"Oh, fuck it!" I exclaimed.
I just barely landed in Rome when it was announced that the entire country of Italy was now under a mandatory lockdown. This trip had been in the works for most of my life, only to be ruined by this blasted coronavirus crap that everyone and their uncle had recently dismissed as just a Chinese problem. Whatever it might be, it wasn't that anymore.
"You have a hotel booked, signor?" I heard a rather silky voice behind me.
"Si, Ho una stanza e sembra che rimarrò bloccato lì per tutta la mia vacanza, invece di vedere Roma come previsto," I attempted enough Italian to rant properly.
"Well, signor, you're better off than me. I was just kicked out by my sister because her husband made a pass at me and I told her about it. Care to guess who she blamed? Little tip, signor ... we Italian girls are remarkably tolerant about many liberties and indiscretions, but don't weasel out of things. If you fuck around, don't deny, but don't flaunt it too much, either. Just let it go. He's a weasel, but that's what she gets for marrying a former seminary student. He probably still thinks that she ruined his chance to be Pope! Silly man!" the sultry local snorted with mixed worry and disgust.
"He probably could have just said that he was a bit drunk or something," I pointed out.
"Precisely! I mean, who knows, under the right circumstance, especially with this quarantine, he could have pulled off the magical threesome with sisters ... but no, he threw that away by blaming me as if I am at fault! Anyway, may I ... join you in your suite ... so I don't get in trouble or get infected?" the woman asked me now, clearly desperate.
"Sure, why not? At the very least, I have company and that beats utter solitude. It's likely to be the dullest vacation of my life as it is. Not what I wanted from going to Rome at all," I grumbled, offering her a spot next to me on the ride to my hotel.
"Oh, I can promise you that it won't be dull, signor. It might be many things, but boring isn't one of them. Vittoria Buono. My sister's name is Fiorenza, in case she ever comes to her senses and drops that weasel, Evaristo. If she does, maybe I'll slip her your number, so you can fuck her, too," the Italian cutie, now much calmer, laughed as she pulled out a cigarette.
"Here's a light for you ... and did you just say ... what I thought I heard?" I belatedly realized what Vittoria intended for me as I lit up her cancer stick.