Page 2 of Beautiful & Dirty

As soon as we decided to come to Rome, we knew we had to take a train journey to Naples for the pizza. We wanted to see the bit of countryside and small towns between Rome and Naples fly by. We wanted to have a romantic train journey and feel like real Europeans, and then we wanted to gorge ourselves on real Italian pizza and wine. Together. Or I did, at least.

But here I am in Naples, all alone. Why? Well, that’s a great story that begins and ends with the fact that my boyfriend of seven years is a fucking idiot, and I’ve only just realized it.

We bought our train tickets separately because Steve’s parents had gifted him his flight and train tickets as a belated graduation present, which was fine. I mean, I graduated too, and I’d basically helped Steve pass his midterms and final exams our entire relationship, but his parents don’t like me, so… whatever, it’s fine. I’m not bitter at all. I worked extra shifts at the diner and took on some new tutoring gigs to afford my half of the trip, because this was my dream. But that’s not why I’m here alone.

I’m here alone because a full two months ago, I got an email from the train company reminding me that I needed to bring my passport to the train station to verify my identity before I could board. I told Steve when I got the email to check his own for the same. I reminded him while we were going over our itinerary before we landed in Italy. And I told him this morning before I got in the shower. But when we got to the train station, he didn’t have his passport.

“That’s alright,” I said, annoyed, but trying to hide it. “Just take a cab back to the hotel and grab your passport. I’ll wait for you.” We’d arrived at the train station in more than enough time because I like to be prepared for the unexpected.

His eyebrows furrowed at me as he frowned. “Can’t we go together?”

And then my eyebrows had furrowed, and I frowned in return.

When we were kids, my cousin Zoe used to say that one day, some trifling man would open my eyes and make me realize that people — especially men — suck. Because I’m a people-pleaser, I used to just nod at her, but deep down, I thought most people — including men — were mostly good. I’d always believed that a trifling boyfriend just needed the right woman to help them rise to the occasion. I know that sounds foolish, but I’m an optimist at heart. I also think I’m a good judge of character and never thought I’d choose to be with someone trifling. Right?

WRONG. AS. FUCK.

I was standing in the middle of one of the busiest train stations in Europe with my shitty boyfriend staring at me with pleading eyes, silently begging me to escort him back to our hotel as if he was a toddler, and I finally realized that Zoe was right. And I lost all faith in the male species and, pathetically, myself.

It would have been so easy to say, “Okay,” in that strained, chipper voice I use when I’m about to say yes to something that most people would say “Fuck no,” to. But for the first time in my life, I don’t say the easy thing. “Why?” I asked.

“Why what?”

“Why should I go back with you? It’s a five-minute ride. Ask the cabbie to wait for you, you’ll be back in a heartbeat.”

“Wecould be back in a heartbeat,” he said, looking at me with the same cocky smile that convinced me to give up my virginity after our first college kegger two months into our freshman year.

I cocked my head to the side. “Do you need my Italian phrase book?”

His face had immediately gone crimson, and I got it; I finally got it. Not just this moment, but this entire trip and all the planning beforehand. I’d done it all — all the preparation, all the research — and once we’d arrived, I’d done all the communicating, even though I didn’t speak Italian, and Steve had minored in the language in college. I’d done everything to make this trip run as smoothly as possible, with absolutely no help from the man I’d been hoping would propose to me in front of the Trevi Fountain. And now, he wanted me to go back to the hotel with him because he wanted me to help him get a cab, and he’d probably send me running up to our room to get his passport even though this was his mistake. A mistake he would never own up to, by the way. I finally, finally got it.

“I reminded you,” I said.

“What?”

“I told you this morning and so many other times that you’dneedyour passport to get on the train. Why didn’t you bring it?”

He spluttered, “Does that really matter now? Our train leaves in thirty minutes.”

I took in a deep breath and tried to imagine what Zoe would say in this moment. I cringed and decided not to channel her. So I thought about what her sister Zahra would say. That was better — still a bit stern for me, but better.

“You’re right,” I said to Steve with a small smile. He’d relaxed and smiled back at me, clearly thinking he’d gotten me to capitulate, because based on all of our history, why wouldn’t he think that? But it was his turn to be wrong. “Our train leaves in thirty minutes. I’ll see you in our seats,” and then I’d turned and walked away.

It took everything I had not to look back at him, but Zahra wouldn’t have done that, and so I didn’t either. I was a woman pissed the fuck off and exhausted from what should have been a relaxing vacation. Fuck his feelings.

Twenty minutes later, I boarded the train, fully expecting Steve to slide into his seat next to me just before the train left, red-faced, sweaty, and pissed off. He didn’t. I gave serious consideration to texting him to see where he was or hopping off to wait, but I didn’t. When the train finally pulled away from the platform, I exhaled for the first time since landing at Fiumicino Airport, maybe even for the first time in years.

And now that I’ve arrived in Naples, I’m ready to see all the sights and eat all the pizza. I don’t know where Steve is, and I surprisingly don’t care. He tried to call me halfway through the train ride, but I sent him to voicemail and put my phone on silent. He’s ruined every other moment of this trip for me so far, and I refuse to let him steal this day from me too. I deserve the itinerary I’d painstakingly planned for this day trip, so I push my sunglasses onto my face and go over it in my head.

First stop is the Naples National Archaeological Museum. Second stop, pizza. Simple. Easy. Best itinerary ever.

No Steve necessary.

Chapter 2

“Should I break his fingers, boss?”Alfonso asks.

I watch Umberto’s face closely, not that I need to, his emotions have been anything but subtle. He’s been sweating ever since we sat down in my office; my real office at the back of the restaurant, not the one just off the kitchen full of ledgers, a computer I never use, and a mostly empty safe. That one’s for show; this one’s where the real work happens, and Umberto knows that. That’s why he’s been sweating, anticipating what’s coming, wondering how far I’m willing to go to get the information I want.

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