The Summer I Fell For My Enemy

Rome was supposed to be my clean slate.

It was supposed to be three months of absolutely zero academic responsibilities, endless scoops of pistachio gelato, and looking aggressively chic in silk headscarves while pretending I was the main character in an old Italian movie. No textbooks. No grading rubrics. No sleepless nights fueled by panic and cold brew. My best friend, Maya, was already fully committed to the bit, acting like she had been born on a cobblestone street instead of a suburb in New Jersey. She was currently leaning dangerously far out the floor-to-ceiling window of our tiny rented apartment, holding her phone at a precise forty-five-degree angle to catch the afternoon sun.

"If I don't post a photo of this balcony in the next five minutes, did we even actually cross the Atlantic?" Maya asked, her thumb flying across her screen with the speed of a professional gamer. "Seriously, Avery, look at this light. The Roman sun is doing things for my skin that my thousand-dollar multi-step skincare routine could never achieve. I look like a glowing, ethereal goddess."

I laughed, tossing my oversized tortoise-shell sunglasses onto the rustic wooden kitchen table. "Please tell me you didn't use the caption I think you used. Spare the internet, Maya."

"Of course I did," she beamed, spinning around on her espadrilles to flash her screen in my direction. The caption, stamped under a flawless photo of her tilting her chin toward the horizon, read: Rome, you have my heart. "It is a classic. It is timeless. It is very Emily Cooper chic, and I will not apologize for romance."

"It is a cliché, but I will allow it because we actually made it here alive," I said, collapsing onto the vintage velvet sofa. The springs gave a loud, protests-in-Italian squeak under my weight, but I didn't care. I kicked off my white sneakers and stretched my legs across the cushions.

We had spent the last two years surviving the most grueling college semesters known to humanity. Between the endless essays, the competitive literature seminars, and enough espresso to permanently damage our nervous systems, we were running on fumes. This vacation was our ultimate reward. No professors looking down their noses at our thesis statements, no cutthroat GPA tracking, and absolutely no overachievers trying to make everyone else look bad. For the first time since I could remember, Avery Clark had absolutely nothing to prove to anyone. I was just a girl in Italy.

Then, a sharp, aggressive knock echoed through the apartment door.

Maya froze, her phone hovering mid-air. "Did you order room service? Wait, do Airbnbs even have room service? Is that a thing in Europe?"

"Maybe it is the landlord bringing us those welcome pastries he promised in his check-in message," I said, pushing myself up from the dented velvet. I smoothed down my linen shorts, adjusted the straps of my tank top, and walked over to the door. I pasted on my best, most polite American tourist smile, determined to be the most charming version of myself.

I swung the heavy wooden door open.

My smile vanished so fast I think I actually sprained a muscle in my jaw.

Standing in the dimly lit hallway, looking entirely too tall and holding a massive, expensive-looking leather duffel bag over one broad shoulder, was Julian Vance.

Yes, that Julian Vance. The exact guy who had spent the last three years competing with me for the top spot in our university department. The guy who had intentionally stolen my favorite corner desk in the library every single Tuesday morning just to watch my eye twitch. The guy whose arrogant, devastatingly handsome smirk had fueled ninety percent of my academic rage since freshman orientation.

He was wearing a plain black t-shirt that showed off way too much shoulder definition, and his dark, wavy hair was perfectly messy, like he had just run his fingers through it after a grueling transatlantic flight. He looked like he belonged in a high-end clothing ad, which only made me want to punch him more.

He looked down at me, his icy blue eyes widening in genuine shock for a fraction of a second before they narrowed into a familiar, infuriating squint.

"You have got to be kidding me," Julian muttered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly baritone that always sounded like he was lecturing a courtroom.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. My voice rose a little too quickly, completely pretending the calm, sophisticated persona I had been cultivating for the last two hours. "Are you literally stalking me across continents now, Julian? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Julian let out a dry, humorless laugh, shifting his weight onto one leg and leaning against the doorframe like he owned the entire building. "Stalking you? Please, Clark. Don't flatter yourself. I paid for this apartment. Well, technically my uncle owns the entire building, and he told me I had the top-floor suite for the entire summer."

Maya popped her head out from around the kitchen wall, her jaw dropping the literal second her eyes landed on his face. "Oh my god. It is the nemesis. The actual campus villain has invaded Italy."

Julian glanced past my shoulder, giving Maya a polite, perfectly practiced nod that he probably used on professors to get extensions. "Hi, Maya. Good to see you too. Glad to know I am still the main topic of conversation."

He turned his icy gaze back to me, crossing his arms over his chest. The fabric of his shirt stretched over his arms, and I hated that I noticed. "Look, Avery, I don't know what kind of administrative glitch happened with the booking here, but there is a zero percent chance I am sharing a hallway with you for the next three months. I came to Rome to get away from university stress, not to live next door to it."

"Oh, believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual," I snapped, taking a defiant step forward so we were nearly toe-to-toe in the threshold. The sudden rush of pure, unadulterated adrenaline was completely ruining my relaxed, vacation mood. My heart was pounding, and it wasn't from the steep Roman stairs. "I am going to call the rental platform right now. There is no way I am letting your giant ego ruin my Italian summer. I will find a new place before I spend July looking at your face."

Julian smirked, that same annoying, hyper-confident expression that usually meant he had just aced an exam I got an A-minus on. "Good luck with that, Avery. It is peak tourist season. Every room from here to Florence is booked solid. But until you figure out your evacuation plan, try not to stare at me too much when we cross paths. I know it is hard for you to keep your eyes off the competition."

I didn't even give him the satisfaction of a verbal comeback. I grabbed the edge of the heavy door and slammed it right in his face, the force of the wood hitting the frame rattling the vintage picture frames on our kitchen wall.

I leaned my back against the door, closing my eyes and taking a deep, shuddering breath. Rome was supposed to be full of romance, historic art, and beautiful, unpredictable surprises. Instead, I was trapped on the third floor of an ancient building, sharing a wall with my actual worst enemy.

Maya walked over, holding out a half-eaten container of strawberries, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and intense entertainment. "Well. So much for a relaxing, drama-free summer."

I opened my eyes and looked at her. "He is going to pay for this."

The summer had officially begun, and it was already going to be a total, absolute disaster.