Read Online Wish You Were Italian by Kristin Rae - Free Book Online Page A

stability, but it only makes me dizzier. Colors swirl together. God shifts his eyes from Adam to me.
    Murmurs and whispers amplify, joining my accelerating pulse until there’s a stampede in my ears. My heart might explode.
    What have I done?
    Chiara grabs my hand and supports my weakened body through a maze of people and doorways until we’re outside. The brightness burns my eyes, but I welcome the awakening.
    “What happened? You looked as if you might fall over.”
    I avoid her question and instead gaze up at the weathered, bluish dome of St. Peter’s Basilica looming over us from high above all the other buildings in the city. Is the pope in there praying for liars like me?
    Laughter erupts from my mouth so loud that Chiara and I both start.
    “ Che cosa? ” she asks.
    I tighten my lips to hold in another bout, breathing slow and steady through my nose.
    “Pippa, what?”
    I wave my hand at an imaginary fly.
    “You worry you made the wrong decision.” It’s a statement. Somehow this girl already knows me. “I do not want to influence you poorly, but the decision has already been made, no?”
    I nod, not exactly sure if that’s the right response to her confusing question.
    “Then why anger yourself about it now?”
    I close my eyes and inhale deeply, pulling my shoulders up to my ears and tucking my chin to my chest. “It’s the Pippa way.”
    Chiara pulls my shoulders down and gives them a shake. She’s right up in my face. “The Pippa way might be the wrong way. You have chosen, now you must live your choice. Regret changes nothing. Only makes you sick. Keeps you awake at night.”
    “O, wise one,” I say with a slight bow, struggling to deflect with humor. “How old are you, anyway?”
    She stands straighter. “Eighteen.”
    “So I have another whole year to go before I see things so clearly?”
    Her head shifts to the side as she searches my eyes. “I do not think it will take you quite that long.”
    She winks and it makes me yearn for Gram. Her presence alone would settle any nerves. She’s really the only one I’m upset about deceiving.
    “Why not tell them the truth then?” She presents her cell phone to me in the palm of her hand. “You can. Right now.”
    I stare at the tiny phone, blood pumping and stomach churning. But I shake my head. I’m not ready for that much honesty. And the punishment that’s sure to follow.
    Chiara continues, “Then you have to let go of what holds you back. Free yourself from it.” She takes my hands in hers and spreads my arms out to shoulder level. She sings the word, “ Volare. ”
    “I know that song. What’s it mean?”
    She closes her eyes and lifts her head toward the sun, stretching her arms out even farther. “To fly.”
    So I fly.
    I fly back to town on the metro line, leaving my worries behind on the steps of St. Peter’s, the largest church in the world. The pope can deal with it all for me.
    From here on out, I’m not regretting this decision. I’m going to enjoy every minute, every catcall, every gelato scoop, sunset, pizza slice, and spaghetti strand. I’ll check in with everyone intermittently so they don’t get suspicious, take my prize-winning photographs, and have the experience of a lifetime. The kind of summer people only dream of. I’m going to live it.

Chapter Twelve
    The train brakes squeak and Chiara hooks her arm through mine. “This is our stop.”
    I look at the display at the end of the car but don’t recognize the name. “I thought I needed to get off at Spagna.”
    The doors glide open and she sneaks us through the mob, unharmed. She keeps her arm in mine, but I don’t mind it there. It makes me feel local. Like I belong.
    “Would you like to have dinner with my family?”
    There’s a renewed spring in my step as we walk a few blocks from the metro and turn down a narrow, vine-draped street that I would have passed by without noticing. Chiara unlocks an unmarked door and leads me to the second floor to her