CYNTHIA's P O V

‘‘Italian guys seem like they were made to be fucking perfect...’’ Stef said it with a dreamy tone as she turned around to look at one of the many university students that walked past us.

My lips, which were painted with a very light layer of red lipstick, erupted in a short chuckle. ‘‘Guys? You mean, men…’’ I retaliated by shooting a glance at Julian secretly, before moving my attention to the Italian professor of literature that he was speaking with.

Stef rolled her jade eyes and shook her head in disapproval. ‘‘I said what I said. You know I’m not into oldies…’’

But Julian wasn’t...