Lauren Henderson

“I consider, momentarily, running off to the loo to do a better fix-up job on myself, but what if Luca comes back and doesn’t find me here? I can’t go over to the bar and tell him I’m going to the loo and to wait for me, because the mere thought of trying to communicate the word “toilet” to him makes me wish for the group to open up and swallow me whole. What if he doesn’t understand? What if I have to do some sort of mime to explain? I’d rather die.
So I pat my face down, pull out the lip gloss from my handbag and reapply it, pray that some of my perfume is still clinging to my pores--hopefully canceling out any sweaty stink--and surreptitiously lift the bodice of my dress and flap it back and forth, cooling myself down as much as possible.
“Violetta!” I recognize Luca’s voice: light, husky, and with an edge of humor, as if he’s perpetually amused by a joke that only he can understand. Hearing him say my name--and in Italian!--is paralyzing. If I were with a girlfriend, I’d probably burst into hysterical, juvenile giggling; as it is, I bite my tongue, hard, take a deep breath to calm myself, and after a few moments, manage to glance around as casually as I can, spot Luca standing by a high bar table, and even raise a hand in acknowledgement as I walk toward him.”


Lauren Henderson, Flirting in Italian
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Flirting in Italian (Flirting in Italian #1) Flirting in Italian by Lauren Henderson
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