as Quinn approached Sydney in the lounge.
Quinn stood over her, although over may be generous when Quinn barely topped her while she was sitting.
Sydney looked up at her in confusion, astounded that Quinn was talking to her.
“Dr. Larsen, I wanted to invite you to a site visit I have for one of our art history interns.”
Sydney’s mouth pinched. “I’m grateful for the invitation, but unfortunately, I can’t join you. My schedule’s too tight to fit something like that in.”
Quinn feigned disappointment, even though we both knew she was expecting the rejection. “I understand, but it’s such a shame. I always love spending time in the Galleria when the crowds aren’t clogging up the space around Bernini’s masterpieces.”
Quinn shook her head, keeping her face peaceful. I snorted into my coffee, but turned it into a cough, waving off the concerned looks from the surrounding students who were unaware of the way Quinn masterfully pulled her puppet strings.
“The Galleria?” Sydney called out to Quinn’s retreating back.
My beautiful and shockingly devious best friend met my eyes, her own lit with excitement and satisfaction, and I’d nearly gone to my knees before her.
Now, I spot them from afar, Quinn’s infectious smile beaming across the park like the sun. Sydney walks next to her with a much more subdued smile, but at least a pleasant expression on her face.
Sydney’s black hair is back in a messy braid, and she fidgets with her rumpled outfit as she stares at the museum’s facade.
She was granted tenure almost two decades ago, so she can’t lose her job for voicing her support, but she can still make enemies.
We need to give her a reason to rock the boat.
The first step: help her fall in love with Quinn. Should be easy.
“Good morning, ladies,” I say as they reach me.
“It’s good to see you, Colton,” Sydney says as we settle into step together.
“Thank you for letting me join you.”
“I didn’t know you had an appreciation for Bernini,” she says with an approving nod.
“I didn’t at first. If it wasn’t from antiquity, I didn’t care. Quinn was the one who showed me… let’s call it the error of my ways.”
She turns to Quinn with a questioning look. “You two knew each other before this?”
I smile at Quinn. “We’ve been friends since undergrad.”
“That explains it,” Sydney says with a little laugh. “We’ve all been wondering what would compel you to attach yourself to her little ultimatum.”
Quinn goes rigid, that brilliant smile falling for a half second before she plasters something much less compelling across her face.
“I attached myself to the proposal,” I say with lethal calm, “because I think it has value. My priority is the well-being of the Billings students.”
Sydney rears back slightly, her cheeks going pink.
Quinn quickly cuts the awkwardness. “I was a classics major, like Colton, but I spent my summers in Rome with my father, and no artist can compete with Bernini. One of my close friends from those summers became an assistant curator here.” Her lips curve up at the memory of her friend, and I fight the urge to trace that smile with my fingertips.
Tomasso became a close friend of mine, too. He has the same quiet, focused energy I brought to my own studies, and we spent plenty of nights commiserating over the heavy load of our post-graduate work.
I turn my attention to Sydney. “I’ve reviewed the students’ journals with Quinn, and I’ve been impressed with your student’s work here. Catherine, right?”
A small smile graces Sydney’s face. “Yes, she’s a superstar in our department.”
“I can see why. You should take a look at how Quinn’s coached her through this experience. I think you’ll be equally impressed.”
She eyes Quinn speculatively, but we’re interrupted before she can speak.
“Quinn! Da quanto tempo!”
Tomasso rushes over, nearly tripping over himself in his excitement to see Quinn.
He’s short and stocky, with rich brown skin he inherited from his Nigerian mother and round glasses that give him a studious air.
He plants a kiss on each of Quinn’s cheeks, and her smile’s so large I think the little balls of her cheeks may pop off.
“Tommaso, come stai?”
The two of them launch into a fast-paced conversation in Italian, one so smooth and natural that I can hardly follow, even with my fluency. Sydney watches with wide eyes pinging back and forth.
Quinn introduces him to Sydney, whose face turns a satisfying shade of pink when her own Italian comes out much more stilted than Quinn’s.
“It is no problem,” Tomasso says with a smile. “I speak English very well, so we use that instead. Si?” Sydney smiles tightly in response. “Bene. I am excited to talk about Catherine’s work. I am very pleased that Quinn approached me about hosting her.”
We gave Tomasso the basics of the situation ahead of time, and I have to fight hard to keep the shit-eating grin off my face while he goes on to rave for the next half hour about Quinn’s brilliance. At one point, Quinn subtly pinches his arm and gives the tiniest shake of her head.
Too much, Tomasso.
“Quinn and Colton, you take some time to walk around and enjoy while I talk with Dr. Larsen about her research.”
“Oh, please, call me Sydney,” she says with a brilliant smile. “That goes for you, too, Quinn.”
Quinn nods gracefully, but I can tell her body is vibrating with energy, like a dog commanded to stay when they want to rush over and lick the shit out of their owner’s face.
I dutifully follow her out of Tomasso’s office—maybe I’m the dog—and wait for the explosion I know is coming.
Three gallery rooms over, Quinn turns and launches herself at me.
I wrap my arms tightly around her, fear of knocking over priceless art reigning in my desire to swing her around in a circle.
My face turns into the crook of her neck, savoring that citrusy scent.
She pulls back like she’s been shocked, and I mentally kick myself.
Physical touches had been second nature between us when we were younger, but since I came home, she’s started getting weird after, even when she’s the one who initiates it.
She walks a few feet away and then back to me, like she has to move her body or risk exploding.
“It worked,” she whispers, paranoid that the sound would echo through the large, seventeenth-century palace.
I smile, and Quinn’s eyes flick down to my dimple before she pokes it with her pointer finger.
“Step one, complete,” I say.
“Now for the fun part.” She links her arm through mine like she has a hundred times over the course of our friendship, and I question whether I’m imagining the tension between us.
I wasn’t lying when I said I love Bernini, but I see nothing except her today.
She raves about how his statue of David is a brilliant study in movement while I mentally rave about the way her features shift and her hands gesture wildly.
I fixate on the gasp that escapes that perfect mouth when we come to her favorite, Apollo and Daphne.
Even though she’s seen it a thousand times, she looks at it like it’s new, like she’s spent years yearning for it and the real thing’s blowing her dreams out of the water.
I recognize it from the way I look at her.
“What’s so brilliant about it is how we get to experience her transformation.
It’s one piece, a single giant block of marble, yet as we walk around it we see Daphne change as though it is happening in front of us.
By the time you reach the other side,” she says as we complete our first of what will inevitably be many loops, “she’s gone.
No sign of the poor nymph trying to outrun a demanding god. ”
I chuckle. “I’m plenty familiar with the sculpture, Chaos. You’ve made sure of that.”
She looks up at me, eyes trapped somewhere between her admiration for the sculpture and annoyance with me. “I can’t help it. I could talk about it all day. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I can understand that urge.” My voice is quiet—maybe too quiet for her to hear—but her soft gasp tells me she did.
Her eyes are uncertain, like she’s trying to put together a puzzle, and I keep flipping the pieces back over.
I can’t have her sorting out the whole picture, not when there’s an edge of terror in those deep brown eyes that twists my stomach in knots, so I paste on a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve been known to go on about Rome.”
She smiles back, but there’s still something questioning in her gaze that terrifies me.
“Bella, I knew I’d find you here.”
We both jump, the moment gone in an instant as we turn to find Tomasso striding into the room, Sydney trailing a few feet behind, looking closely at another sculpture.
I like Tomasso on any given day, but today I love him, swear my allegiance to him, owe him a life debt for saving me from myself.
Because if Quinn had pressed me, I don’t know that I’d have been able to stop myself from confessing everything.
After saying our goodbyes, Sydney stops us outside of the palace.
“Thank you for inviting me. This is an incredible opportunity for Catherine, and I recognize she wouldn’t have gotten it without you.”
“I appreciate that, Sydney.” Quinn pauses to see if she reacts poorly to her using her first name, even after getting permission in front of Tomasso.
Her shoulders straighten, a smile playing on her lips when Sydney doesn’t object.
“My connections got her resume in front of them, but it was the education she’s received from you that got her the internship. ”
Sydney beams at her then, a genuine smile of mutual respect. I hold in my sigh of relief while Sydney’s within hearing range.
Quinn takes a step closer. “Partnerships like this between faculty and staff can change the students’ lives. I know it’s against Billings culture, and that’s intimidating for a lot of people. When I say I love Billings, I mean it, but we can make it better if we’re willing to work together.”
Sydney looks out over the garden, leaving the two of us in suspense for a moment that feels like an eternity. But finally, she turns to Quinn, stretching a hand out to her.
Looks like we can flip the color of one of our pawns.
As we walk through the Borghese Gardens, I peek at her over Sydney's shoulder and mouth, One down.
Three to go, she mouths back.