I Am Staying

Evelyn

It turned out that the address Tyler had given me led to a hotel, though a different one from where I'd stumbled upon my boyfriend locking lips with his ex—a sight as sweet as a lemon wedge in an open wound. Very very sweet indeed.

Life seemed to have a knack for fucking with me from every angle, but hey, at least I was getting a firsthand tour of Rome's swanky hotels and a crash course in Italian social dynamics.

So far, the three Italians I'd encountered—Jacob Adriano, Tyler Ricci, and Chloe the bitch—had left me less than impressed. Not that I was painting all Italians with the same tainted brush, but were they all cut from the same dysfunctional cloth? Hard to say. And frankly, I wasn't sure I cared to find out.

My experiences with Italians thus far had been nothing short of nightmarish and weirdly fucked-up. So, forgive me if I wasn't exactly eager to cozy up to another Italian male, especially not the innocent, put-together types like Jacob, or the ones whose corruption