Lauren Henderson

Eccentrica,” he says finally.
“Oh God!” My face drops. “It’s that bad?”
Cosa?” He looks confused. “Bad?”
“In English, ‘eccentric’ is sort of like ‘mad,’” I explain. “If you’re really posh, especially. You could be a raving loony who eats bats for breakfast, and as long as you have a title, they’d call you eccentric and think it was charming.”
Luca, clearly, hasn’t understood all of this. But he’s thrown his head back and is laughing so hard that I see people beyond us turning to look in curiosity. He looks absolutely gorgeous when he laughs, his mouth curving up, tiny lines creasing around his eyes; his usual cool demeanor is wiped away, and he looks younger, sweeter, much more approachable.
“Bats for breakfast?” he says, when he manages to speak. “Pipistrelli per colazione? You are not eccentric, Violetta mia, you are mad.” I’m bridling, when he adds: “I like this very much. You are not boring.”
“Wow,” I say as coldly as I can. “Thanks a lot.”
My brain is racing at the fact that I think “Violetta mia” means “my Violet.” Which is, doubtless, just the way they talk in Italy, but sounds…I can’t even think about that. I push it to the very back of my brain to be pulled out much later, when I’m alone, and turned over and over like a precious stone glinting in my palms.
I can’t meet his eyes. They’re full of amusement, bright and blue; it’s almost as if I’m afraid of being hypnotized, like a rabbit looking at a snake.”


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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