"Oh, my GOD!" Bette gasped. "Oh my God!" She clasped both hands around her mouth and stared at him, eyes round like teacups.

Eden could feel himself blushing furiously as her mind zipped around all the implications of the story he'd just told her, taking in all the events he had described.

After a moment she lowered one of her hands, but her eyes were still huge. "That’s why you came back to Italy? Because they asked you to?"

He nodded into his mug, swirling the blisteringly red tea in a ring about the rim. The air was cool and breezy as it swirled around them on Bette's veranda, her 'Italian getaway loft' veranda. One perk of being rich was having rich friends.

"Even after they did all that shit to you?! After they sent the pictures and left you those threatening messages and after they- um, did- that thing- to you- before you left?!"

"I just want to get it over with, Bette. I just want to go back home and forget. If this will make them stop, then I guess I have to do it."

"Nuh uh! This sounds like such a bad idea! You should call the cops on them and let the polizia sort it out! Nico sounds like he has some connections they'd just LOVE to hear about, anyway."

Eden sipped his tea, but he knew he couldn't do that. He was just as guilty as there were. Besides, the thought of Nico or Avel languishing in jail made his temples clench.

"I'm just amazed you actually came back! This is so unlike you!"

"Well, it did take me about a week and a half to get up the nerve to actually fly out. We- we talked every day, they and I, and they were getting so impatient I was dawdling. I couldn't put it off any longer after Friday, so I flew up yesterday and now I'm supposed to meet them for dinner tonight."

"Wowwww." Bette said. She pulled her knees up into her deck chair and sat all huddled up into a ball, drinking tea and staring at him like he was an exotic kind of American bird. Then, "They didn't meet you at the airport or anything?"

"Nico tried really hard to make me give up my flight information so he could come pick me up once my plane landed, but I didn't want to see him right away. I look awful after plane rides. I hate planes."

Bette reached over to pat his hand sympathetically.

"So, it's not, like, super awkward when you talk to them?"

"Oh, no, it is. There are long silences and much fidgeting and it feels stupid to search for topics. 'So what are you having for lunch?'" Eden mimicked, making a face. Bette burst into laughter.

"You didn't really say that did you?" she giggled.

"No. But it's getting hard like that. What are you supposed to make small talk about? Weather? Undying love? Your hard-on?"

Bette giggled again because he was usually something of a prude.

"Anyway. I'm not looking forward to this dinner. I don't know what to wear. Or what to say. I want to get it over with but I don't want to have the blow out in public. Then again, publicness would act like a buffer, you know?"

She nodded. "Well, where all are you 'sposed to go?"

"He's going to call me today and tell me where."

"Formal or casual dining?"

"He didn't say. Just 'be ready by eight'."

Bette wiggled her toes, bared by the flowing sundress she wore to entice the gloriousness of the October day. Eden tapped his feet on the deck in response. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Is he coming to pick you up at your hotel?"

"Oh! They wanted me to stay at their apartment! Can you believe that?! What gall."

Bette's eyes teacupped again and she wiggled her toes hard, as though to prove they were still there. "Do you think they want to- you know- make up make up?"

"Well," Eden whuffed, raising his eyebrows as high as he could, "They can just count me out of that, because I am just not doing- that!”

She said nothing but it was obvious what she thought. Eden felt like he could glow in the dark.

"Maybe you should bring a condom just in case."

Eden kicked her chair and it almost capsized. Bette's shriek of laughter was cut off by her furious scrabbling to stay onboard. Her skirt was flung up around her legs and Eden hooted in true guy-manner, lunging to grab one of the legs and keep the chair unsteady. Bette biffed him on the head and it tilted her vehicle in a crazy motion, spinning like a wild pony. It felt good to roughhouse, even if it was just for the sake of roughhousing.

They both froze in mid-counterattack.

"...Do you hear something?" Bette said.

Eden set the deck chair firmly on the ground and slid back into the apartment, hunting for the sound. It was coming from his satchel, dropped carelessly on the foyer floor. Bette peered in at him through the open glass doorwall.

"It's my cellphone," he called. She pursed her lips and turned back to the hazy Roman sky.

555-1410

Nico Cell

For a moment he was seriously tempted to put the phone back in his bag and retreat to the veranda and play with his friend some more, to hell with Nico and Nico's temper. Once he answered the phone, he was concreted. He had to go. He couldn't stand them up. He didn't have it in him- but if he didn't answer the phone, didn't make the date, didn't say the words-

The ringing stopped because Nico had been shunted into his voicemail. In three seconds it began to ring again.

"Edie?" Bette said.

Eden lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"I will assume you couldn't find your phone."

"I, uh, yeah. It was lost-"

"Keep it on your body." Nico ordered. "Or place it somewhere safe."

"Thanks, Nico. Is that it?" He didn't mean it to be as sharp as it sounded; he heard an answering edge in Nico.

"Don't be terse with me. It was meant to help."

He didn't have an answer to that, but Nico waited a moment in the silence to see if he had any other sassiness for him. When none came, he continued.

"We're taking you to Calvetti's; it's a restaurant around the corner from our apartment. Dress nicely."

"Is it Italian?" Eden asked.

"We are in Italy."

"Oh." He felt really stupid. Really really. Nico had the effect of compounding any emotion he happened to feel at the time. "Right."

"You will be ready by eight? Where are you staying? We'll pick you up."

"I can drive myself!" he protested.

"Do you know where the restaurant is?"

I know where you live. "Ah, I can figure it out."

"No. Tell me." His patience certainly seemed thin today. Was it anticipation? Or dread?

"You don't-” he paused, unwilling to continue with potentially incriminating evidence.

"What? What don't I?"

"You don't own anything that seats three," Eden whispered. It was true, he'd kept track. The pair shared one street-legal motorbike and a Ferrari two-seater that had been a gift from Nico's uncle. He had the license plate numbers memorized but Nico didn't need to know that.

It was the truth but it still appeared to rankle Nico. "Fine," he said, in a clipped sort of way. “I will come and get you and Avel will meet us there."

It seemed obscene to force the pair to break in order to accommodate him. He'd rather hitchhike to the restaurant then use Nico's proposal.

"I will dress myself and I will meet you there. Eight sharp. Can't wait. Goodbye, Nico." He hurriedly hit the red phone icon and after switched the phone to 'off'. God, he needed to grow some balls. Hanging up on Nico still felt on the same level as flinging sand at God.

He had turned his back to the patio as he spoke, but when he turned around again Bette had stuck her head all the way through the crack in the door to eavesdrop. She hurriedly pulled it back, banging one ear and crowing in triumph. "Alright! First date! Where are you going?"

"Calvetti's. Have you ever been?"

"Oooohoooo! Calvetti's! It's nice there. It's one of those family-owned-and-operated ones, which means a lot more here than it does in the States."

“Great.”

"You should bring me back some dessert. They have world-famous dessert, you know."

Eden rested his head in his hands, willing away the monstrous headache he could feel coming on. "I will bring you back some cake, my little piggy friend," he said, "If I survive my night with the wolves."