20. CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY
MATTEO
Rome is a city built on ruins and lost dreams. How fucking fitting.
The morning sun burns against my skin as I stand at the edge of the Trevi Fountain, listening to the endless crash of water that sounds too much like my own heartbeat. The marble gods and goddesses watch over the scene, probably wondering why the hell humans keep throwing perfectly good money into their bathtub.
Oceanus, the Titan God of the Earth, looms over his domain, his ancient, icy gaze piercing through me. I can feel his judgment cutting into my cowardice. My weakness.
I sold my soul this morning, signed it away to Italy Express with black ink that felt like blood. The contract is a death sentence in my back pocket. Less than twenty-four hours. That’s all I have left before I become everything I swore I’d never be again—a corporate puppet leading soulless tours on a schedule driven by profit and greed.
My parents would disown me.
None of it matters. Not when Katie’s thirty feet away, letting him wrap an arm around her waist for another worthless selfie.
Merda. My hands clench and unclench by my sides. Jared’s playing the doting fiancé, positioning her just right, ensuring the light catches that massive diamond he surprised her with this morning.
The ring probably cost more than my entire bankrupt company is worth.
She glances over her shoulder, those green eyes finding mine like heat-seeking missiles. No smile. No pretense—just a silent promise that she was far from done proving me wrong.
After our confrontation in the hotel bathroom, she made it clear—she’s not giving up without a fight. The vision of her, all fire and fury, lingers like a tattoo I never asked for. By the end of the day, you are going to tell me what's wrong, kiss me, and admit that you love me. ”
Her defiance echoes in my head, but it collides with another image, one I’d rather forget—last night’s emergency. Stan lay motionless in his hospital bed, machines keeping him alive, while Rose sat vigil, her thin fingers locked around his.
Not speaking. Not crying. Just… enduring. Loving with quiet devastation.
It’s a love that I’m familiar with, the kind that destroys you, piece by piece until you’re hollowed out—nothing but memories and sorrow. It’s a pain I’ve lived with most of my life, one that hides in the shadows, waiting to strike when you least expect it.
Like right now. The memory of my parents’ funeral floods in—two closed caskets, my ten-year-old hands clutching wilting roses. The priest’s words reverberating off marble walls: “They died as they lived. Together.”
Together . As if it was romantic instead of fucking tragic.
My tour group mills around the fountain, cameras clicking, voices chattering. I should be divulging the fountain’s secrets. How it took thirty years to build. How it marks the end point of an ancient Roman aqueduct. How throwing a single coin means you’ll return to Rome, two coins means you’ll find love, and three means marriage (No goddamn way I’m sharing that last one).
Instead, I’m watching Katie fake smile for Jared’s selfie while my lungs forget how to function.
I spent the whole night convincing myself to let Katie go. To push her away before she could burrow into my heart any deeper. Before I could hurt her with my failures—my bankrupt company, my mountain of debt, my inability to be the man she deserves.
Then this morning happened.
Jared.
That idiota kneeling in the middle of the hotel breakfast room like some kind of fucking cartoon prince, holding that ring box as if it was an apology. And Katie standing there, frozen, her hands clenching the hem of her dress.
And her face— Dio mio, her face.
Lost. Trapped. Her eyes darting around the room searching for an escape route. The panic in her eyes when they found mine… it gutted me.
I thought I’d feel relief. Isn’t this what I wanted? For her to move on? To be with a man who could give her the stability I can’t?
But instead, it felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to my chest, shattering every last piece of my heart. I stood there, clapping, pretending it didn’t kill me to see her ex proposing to her. Pretending I didn’t want to grab her, pull her into my arms, and beg her to choose me.
Forever isn’t for failures. And that’s what I am.
Better to end it now—save her from settling for this fucking mess. God knows she’ll waste her love on me and I’ll only disappoint her.
I force myself to look away, to focus on the fountain’s endless cascade. If I can just get through this day.
Be professional.
Keep my distance.
Pretend my heart isn’t being carved out with a dull blade.
“She deserves better than him,” a deep, husky voice says beside me.
What the—
I turn to find Lorenzo settled against the fountain’s edge, methodically unwrapping his daily prosciutto sandwich as if he hasn’t just obliterated five years of mostly silent communication.
“You speak English?”
He takes a bite, a strip of meat dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Sì.”
“How long?”
Another bite. A shrug. “Long enough.”
My mind reels. “You speak two languages and all this time I’ve been talking to you like I’m playing charades. Do you know how many maps I’ve drawn in the dirt? The hand signals? The miming?”
“You talk with hands anyway. Why waste words?”
I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”
Lorenzo’s eyes track to where Katie stands with Jared, his weathered face softening. “She loves you.”
“I know. But love isn’t enough.”
“Ha! Love is always enough. But you must be brave to choose it.”
My throat feels too tight. “What if I’m not?”
He shrugs, but his eyes hold mine with surprising intensity. “Then you end up like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He takes another slow bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. “Old. Alone. Eating sandwiches. Watching young idiotas make same mistakes.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Some mistakes aren’t optional. They’re inevitable.”
“And some regrets follow you forever.”
For all the years I’ve known him, he’s been a man of few words, always keeping his thoughts and life to himself. And now, here he is, holding up a mirror I don’t want to look into.
He stands, brushing crumbs from his shirt. Then he claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, leaving a perfect greasy handprint.
“Love,” he says quietly, “is worth pain.”
Whistling softly, he walks away, leaving me with the uncomfortable truth buzzing in my ears and the distinct scent of prosciutto in my nose.
“Matteo! We need your expertise!” Katie shouts.
Her voice cuts through the crowd with the force of a whip, and every muscle in my body snaps to attention.
Here we go.
“Yes, bella. How can I help?”
“Could you take our picture?” She holds out her phone, batting those long lashes. “We’re having such trouble getting the right angle of the fountain.”
Clueless Jared is already searching the area for the most picturesque spot, grinning like the picture will prove he’s got it all. Meanwhile, I’m trying to calculate how many coins it would take to throw in the fountain to wish him away forever.
I take the phone, my jaw tight, and step closer to her. “I know what you’re doing.”
Katie tilts her head, all wide-eyed innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re messing with me. You want me to be jealous.”
“Why would you be jealous,” she whispers devilishly, “of my fiancé‘s hands all over me?”
And then she’s gone, sauntering over to Jared. My molars crush together as I watch her place his hands on her waist, tilting her head, attempting to re-create the same sexy pose we did in Florence.
Except Jared is about as seductive as a sack of potatoes.
He’s stiff as a board, hands hovering like he’s trying to pet a porcupine without getting pricked. Katie’s trying, bless her scheming heart, but the guy couldn’t smolder if you lit him on fire. I snap a few pictures, but… it’s not happening. You can’t make spaghetti sultry.
From what Katie shared about him, I figured I was superiore in the bedroom. But witnessing this wet noodle firsthand? I’m the pussy maestro .
When she returns for her phone, I am prepared.
“Guess what I was just daydreaming about?” She steps closer, her emerald irises sparkling with devious intent. “That first photoshoot in Florence. How your hands felt sliding up my thighs. How I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning… how wet I was for you.”
I am not prepared.
My dick throbs like a metronome keeping time with my racing heart.
“And now”—her voice, pure sex wrapped in honey—“you’ll spend all day wondering if being near you, remembering your touch, is enough to soak my panties.”
Dio Santo.
My breath seizes, the heat flooding my veins like lava. Before I can recover, she pulls back with a triumphant grin, daring me to respond.
Then she walks away, her hips swaying because she knows exactly how she’s affecting me. Forcing my mind to remember every curve, every sound, every goddamn whispered plea.
That calculating, absolutely maddening woman.
***
I fucking hate Jared.
I’ve never wanted to strangle someone with their own dinosaur tie before, but watching Jared ignore Katie for the umpteenth time today has me contemplating new hobbies.
The Colosseum dominates the landscape, a grand tribute to the battles fought here, while I’m losing my own war against the urge to commit tourist-cide. The warmth of the day amplifies the air, thick with centuries of dust and glory even as the tang of my own fury rages.
My tour group is now a walking gift shop, thanks to the relentless vendors prowling the Colosseum line like seagulls over a sandwich. Normally I’d roll my eyes at souvenir swords and overpriced magnets, but the excitement in their voices makes me bite my tongue—for now.
Katie, with her oversized, plastic battle helmet, is staging an impromptu gladiator performance in the heart of the arena. The seniors have formed a makeshift amphitheater around her and Chester and are now whooping and cheering like the world’s most geriatric fight club.
And what a performance it is.
Jared, the stronzo , is so absorbed in his headset tour across the arena that he’s missing the woman captivating us all.
“Behold my mighty blade!” She lifts her tacky sword to the sky. “Forged in the fires of… uh… that really hot place with all the fire!”
“Mount Vesuvius?” Chester says, brandishing a kid-sized trident made of foam.
“No, no—the other one! With the lava and the… you know what? Never mind. Prepare to die!”
“You’ll never defeat Chester the Terrible!” Chester attempts a battle stance, but the poor guy looks more like he’s passing a kidney stone. “I am invincible! Except for my left knee. And my lower back. And that weird clicky thing my shoulder does when it rains.”
The Dawson sisters chant, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Jared still hasn’t looked up from his audio guide. He’s more interested in lusting after weathered rocks than his gorgeous fiancée.
Earlier at the gelato shop, he actually ordered for himself first— pistachio , like the boring pezzo di merda he is—then tossed his wallet at Katie as if she were a vending machine.
Then the pig finished his gelato and started chowing down on her strawberry cone without asking.
I can’t shake the fantasy of tasting that sweet strawberry flavor still lingering on her lips. Even after she’s gone, I know her strawberry scent will haunt me.
I catch her stealing glances at me between battle poses. She knows what she’s doing—putting on a show, being adorable, making me fall more in love with her with every ridiculous battle cry.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she taunts through the slot in her oversized plastic gladiator helmet. “I’ve battled lions fiercer than you, old man!”
“Your skills may be legendary!” Chester declares, slashing the air in a move that looks less deadly and more mosquito swat. “But can you handle… THIS?”
His “this” involves a lot of arm-waving before he bops her on the head with his foam trident. He retreats into a wobbly hip swivel that has me calculating the distance to the nearest hospital.
The seniors are eating it up. Cameras are snapping, someone’s filming on their giant tablet, and Mrs. Thomas shouts “Finish him Katie-cus Maximus!”
Katie seizes the opportunity, delivering a fake fatal slow-motion blow that has Chester collapsing in a heap at her feet. She raises her floppy sword to the sky, victorious, before clutching her own chest and letting out a melodramatic gasp. “Plot twist! Chester the Terrible’s blade was laced with poison. Alas, my wounds are fatal!” she says, staggering backward like a Shakespearean heroine meeting her tragic end.
“ ?Hasta la vista!” she yells, collapsing to the ground dramatically and sticking out her tongue.
I laugh alongside everyone else, but inside, I long to scoop her up, kiss her, and tell her she’s the best person I’ve ever met. Instead, I keep my face impassive, my steps steady, and stop just short of her “lifeless” body. My shadow falls over her.
“Once again, principessa, that’s Spanish.”
An eye pops open. “I know,” she whispers. “Wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”
She sticks her tongue out again and closes her eye—back to playing dead.
Dio Santo, the things I want to do to that tongue.
My gaze shifts to Jared, still nodding along to his headset—the human equivalent of beige paint drying. How does he not see her?
I know I’m not worthy of Katie’s love, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting her marry this boring asshole. My company might be fucked, but this problem I can fix.
“Attenzione!” I proclaim in my best ringmaster voice. “Time for the grand finale of our Roman holiday—Vatican City!”
Katie stands and brushes the dust off her sundress. Cristo, if he wasn’t here…
As our group shuffles toward the bus, I fall into step beside Jared, inspiration striking.
“Oh, Jared, I feel terrible,” I say, laying it on thick. “Katie was telling me about your passion for dinosaurs.”
His head snaps around like a cat zeroing in on a laser pointer. Got him.
“The Museo Civico di Zoologia has this brand-new exhibit on Jurassic-era fossils. It’s a multimillion-dollar facility, very high tech…”
His eyes glaze over with unadulterated fossil-lust.
“The Museo Civico?” he practically squeaks. “They have the most comprehensive collection of Mesozoic specimens in southern Europe! Their analytical approach to—”
“Sadly,” I cut in before he can start a TED talk, “there is no time with our schedule. Even though it is very close.”
Katie, my brilliant co-conspirator, jumps in as though we’ve rehearsed this. “Couldn’t Jared go to the museum and meet us later?”
“Katiebug!” He turns to her with puppy-dog eyes that make me want to vomit. “Come with me! There’s this fascinating study on coprolites—”
“Fossilized dung,” Katie translates for my benefit.
“But I really wanted to see the Vatican,” she says. “The Sistine Chapel, the art…”
“Well…” Jared fidgets with his dinosaur tie, torn between ancient poop and his supposed true love.
“You could meet up with us after,” Katie suggests, already pulling out her phone. Her fingers fly across the screen. “Look, we’re still sharing locations from… well, before. I can track you. You can track me. Just like always.”
The “just like always” hits me hard. Damn . They never turned off their location sharing. Even after breaking up. Even after everything.
“You’re the absolute best!” Jared chirps, planting a quick kiss on Katie’s cheek.
“I promise I won’t be too long,” he says, already speed-walking toward the taxi stand.
“Take your time!” I shout.
“Did you seriously cockblock my fiancé with dinosaur bones?”
“Bella, if he’d rather spend time with extinct reptiles than your delicious mouth, he deserves his fate.”
Finally her first true smile of the day. Score one for the Italian Stallion.
“Besides,” I add, keeping pace with our cheerful seniors, “You like it when I’m on top of things.”
The blush that spreads across her cheeks is worth every manipulative moment. Let Jared have his fossils. I’ve got plans for this living, breathing work of art.
Though I do say a quick prayer of thanks to those ancient lizards. Who knew dinosaurs would be such excellent wingmen?
***
Welcome to Vatican City, the ultimate power flex. Built on centuries of guilt, gold, and a whole lot of questionable decision-making. Because nothing says “We’re kind of a big deal” like having your own country.
And the Sistine Chapel? Sure, it’s a masterpiece, a jaw-dropping work of art. But here’s the kicker—Michelangelo was actually a sculptor who got strong-armed into being a painter. Mamma always claimed he was so pissed he painted his own face on the famous ceiling, giving the Pope the holiest “fuck you” in history. Papa argued no way, the man was an artist, not an idiota.
I’m on Team Mamma. Of course he did it.
But the clock is ticking. I don’t have time to entertain such thoughts. I have to get Katie Crawford to stop her self-destructive game. Every time I try to make a move, a senior from my group appears—like Katie-deflector shields.
“What year was this painted?”
“Does the Pope have a favorite gelato flavor?”
“Do angels have belly buttons?”
Mrs. Thomas actually asked me if Michelangelo was “packing” under those robes. Then Chester piped in with, “I mean, four years painting a ceiling? The man had to be hanging more than brushes.”
It’s official. This tour gets a trophy for most penis jokes.
Now we’re headed to a gift shop, which I usually avoid like the plague, but today? Today I’ll let the seniors debate whether God bobbleheads are blasphemous if it gets me five minutes alone with Katie. Still, I’m not about to let these seniors spend their retirement funds on Vatican-approved trinkets when the shop around the corner sells the same glow-in-the-dark crosses for a third of the price.
But time’s running out. Jared could walk back through that door at any minute, ready to steal Katie away. And once we’re back at the hotel? It’s over. The Crawford Family Circus will make sure I never get near her again.
“One hour till go time,” I announce to my flock of holy shoppers. A chorus of agreement echoes back, and they disperse into the aisles as if they were dismissed by the Pope himself.
I stride toward Katie and take her hand. “Time to talk, bella.”
The last time I pulled her away, I dragged her into a Hard Rock dressing room. My body was on fire then. Now… it’s an inferno of need and desperation.
The moment we clear the gift shop doors onto the sidewalk, Katie spins to face me. “Well, well, well. Ready to stop being an idiot and admit you’re in love with me?” She puckers those sinful lips, clearly thinking she’s won.
My cock stirs at her boldness, but I force out, “Katie—”
“No?” She taps her chin thoughtfully, and Cristo, even that simple gesture is erotic torture. “Guess I’ll try a different approach. Maybe take a nice, long swim at the hotel later.”
Madre di Dio. She takes a step closer and trails a single finger down my chest.
“You remember my bikini? The black one with barely any fabric. You couldn’t keep your eyes off me. And then it was your hands that couldn’t get enough—”
“You can’t marry him!”
Her seductive smile vanishes. “Excuse me?”
“Jared. You can’t marry that stronzo.”
“Oh, this should be good.” Her eyes narrow to deadly slits. “Explain to me how you get to reject me but still control my life. I’m dying to hear that logic.”
“He doesn’t understand you!” I grab her shoulders, needing her to listen. “He barely acknowledges your existence. But I see you, Katie. The real you. The woman who makes my blood burn. Who challenges me to break every rule I’ve ever made.”
This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Every word is another reason why she belongs with me, not him.
“How can you marry someone who doesn’t worship the ground you walk on?”
“God, stop acting like I’m some kind of prize, Matteo. You want to know the truth? I’m the office joke—the family disappointment. The friend everyone tolerates,” she says, her voice splintering as she points to herself. “This? This obsessive, controlling, binder-loving mess? People mock me for it. They have my whole life. ‘You’re a lot , Katie. Too organized. Too intense…’” She swallows hard. “‘Too much.’”
Her voice cracks. “You made me feel seen. Respected. Like my crazy was… beautiful. Surprise, surprise, you’re no different—rejecting who I am and ripping my heart out as you abandon me.”
My chest caves in. I need to tell her. Need to explain about the bank, the loan, how I’ve failed at everything except loving her.
“Matteo Monti! Still the ultimate ladies’ man, I see!”
Fucking merda.
Antonio’s voice slices through the bustling tourist chatter like judgment day, that red Italy Express polo blinding in the bright, noonday shine. Panic turns my blood to ice.
Not like this. She can’t find out like this.
“I’m Antonio, and you are… an especially bellissima woman.” His eyes crawl over Katie like slime, and my hands curl into fists.
“Katie Crawford,” I grit out. “From my tour group.”
“Best guide in the business, right?” Antonio’s smile is all teeth.
“He thinks so.” Katie’s voice could freeze lava.
“She’s not feeling well.” I try to steer her away. “Needed some air—”
“Say no more!” Antonio starts to leave but turns back, twisting the knife. “Oh, and get ready to live in that gift shop. Just scored ten percent kickback on all Italy Express sales. We’re going to be swimming in euros!” His grin widens. “It’ll be old times all over again. See you tomorrow. Welcome back to the family, number one!”
The second he’s gone, Katie detonates. “Tomorrow! I am such a fucking idiot. You never planned on us spending two weeks together.”
She storms off, rushing into a nearby alley.
“Katie, wait! Please, Bella—”
“Don’t.” She whirls on me, tears making her eyes glimmer like broken glass. “Don’t you dare ‘bella’ me. Every word you’ve said was complete bullshit.”
“I need to explain. Please—”
“You warned me.” Her laugh is bitter wine. “But I was too stupid to listen. I saw our future so clearly—but I was just another tourist in your bed, wasn’t I? Go ahead, Matteo. Get back to fucking your way through Italy’s tourist population.”
“Katie—” I hold her face between my palms, catching the tears I caused. She shoves me away with enough force to send me to my knees.
And that’s where I belong. On my knees before her, confessing my sins.
“Yesterday I lost everything.” The words pour out like blood from a wound. “My company’s bankrupt. You were right—I should have stuck to schedules instead of playing Fairy Godfather with those stupid Wish Cards. Now I have to crawl back to that snake Antonio.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. I’m humiliated, but I press on. “I’m a disaster. You deserve better. I can’t even keep my parents’ dream alive. I wanted you to stay, I promise. But there’s no future with me.”
“How can I believe you?” Her voice trembles.
“Because your heart knows me.” I rise to my feet. “We’re two halves of the same soul. I had a dream for us, to travel across Italy and create memories.” I step closer, my hands shaking. “You’ve captured my soul, Katie Crawford. It’s yours. Even when you leave Italy, you’ll take it with you. If I could, I’d keep you forever because ti amo, mi amore . I do love you.”
I crash my mouth to hers, pouring everything I can’t say into the kiss. She tastes of tears and possibility, like the one dream that matters. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I back her against the wall. My hand cradles her head while the other grips her hip.
Our tongues dance, desperate and deep, as though we’re trying to memorize each other.
“I have nothing,” I rasp against her lips. “Nothing to offer except a heart that beats for you.” I force steel into my voice. “Go back to Los Angeles. Marry Jared or don’t. Just… let me go, mi amore .”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I knew this was going to end, one way or the other. You deserve much more than what I can give. My life is in ruins, please Katie I—”
Movement catches my eye. Fanculo all the way to hell. Jared stands at the alley entrance. Silence. Finally he clears his throat. “So… not a fake boyfriend.”
“I’m not her boyfriend.” Each word is a knife in my own heart. “I’m a vacation fling. Her Italian souvenir.”
I commit her to memory one last time—tears catching sunlight like diamonds, chest heaving with each breath, lips swollen from my kisses.
“Goodbye, Katie.”
I walk away as I fall apart.