1

Gemini women dream of romantic love,
and their fervid imagination feeds on fantasies.

The train slows down as it reaches the station. I am waiting on the platform, standing still. Emotions penetrate every fiber of my body, making me feel alive like never before. The cars slide along the rails, then silently stop. The doors open and the passengers start getting off. I feel like my voice is broken and my lungs cannot get enough air. My gaze moves from one person to the next, looking for him. At times I am sure I've seen him, at times I am terrified he might have changed too much. It's been twenty years . Sure, there are pictures on Facebook, but now that he's about to leave cyberspace for me, which is no longer enough, the idea of finding a man instead of the sweet loving boy who used to hold my hand makes me feel a thousand things. Desire, fear, expectation . The words he wrote last night fill my mind and unsettle me: "Tomorrow morning I'll see you . Tomorrow morning I'll touch you . Tomorrow morning I'll kiss you . Tomorrow morning ."

I closed my eyes and sighed.

To be able to feel that way! Overwhelmed with emotions, losing your breath and your mind . It could never happen to me, I thought. I'm too cerebral. Too focused on my books.

Too busy looking for the perfect combination of mind, body, and spirit, as my friend and colleague Luisa would always say, blaming it on the fact that I'm a Gemini. Too much, too many things. A love like that, made of thrills and passion - which part of me secretly dreamed of - was yet not for me. I told myself such a thing couldn't exist in real life, anyway. And yet I hoped that one day someone would prove me wrong .

I opened my eyes. My cat was stretched across the keyboard, staring at me inquisitively. I looked at the screen. The essay on Templar Knights in the Lazio region was waiting for me. I hesitated, then put the computer in standby. I took the book that had been distracting me. That day I felt I needed my "dose" of dreams - a bit like when you're low on sugar. My rational side kept telling me that I, underpaid researcher Livia Camusi, could never experience anything like that - but every now and again, I chose to believe the opposite. To lose myself in emotion. Even if they weren't mine, I felt them, too.

My heart skips a beat. The same beautiful smile, the same hazelnut eyes with a hint of green, the same carefree look . He's a man now, but he hasn't changed. I watch him get closer, unable to move or make a single motion. The feeling paralyzes me. He's here. Without a word, he takes me in his arms and kisses me, holding me tight. I feel his strong muscles in his sweet and passionate grip. I let his lips look for me, explore me, taste me .and the noise of the station, the crowd around us, the announcements - it all disappears. There's just us, our mouths unable to release each other, our feelings building up a barrier that no one and nothing can cross .

At first I only sensed an annoying interference at the back of my mind. Like the muffled sounds of the station in the book. I tried to ignore it, but it turned into a persistent and obsessive sound: the phone was ringing. I shook myself and, with great effort, picked up the phone.

"Dr. Camusi?"

I immediately felt nervous: it was the director of the small Art History Foundation I worked for, but he had never called me at home before.

"Good morning. I need to speak to you urgently. Can you please come to the office?" I froze. I visualized the most horrible scenarios. Being called in like that could only mean one thing: my precarious job was about to be cut altogether. The only question was when. I thought, there's no point in procrastinating. Sticking my head in the sand would have been no use - better to face the truth.

"I'm coming," I said.

I hung up.

I was very nervous. I knew that the foundation wasn't doing well, but there had been no talk of firing people.

I put something on, took the first bus and got to Largo Argentina. I walked through the Jewish ghetto, thinking of all the things I'd done in the past few days. It was true that sometimes I got in late, but my articles were always ready on time, and I had reorganized all the books in the library so that now they could actually be found. So why would they let me go? I racked my brain, but in the end couldn't find a good reason for them to fire me. They can't. They'll see. I'll stand up for myself - I kept saying to myself, trying to be brave. But when I got into the office, my heart was beating furiously and my hands were shaky. Panic attack? Worse . I needed that job, I couldn't lose it.

I opened the door and walked in. Luisa was already there, and ran towards me.

"Cuccoli is waiting for you in his office. What's the matter?"

"I was hoping you could tell me ."

Luisa smiled and helped me take off my jacket.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing serious," she said. "Use your skills, smile and don't give him the time to object. As a Gemini, you're really good with words!"

I stared at her blankly.

"Yeah, well, today I feel empty - just like my bank account. I ."

Luisa didn't let me finish, instead pushing me toward the director's office.

"Exactly. Defend yourself. Don't let him fire you, even if it means being paid a little less ." and she opened the door with a big smile.

"Mr. Cuccoli, Livia is here."

She pushed me inside the orc's den. I was shaking.

I was ready for anything - except what came next.

Cuccoli was a tall, big man with a dark beard and little hair. We had never really hit it off. He made me feel uncomfortable with his seriousness. He never smiled, and if you cracked a joke, he would glare at you. I guess he didn't know what irony was.

"Dr. Camusi, I am so happy to see you!" He got up and walked up to me with a smile. I was very suspicious: what was the meaning of that? What did he want to say? He put an arm around my shoulders and motioned me for to sit on the 1920s couch next to the big desk.

The alarm bells now rang wildly. Unusual behaviour. Forced smile. Friendly attitude.

I knew he was about to screw me over.

"Take a seat," he said dropping on the couch. "I have a favor to ask you ."

???

I stared at him blankly. A favor?

"Are you okay?"

I forced a smile and sat next to him, keeping the distance. He still made me feel uncomfortable.

"What is it?"

Cuccoli nodded.

"You are surely aware of who Viktor Ivanov is ."

I was lost. I tried to think: archaeologists, professors, art historians . No. That name didn't ring a bell. It was pointless to pretend I knew, I only risked looking stupid.

"Should I be?" I asked suspiciously.

He gave me a sorry look.

"To be honest, I didn't know him either, but I don't count. I only read historical essays ."

I felt better.

"Is he a writer?"

He nodded, then, looking uneasy, he added: "He's very famous, too, apparently. His books are bestsellers."

I still didn't know what the point of that meeting was. What did I have to do with this Russian writer? Cuccoli preempted my question: "You're probably wondering why I asked you to come here and why I'm telling you about Viktor Ivanov ."

I nodded with a smile. He smiled back.

"Livia, my dear," he started. There was surely something wrong: it was the first time in seven years that he called me that. I had always been "Dr. Camusi."

"This is a great opportunity and we can't pass it up," he went on with a soothing tone. "Ivanov wants to set his next novel in Italy - here in Lazio."

So?, I thought, but kept it to myself. The director seemed very happy about this choice of Mr. Bestseller's.

"Don't you think it's a great idea?"

I tried to sound convincing. "Well, it could surely help tourism . Maybe, if we found some funds, we could organize some events ." I started, but he interrupted me straight away.

"Livia, we don't have any money. We must seize this opportunity and I'm sure you can help."

My complete bewilderment must have showed on my face. What did he want from me?

"You know I've always been happy to help, but frankly I can't see how this would help our research center ." There you go, I said it. But I didn't get the desired effect. The director kept looking at me smiling under his moustache.

"It is not for you to understand. This Ivanov is willing to pay a large sum for you to accompany him in the Lower Lazio for a week, or ten days at most. He's read your essay and loves it."

What?! A tourguide? I was speechless.

Cuccoli stood up and, with a big smile, concluded: "I knew we could count on you. We're all very grateful."

Without giving me time to object, he walked to the door and opened it, assuming that I'd agreed. But he was wrong. I pushed the door and closed it, decided to stand up for...