Page 22 of (UN)Bounded

Brenda doesn’t have time to answer because Gio starts talking. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gio Bianchi, and this is my sister, Isa.”

The woman finally takes her eyes away from Gabo. The moment she looks my brother up and down, her claws release Gabo’s arm, and she jumps up and down in excitement as she reaches for Gio’s hand.

Gabo stands next to me while we watch the woman trying to charm my brother, but Gio has always been very particular about who he dates, and this woman simply doesn’t fit the bill. She’s wearing a dress that hugs her curves and leaves nothing to the imagination, her hair is bleached and has lots of damage, and her face can’t take any more Botox.

Gio disengages in a way that leaves Brenda shocked. After a handshake, my brother starts walking in our direction. Brenda is left standing alone until she spots another group of handsome men walking by and heads their way.

“Wow, that was an interesting encounter,” I say, trying to figure out who that woman is to Gabo, even though I have a hunch.

“I apologize about that. Things you do when you’re young sometimes haunt you years later,” Gabo says, placing his hand on the small of my back. That zing I felt the first night was back in full force.

Gio notices but doesn’t say anything, and I really don’t mind it, so I move a little closer to Gabo. The moment I do, his fingers squeeze my waist, and when I look up at him, I see a blinding smile already waiting for me. I don’t think Gabo is a relationship kind of guy, but I guess if he’s looking for a summer fling, it wouldn’t be too bad. I mean, he’s ridiculously hot, he’s smart, and I’m sure he can show me a good time. I could definitely do worse than a hook-up with Gabo Godoy. Only time will tell.

Last night with Gio at the hotel was fun; we had more gelato, and he reluctantly agreed to watch something else other than Lost. As much as I love my brother, I couldn’t take more of that show. We ended up watching funny videos on our phones. It’s amazing how much one can laugh at silly stuff.

After taking Gio to the airport, Aldo and Rocco follow me to uni to ensure I arrive safely. After giving myself a quick pep talk, I hop out of my Bug, square my shoulders, and put on my brightest smile.

When I get to the classroom, everyone has the same vibe—happy but a little nervous. I guess the first day of school is the same for everyone; it doesn’t matter if you’re in your hometown or if you’re an international student, first-day nerves are universal.

Giacomo waves at me as he enters the classroom. Once the initial introductions are made, the instructor takes over, and I relax a bit, feeling more in my element as he starts talking about modern art and the biggest Italian artists to date.

I’m lost in note-taking, and before I know it, the bell rings. Armed with my first assignment, I gather my things and head for the museum.

After going to the museum to start our first piece for school, Giacomo stops me on my way out and asks if I want to grab a coffee with him. I’m not going to lie; I was a little hesitant about accepting after Gabo returned unexpectedly from Ibiza. He was fun and carefree, and the electricity between us was palpable. But Giacomo seems like a nice guy. Since there’s absolutely nothing going on between me and Gabo, besides maybe a silly summer crush, why not? I want to make the most out of this summer.

“So Isabella, what do you want to drink?” Giacomo asks as he helps me settle into a seat at a little cafe near the museum.

“I’d like a cappuccino and one of those pastries over there,” I say as I point to the fluffy pastries on top of the counter in the cafe. They remind me of the medialunas in Argentina, and I’m sure they’ll taste just as good.

Giacomo nods with a smile and walks gingerly to the counter to place our order. As I look at him interacting with the barista, a smile forms on my face. He’s such a nice guy, always brightening people’s days. I wonder what he’s telling her to have her blushing so hard.

“Okay, our order will be here soon,” he says as he sits next to me. There’s a soft breeze, which brings a whiff of his cologne my way, but instead of being pleasant, it’s overpowering. I scrunch my nose, and his eyebrows arch in confusion.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, and I chuckle. I really need to work on my poker face, or should I say poker nose?

“Yes, I just thought I smelled something, but it must have been my imagination,” I tell him as I fix a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“Is this your first time in Italy?” he asks, sparking conversation, and I’m thankful for the change of subject.

“It actually is. I’ve traveled to other countries in America, but it’s my first time in Europe.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I’ve been to almost all the European countries. It’s really easy to travel around here.” I nod. I’ve heard about traveling by train and whatnot around Europe.

“Have you ever wanted to travel to other continents?” I ask him.

“Not really. I have everything I want here: plenty of beautiful sights and delicious food,” he tells me as his eyes brighten. And mine immediately dim. Traveling is one of the best things in the world—learning about different cultures and seeing different art. Those are experiences I hope to collect in my lifetime. But I don’t tell him any of that since he has clearly made up his mind.

Our coffees and pastries arrive. I do a happy dance in my seat, and Giacomo rolls his eyes at me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s just… we’re in public, so...” His uncomfortable glance around the room makes it clear he’s embarrassed by my enthusiastic response to our food. I just stare at him, and he gives me a blank look.

It takes everything in me not to throw this hot coffee on him, but it’s only the first day of uni, and I want to have a great time. Instead, I switch topics, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that we don’t have much in common.

“So what did you decide to work on as your project for this week’s class?” I ask.

Giacomo goes on and on about how he wants to recreate a painting by Giorgio Morandi, one of the greatest Italian artists of the twentieth century. I should be thrilled to learn more about an artist who’s new to me. I should be asking questions about his work and what Giacomo finds so interesting about it, but all I can think about is the note Gabo left me this morning on the kitchen counter.

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