1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Mayberry Rev 2

Name: Marty Mayberry
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
Title: 100 Kisses



My fear of flying wasn’t the only thing standing in the way of the goals I'd made for my summer in Rome. I met my first nemesis in a grim-faced TSA Agent who looked more like a troll than a man. When he stabbed a finger my way, I cringed.

Groaning, I followed him into the glass room by the x-ray machines. The three-inch heels I’d thought were cute when I’d put them on in Portland clacked on the floor tiles. Damn things had rubbed blisters already. “They just called my flight.” I fiddled with my backpack. “I didn’t mean to be late. My roommate got a flat tire on the drive down from Maine, and-”

“Bag,” he barked, gesturing to the table.

I scrambled to comply. I might be from the sticks, but I read the headlines online. You don’t irritate airport security and live to tell about it.

By the time I’d stuffed everything back into my carry-on, which wasn’t easy considering I don’t pack light, they’d called my flight a second time. Ditching my heels, I clutched them to my chest and raced barefoot to my gate. Let me just say, while I ran for exercise, I hadn’t considered my potential for hurdling until I leaped to avoid a toddler.

I skidded to a stop beside an Alitalia woman shutting the door to the Jetway. “No! Please.”

Her lips tightened as her eyes followed the sweat funneling down my face.

“I need to be on that flight,” I said. Otherwise, I’ll have to swim to Rome.

Heaving a sigh, she opened the door and spoke into the tiny microphone clipped to her shirt. “Hold on. One more.”

Fighting the urge to hug her, I flashed a bright smile and limped down the corridor.

My phone chimed. I’d have to turn it off the second I boarded, so I swiped into my email fast. A message from Dr. Giordano, my long-distance mentor:

The final details for Monte Testaccio are in place. The Project Managers expect you at the dig on Monday.

An eek slipped past my lips. I couldn’t restrain myself whenever I thought about the archaeological internship Uncle Peter had arranged for me. An entire summer piecing together amphora shards to reveal clues about an ancient civilization’s past. Monte wasn’t nearly as exciting as his dig at the Colosseum, and the stipend would barely pay my fall tuition, but I don’t balk when opportunity knocks.

Rather than wiggling my butt, I unearthed a scrap of dignity and typed a reply instead:

Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I’m looking forward to finally meeting you.

After my uncle introduced us via the internet, we emailed daily. Such a sweet old man. He took time from his hectic schedule to send notes about the project I’d participate in, support before a test, and insider tips that gave me a considerable edge over my University of Southern Maine classmates.

I crept into first class, intent on sneaking up on my twenty-one-year-old, identical twin cousins, Natasha and Catherine, aka, Nat and Cat. I hadn’t seen them since my high school graduation, three years ago. We’d grown up like sisters, but college pulled us apart. After my uncle and aunt divorced, they’d spent summers in Rome with their dad. I’d stay with them while I worked at the dig. Our plan to meet at the gate flopped. Thank you, Mr. TSA Troll.

Deepening my voice, I tapped Nat-or maybe it was Cat, because I never could tell them apart-on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss, I believe that’s my seat.”

She jumped to her feet and slapped her hands to her face. “Oh. My. God. Maddy? It IS you. You’re skinny!” We hugged, and she kissed my cheeks in bobbing European fashion before holding me at arm’s length. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“She always looks gorgeous.” My other cousin stood in the aisle, her green eyes sparkling. “How you been, hon?”

“Great, umm . . .” I bit my lip as my gaze flew back and forth between them, trying to find a clue as to who was who. Their black hair stood on end, adorned with fluorescent pink tips. The hair, along with their tall, slender shapes, gave their pointed features an elven appearance. Like our mothers, we inherited the same pale skin and black hair. Although I wore mine longer and hadn’t considered pink.

Thanks for my lack of height, Dad. Why couldn’t that come from Mom too?

The cousin I hugged pouted. “I’m Cat. Can’t you tell?”

I gestured to the jewel winking in her nose. “Keep that, and I’m set.”

“When we decided to get piercings, I made her go with the opposite side,” Nat said. “People should be able to tell us apart. Especially guys.” She glared at Cat. “Nothing’s worse than finding your sister hefted on the sideboard, her lips cemented to your boyfriend.”

“We’re talking Louigi here.” Cat drooped against her seat and fluttered her eyelashes. “I couldn’t help myself. Wait till you meet him. He is so freaking hot you’ll want to lock lips with him yourself.”

The last thing I could imagine was losing myself in a kiss. Don’t fool yourself, Madison. Who would kiss you? I flinched as my mind dragged me to the she’s-so-fat-she’s-unkissable slam someone wrote in my high school yearbook. Mortified, I’d rushed home and cried while I ate an entire package of Oreos.

Smoothing my hands over my now-narrow hips, I shoved the image away. I’d shed Fatty Maddy, just like I’d dropped one hundred pounds. Only twenty more left to go. And as for my unkissed status-

Nat hugged me. “You look amazing.” Awe gushed in her voice.

Their flattery sent elation through me. “I took up running.” And stopped binging.

“I need to start exercising.” Cat frowned as she pinched the muffin top smooshing above her designer jeans.

“You can run with me anytime,” I said. “I do forty . . . fifty minutes a day.”

“Please be seated, ladies.” A steward posed behind Nat, staring down his long nose at us.

I tumbled into the seat next to Cat and we buckled up.

“You’ll knock Raffaele completely speechless,” Nat said.

“Who?” My brow wrinkled. “Oh, you mean Dr. Giordano?”

She shared a blank look with Cat. “We just call him Raffaele.”

My eyes widened. “I could never be so forward with an esteemed colleague.”

Nat laughed. “Just how old do you think the good doctor is?”

I shrugged, my face overheating. So I admired an old guy. He reminded me of Indiana Jones, and I never could stay away from those movies. Or from crushing on a guy three times my age. “We never discussed it. From the formal way he spoke, and his extensive knowledge, I’d say . . . sixty-five?”

Nat nearly spit out her drink. “Close enough.” She coughed and smacked her chest. “But Raffaele’s not a doctor.”

“He’s your father’s partner,” I said.

“Is that what he told you?” she asked.

“No, I just assumed,” I raked my hair off my face and tried not to whine. “Our conversations weren’t set up like Match dot com. We talked about archaeology most of the time.” Maybe it was a retirement hobby for him, rather than his lifelong career.

“He’s Dad’s assistant. He doesn’t have a PhD, so you should call him Senor.” A sly look danced across Nat’s pretty features. She glanced at Cat, and their eyes did that crazy, silent twin-exchange-thing they’d perfected at five.