Chapter Seventeen
After taking time to clean up and refresh themselves, they went exploring. The concierge recommended an evening tour of the Colosseum as opposed to one during the day, as it would be less crowded, and you could go onto the theater floor. The evening tour also came with a historian tour guide instead of a headset tour. He then provided a map and marked a possible path for them to take as they explored the city.
Map in hand, they linked arms and made their way to the Colosseum, a few minutes’ walk from their hotel. The Colosseum looked like it glowed in the fading twilight.
As they stepped into the Colosseum, Sophie was immediately struck by its sheer size. Their guide, Giovanni, who was extremely passionate about his topic, pointed out the arena’s various levels, explaining how it once accommodated up to 80,000 spectators. They walked through the labyrinth of underground tunnels, where gladiators and wild animals were held, awaiting their fate. Standing on the arena floor, Sophie imagined the cheers and roars that once filled the air as battles unfolded and felt the weight of history surrounding her, from the blood-soaked sands to the towering walls that stood the test of time. She wasn’t particularly well informed about the early Romans and their entertainment, but she had never heard that the Colosseum was flooded to hold mock naval battles before.
By the time the tour ended, Sophie was feeling emotional, and Fernando noticed. He placed a protective arm around her shoulder and tucked her into his side. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
Nodding her head, she rested it briefly on his shoulder as they made their way down the sidewalk. “That was just a lot to take in. The thought of standing where so many had stood before. It was like being a part of history, but such a tragic part of it. It was overwhelming. Is it totally crazy that I felt sad for them? When I was in the cell and put my hand on the wall that so many prisoners about to die a very violent death had placed their hand on, it was like I could feel it. I wanted to cry, and they died thousands of years before.”
Fernando stopped walking and turned Sophie so her face was buried in his chest. He held her while she cried, stroking the long brown curtain of hair down her back. He didn’t shush her or tell her it was okay. He just let her feel the emotions running through her and held her safely in the circle of his arms.
When the tears dried and she retrieved a tissue from her bag, they turned and continued strolling hand in hand. They decided to extend their exploration, making their way toward the nearby Roman Forum. As they walked, Fernando pointed out the juxtaposition of ancient ruins against the backdrop of modern life. The dimly lit ruins cast long, mysterious shadows that drew them in and hinted at days gone by.
“Do you think this will be a good inspiration for your next mystery novel? It looks like a good place to hide secrets. You could make the mystery from any era since these have been here for over a millennia,” Sophie noted as they walked the maze of paths leading through the ruins.
“Between the Colosseum and the Forum, my imagination has no limits right now. I am strongly considering signing up for the Crypt and Catacombs tour. How long will we be in Rome?”
“One more day and night, so you will have to get it in tomorrow. They offered the pre-tour excursions because this is a starting point and not really a destination on the tour, probably because it is so easy to tour independently. You will have to check out the catacombs on your own, though. That would give me nightmares for the rest of my life,” Sophie said, a shudder wracking her small frame.
“Why, Sophie, is that a phobia I detect?” Fernando teased.
“No, not a phobia, really, just the creeps. Who, besides a mystery author, would want to see a bunch of dead people and old bones? It definitely isn’t something that intrigues me.”
After standing in awe of the towering columns and crumbling structures that held more whispers of the past, but thankfully less disturbing and emotional than the Colosseum, they made their way to a quaint piazza tucked away in the corner of the Forum. The small square was alive with activity, filled with locals and tourists alike enjoying the balmy evening air. They were blessed to find an outdoor table at a charming trattoria overlooking the piazza. Sounds of animated conversations in a variety of languages and the clinking of cutlery filled the air while a live band played in the background.
The table was covered in a large, gray and white checkered tablecloth. A small jar gas lamp illuminated it in a soft glow, bringing a smile to Sophie’s lips.
“What are you finding so humorous?” Fernando asked, leaning in to hear her over the cacophony surrounding them .
“It’s just funny how all the American Italian restaurants back home have taper candles in tall wine bottles and red checkered tablecloths, but here in Rome, they are gray checkers and small gas lamps. It’s close but not quite the real thing. You would never know unless you visited for yourself. For a moment, I was disappointed it wasn’t the real thing, then I realized I had been experiencing the fake all along.”
“Not fake, just a different version. As we travel over the next two weeks, you may find that red checkered cloth and candles in wine bottles. It just isn’t here at this particular location. Give it time before you let your perspective shift. Just collect all the pieces for now and put the puzzle together at the end,” he suggested, squeezing her fingers gently but not releasing her hand as he lifted his menu. “Happen to have a pocket translator handy; I don’t read Italian.”
“Not to worry, sir, I can help you,” the jovial waiter said as he arrived with a pitcher of water and promptly explained the menu items.
Before long, Fernando and Sophie were presented with a tantalizing array of classic Italian starters since Fernando said he could not choose and was too hungry not to try it all. There was a wooden board piled with savory meats, including thinly sliced prosciutto, salami, and creamy mortadella, accompanied by briny olives and marinated artichoke hearts. A second platter of assorted cheeses featuring creamy mozzarella, sharp Parmigiano-Reggiano, and tangy Gorgonzola, served alongside sweet fig preserves and crunchy breadsticks, was added to the table along with a plate of crisp bruschetta topped with ripe tomatoes, fragrant basil, and a drizzle of fruity extra virgin olive oil.
“I think your eyes might have been bigger than your stomach on this one. This is enough food to feed an army, and we are only on the appetizers. Perhaps we should cancel the entrees and save the mouthwatering pasta dishes for tomorrow. These aren’t American hotel rooms that come equipped with microwaves; there won’t be any midnight snacking on this trip.”
“Hmm, good point. But honestly, I’m so hungry I could do some damage to a bowl of pasta, too. Let’s save some of these items and hand them off to one of the homeless folks we saw laying out their beds on the sidewalk and save room for the main course. I feel like this would be easier to share than a messy pasta dish with no plasticware.”
“I like that thinking. For some reason, I never thought of you as a person to notice the homeless. I’m not sure why. It’s not like you’re a self-absorbed, arrogant jerk like so many other billionaires.” Sophie eyed him thoughtfully as she chewed her bite of bruschetta, the fresh flavors bursting on her tongue.
“It’s probably because I don’t seem to notice much of anything outside my work at times. I couldn’t even tell you your preferred clothing style, and we have spent at least ten hours a day in each other’s company for the past three years. It’s ridiculous, really, but where I may fail in noticing fashion and perhaps other signals that people send my way, at times, I try to be very aware of the humans around me. That is to say that I try to notice the emotional status and the overall well-being of those around me. May I ask you a question, and you promise to answer it with a hundred percent honesty? I want total candor.” Fernando folded his arms and leaned across the table to see her gray eyes more clearly.
Sophie followed suit, placing her breadstick on her plate and her hands in her lap, and looked into his dark brown eyes in all seriousness. “Okay, what is it?”
“I know this is putting you on the spot. Forgive me for that, but I need to know after the revelations of the past twenty-four hours… Would you say I’m a good boss? No, that puts you into a corner. What would you say are my strengths as a boss and areas that I need to make improvements on? Aside from paying better attention to my staff, at least where their attire is concerned. Do you feel seen as a person in my employ?”
His eyes were so solemn that Sophie could tell this was really weighing on his mind.
“Let me answer the first question. Yes, I think you are a wonderful boss. I know that your staff feels valued, not just me. I have never heard an ill word spoken about you or any negative gossip. That says a lot in and of itself.” Sophie reached across the table and placed her hand on his forearm. “Knowing what a person wears does not make them seen. The fact that I am a female on your staff, and you can’t tell me the favorite color of my blouses, in a way, makes me feel safe.”
“I feel like your favorite color may be a plum purple. Am I close or totally off on that?”
“See, that is my point exactly. You have seen and noticed me because that is my favorite color, and my mother says I wear it too often. The fact you can’t tell me the exact style of my clothes means you don’t spend all day ogling me, or the other women in the office for that matter, because I have never seen you notice any women. You don’t give every female who walks in an appraising look. I appreciate that about you. Is it frustrating to some women who are trying to catch your eye? Sure, but that is their problem, not yours. I would much rather have things the way they are. The important thing about you as a boss is that you listen and value the opinions of others without being wishy-washy. You listen and make decisions without letting the opinions of others sway you too greatly, one way or the other. You listen and hear but are the boss and a steady captain of the ship. No one doubts your ability to lead. You are dependable, kind, and, in your own way, thoughtful. ”
Squeezing his arm, she sat back in her chair and took a bite of her delicious food.
“That was nice. I believe you. Thank you for the reassurance. What can I work on?” he asked, not moving.
Sophie chewed her food thoughtfully. “Well, I’m a little biased here, but I would say... finding balance. You work too hard. You rarely sleep. That sometimes results in absentmindedness. That is fine because you have me to help keep things straight, catch your mistakes, and hopefully correct the ones I miss on the first pass. That does lend to a bit of chaos at times. It isn’t healthy for you in the long run, and well… it can be quite exhausting for me.” Sophie leaned in again, this time matching his folded arm position on the table. “I’m not complaining exactly, but you asked, so I’m answering. When you work fourteen-hour days, that means I work fourteen-hour days. Sometimes you send me home and then sleep at the office but I have a commute. So, when you get six hours of sleep, I am blessed to get four. That is understandable when deadlines are looming, and big deals are happening, but… you pull those kinds of days a lot . There are some days I tell you I’m going to lunch and then curl up on my couch and take a power nap just to get through the day. Garret has driven me home and paid for a return Uber the following morning on many occasions because he has seen me in the parking lot too tired to drive home safely. That is what I wish you would pay more attention to and work to change.”