“I learned another Italian word recently, painstakingly working on the translation of Jovanotti’s lyrics: storia. It means “history,” but it can also mean a relationship. If you say nostra storia , “our story,” that’s like saying “our relationship,” or “our… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“Everything’s up in the air--how can I leave and never know the truth? Because in my heart, what I want, more than anything else, is for Luca and me to be together. There’s so much uncertainly, so much confusion. I… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share Image
“ Something else that’s different about Italian boys, I realize. If they see a girl they fancy they go up to her and start talking. If an English boy likes you, he’ll mostly avoid you not to seem too keen. Which is barking mad, of course. Generally, things on the dating side do seem to run much better here. Except… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“I realize that looming up before us is one of the major holiday hurdles that any group of girls has to face: the first… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share Image
“ Violetta ,” he whispers into my mouth. “ Violetta, cosa mi fai? ” I open my eyes just a fraction, to peep, and… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share Image
“You didn't mind someone shutting out the world as long as they were happy to take you inside with them.” — Lauren Henderson Copy Share Image
“For a split second, his finger touches my skin, and he might as well have brushed me with a lit match.” — Lauren Henderson Copy Share Image
“Luca leans forward, propping his elbows on the bar table, and I think he’s going to ask me something, maybe what some particularly nonsensical Coldplay lyrics mean: but instead he starts to speak in Italian, so smoothly, the words so soft and liquid, that I swiftly realize he’s quoting some lyrics. The words flow over me, winding around me like… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“Luca sits down next to me; the seat isn’t that wide, and his thigh presses against mine as he positions himself so we’re facing each other. “You will not hit me again?” he asks solemnly, and I writhe in shame at the memory. “I’m really sorry about that,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t have slapped you.” “It was not nice,” he… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“ I’m in public, in a club in Florence, snogging a boy who I met only a couple of hours ago, so madly that I’m weak at the knees…in full view, if they looked over, of his friends and two girls I barely know… My eyes snap open, and I drag my mouth away from Luca’s, gasping for breath. I… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“How cool ,” she says, directing a melting stare at Luca. “I’d love to live in a place like this--just pull a cord when you need someone to bring something…” “It is very old and falling down,” Luca says depressingly, propping his shoulders against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankles. “And it costs so much to heat,… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“I stop at the touch of his hand on my bare skin, my heart pounding in shock. I turn to look up at him, meeting his blue eyes, half hidden by his black lashes. I swallow hard. “I would not go over to them if I were you,” he says softly. “Why?” I frown, not understanding: Is he saying that… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“Luca waits patiently while she clutches him, kisses him, pats his cheek, muttering “ mio bellissimo figlio ,” “my beautiful son,” something an English boy would loathe and detest with every fiber of his being. Luca doesn’t seem to mind at all: Italian boys are clearly very used to being complimented in public by their mothers. Finally he detaches himself,… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
“ Bellissime tutte ,” he continues. “You are all beautiful.” Even Kendra, who’s so cool and poised, can’t help looking smug at this flattery; Kelly and I positively coo with pleasure. I don’t think I’ve ever been called beautiful by a boy in my life. It’s definitely not an English-guy thing; in London, we pride ourselves on our irony and… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share
