I, Spy? (Sophie Green Mysteries, No. 1) (Sophie Green Mystery)

spoke perfect Italian, and he didn’t act appalled when I told him I didn’t eat meat. People have been known to stare at me like I’m an alien or something. I just smile and reassure them it’s not contagious.
    He asked me about being a stewardess and I told him we were now called cabin crew, which if you ask me is just de-glamorising it a bit more. I made up a load of stuff about the training and hours and things I had no idea about and asked him about the mobile phone industry.
    “ Ti piace un piccolo caffè ?” the charming man who owned the trattoria asked us, and Harvey looked over at me and said, “Anything but cappuccino. It’s just not Roman.”
    I thrive on an abnormal amount of coffee. I smiled sweetly and asked for una espresso doppio , which I learnt years ago in school and thought it sounded impressive.
    It was impressive. A pure shot of caffeine so strong it made me dizzy, and I had to hold onto Harvey’s arm as we walked back to the hotel.
    Well, maybe it was also the wine that made me hold onto him. Maria said I should have a glass a day; well here I was bravely taking a week’s worth.
    And maybe it was also the fact that Harvey was very fit and cute and charming that made me hold onto him. It was certainly that which made me go back to his room and let him kiss me like the Prince Charming he was.
    Although, seeing as he’s a classless American, maybe that should be Citizen Charming. It doesn’t quite have the same ring.
    “Mmm,” I said when he stopped kissing me. “ Ciao, bella .”
    “Isn’t bella a girl?”
    “Well, bello , then. Although that sounds rude.”
    He grinned and took off his jacket. He had lovely broad shoulders and shiny hair. He looked like exactly what I needed to cheer myself up.
    He kissed me some more, and it was very pleasant kissing. Not the fireworks I got from Luke, nothing as scary as that. I wanted to put my arms around Harvey and let him protect me. I didn’t want to shoot him, which I suppose made him a better contender than Luke.
    Something vibrated in his pocket, and my eyes widened. “That could be fun.”
    He withdrew a sleek mobile and raised his eyebrows at me. “Damn,” he said, reading the display. “I have to take this. Sorry.” He disappeared into the bathroom.
    Oh, great. So a call on a phone was more important than making out with me. I sat down on the bed, rubbing my arms which suddenly felt quite cold, and pulled off my shoes. Harvey was quite a bit taller than me, which is an interesting feat, but he wasn’t lanky. He wasn’t all lean muscle like Luke. He had brawn. A big hunk of American beefcake. Mmm.
    And look at me! Making out with two men in as many days. Ella would be pleased. She said my talents were wasted as it was. I once asked her what she meant by my talents, and she blushed and said, “Remember when I came to visit you at uni that time? Well, the walls in those rooms are very thin.”
    See, I’m blushing now just thinking about it.
    Harvey talked for ages. I spread myself out on the bed, feeling wanton, then quickly sat up, feeling stupid. I couldn’t even go and freshen up, because Harvey was in the bathroom.
    After a while I started to get really bored. What was so important that he’d rather talk about it than get naked with me? Unless I was that boring. God, maybe I was boring! Certainly Luke didn’t seem to have missed me that much.
    Miserably, I gathered up my shoes and pashmina and little evening bag and left the room. I had sort of lost the mood.
    I got back to my room and stared at the perfectly made-up bed. My feet ached from my new shoes and all the walking I’d been doing, my head was fuzzy from the wine and I was feeling very unloved. I was so drunk I even half thought about seeing how powerful the vibrate function on my mobile was. I could ring one from the other.
    I picked up my little Siemens phone. There were no messages. Nobody loved me. I picked up the Nokia. There were three texts and half a dozen voice mails, all from Luke, all demanding to know why I wasn’t answering my fucking phone.
    “Jesus Christ,” he said when I called him, “why the hell didn’t you answer?”
    “I forgot my phone. Phones.”
    “Where were you? I thought—”
    “I was at dinner,” I cut him off. “With a very charming man. I’ve just come from his room.”
    Luke was silent for a few seconds. “Was it Wright?”
    No, it wasn’t right at all. “No. I went in there earlier. Dressed as a concierge. I