Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I n the days after Luca, we cruised from France to Monaco, spent two nights in Florence, and finally arrived in Rome. And the entire time, Roman continued his brooding. He was ruining my plans to have the best possible final months in Europe, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.
Out of sheer exasperation, after we’d sorted all our passengers into our Rome hotel rooms, I turned to him with my hands on my hips. “Okay, enough is enough. You need to tell me what’s wrong.”
“What?” He did that I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look.
“You know what. You’ve barely spoken to me in eight days.”
“We’ve spoken.”
“You know what I mean. Something is wrong, and I need to know what.”
He tilted his head and the lobby lights caught in his stunning eyes. “It’s nothing, Daisy.”
Damn it . The way he said my name had all sorts of wonderful sensations fluttering through me. My body was my enemy. Deciding on a different approach, I touched my hand to his forearm. “Roman, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
A frown wobbled across his forehead and he nodded.
Something was choking him up, and if I didn’t get to the bottom of it soon, it was going to crush the both of us. He needed a distraction. Fighting the urge to sacrifice my body with one mighty fine distraction, I cleared my throat and said, “If you don’t have anything planned for this afternoon, you could join me on a tour.”
His eyes brightened. “I’d love to.”
I giggled. “But you don’t know what the tour is yet.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“It’s the catacombs and crypts tour.”
“Sounds perfect.”
I slapped him on the arm. “Do you even know what they are?”
“Of course, I know what catacombs and crypts are.” His Italian accent glided off his tongue like liquid chocolate, rich and smooth.
He reached for my luggage, and turning together, we strolled toward the elevators. Stepping in, I looked up at him. He really was tall. “I’ll see you in the lobby in half an hour?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I hopped out at my floor, and my stupid brain tried to tell me he was checking out my butt as I walked away.
Shit, Daisy, stop it. He’s not checking out your ass.
He was probably too busy checking his own reflection in the elevator mirrors.
Which, strangely, was something I’d never actually seen him do.
We met in the lobby— me dressed for another walking tour, with three-quarter-length leggings, a loose T-shirt, and my Converse sneakers, and him dressed for a freakin’ catwalk show in camel-colored chinos and a navy linen shirt with the top button undone.
Bloody hell. Why didn’t I get that memo?
There was no time to change, and feeling like the inferior Robin to his Batman, I set a pace, heading toward our meeting point for the tour.
We joined another twenty or so people at Piazza Barbarini, and within seconds of our arrival, several women were checking Roman out. With a blaze of jealousy coursing through me, I made sure my claim to him was well and truly known by curling my arm into his and peering up at him. “Right, mister. This is going to be fun. No gloomy stuff, okay?”
When he grinned at me, my heart fluttered. “Yes, boss.”
I slapped his bulging bicep. “I’m not your boss.”
“You can be.” His eyebrows did a tiny bounce. “If you want.”
Holy hotness . Was that a line? It was definitely a line. My girly bits purred.
Maybe being this close to him wasn’t such a good idea. I uncurled my arm.
But my attempt at distance was foiled when we climbed into the tour bus and sat with our thighs touching. The heat from his body had blood coursing through my veins so fast it was a wonder I didn’t keel over sideways.
I hated that he did these things to me.
Hated it. Hated it. And fucking loved it at the same time.
How could one man have so much power?
Being with Roman was like being free as a bird and yet trapped at the same time—imprisoned in a cage that thrust me forward and backward on a rubber band of hope.
Hope that I’d figure out what to do.
Hope that Roman would let go of my heart .
Hope that I’d actually be okay when that finally happened.
But right now, all I could hope for was getting through one day at a time in one piece.
Focus on the now, Daisy.
Focus on the now.
I repeated the mantra over and over as the heat from our thighs wrapped me in a blanket of warmth—like I was being hugged.
Thirty minutes later, we followed our leader and the rest of the group down a narrow mud-lined tunnel into the Christian catacombs. This was not a tour for claustrophobics. The tunnels were narrow and low. So low that nearly everyone, bar me, had to duck their heads. The farther we went, the more we descended and the cooler the air became.
We stopped at a tiny space where large rectangular cavities were carved into dirt-lined walls. As we gathered around to listen to our guide, I snuggled in next to Roman. Out of necessity, of course.
“Can anyone tell me what these are?” Matteo spoke in whispers as if the dead could hear us.
“Graves,” someone called out.
“Correct. But notice how small they are? Many were children. Malnourishment and disease meant many people didn’t live beyond their teenage years.”
He led us to a slightly larger space, which still had a coffin slotted into the cavity in the wall and turned to us. “Roman catacombs are said to be some of the oldest in the world, dating back as far as the second century and pre-Roman occupation. Initially the tunnels were for mining various rocks.”
He drew our attention to the coffin. “Soft volcanic rock made the site perfect for digging, so the clever Jews and the Christians began using them for graves. ”
“This is fascinating.” Roman spoke to me, but his eyes were on Matteo as he pointed out various artworks over the coffin.
I blinked at Roman and was shocked by his expression. He seemed enthralled. I thought his comment was him being sarcastic, given that he’d barely shown any interest in history so far. But nope. He was totally engrossed in what Matteo was saying.
Matteo guided us farther and deeper into the catacombs. If we missed a turn, we could be lost in the twenty-something miles of tunnels for all eternity. At least, that was according to Matteo. He stopped at several places to point out ancient art and notable excavation sites. But my eyes couldn’t shift from Roman. He was fascinated. I had not expected that.
Maybe the two of us had something in common after all.
After emerging from the dark catacombs, the sunlight was blinding, and following the obligatory walk through the gift shop, we boarded the bus again—this time headed for Basilica of San Clemente.
This was no ordinary church.
Just about all of Rome was built on layers upon layers of history. It was the main reason why construction of the third line for the underground train had taken nearly twenty years to build. The digging was constantly being stopped because they’d uncovered more items of archaeological significance.
The Basilica of San Clemente was a perfect representation of that history. I had always wanted to visit it. Maybe fate had played to my hand for a change. Because exploring this church with Roman by my side was going to make it even more special. Then again, he made everything special.
From the outside, the church displayed no indication of the history it contained. Step inside, though, and it was a different story .
Our group paused at the entrance. Everyone hushed as if holding their breath. The church’s interior was absolutely stunning. My eyes flitted over gilded and frescoed ceilings that were works of art worthy of any gallery—intricate marble designs were inlaid in the floor and the gold mosaiced apse commanded attention.
Roman’s hand brushed mine and my heart skipped a beat. “Look at that.” His hot breath on my neck had a delightful shiver fluttering over my skin.
I followed the direction of his gaze to the exquisite detail in the domed ceiling. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’d love to bring Mamma here.”
He knew all the right things to say. And just like that, Mr. Perfect hit yet another level. My chest squeezed.
Following Matteo, we descended a set of stairs that led us to a church that was built in the fourth century. It was impossible to even comprehend what life would have been like back then, let alone how they built something that was still standing after all this time.
I tried to focus on Matteo as he pointed out and described the wall paintings that were said to be some of the earliest Christian art in the world. But it was nearly impossible with Mr. McHottie at my side. Roman looked great. His cologne smelled sexy—all tropical scents and exotic spices. But right now, as he was sharing some of the most incredible history in the world with me and genuinely seemed to be loving it, I was falling in love with him all over again.
Why couldn’t he have a zit on his chin? Or dribble occasionally? A fart or two would do it. But it wasn’t just his looks that held me captive. It was the expressions in his eyes. His manly contagious laugh. Fuck, it was all of him. Hell, he probably even had exceptional toes.
But how could that be? Surely there was something about Roman that was unperfect—if that was even a word .
I studied him, looking for a fault, and he turned to me, maybe sensing my scrutiny.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “This is so cool. Can you believe this was built over sixteen hundred years ago?”
Shit, Daisy, you’re missing it. Stay in the moment. “I know, right? Unbelievable.”
We followed Matteo down another set of stairs. This time we gathered around a third-century pagan temple, and everybody was still and quiet as Matteo wowed us with the history behind it.
Down yet another set of stairs, we were shown the remains of a first-century residence and a Christian worship site.
Matteo waited until we were all gathered around him. “It’s a miracle all this is here because much of Rome was destroyed by the great fire of AD 64.” Matteo put his finger to his lips. “Can you hear that?”
“ Sì . It’s running water.” Roman’s whisper was loaded with awe.
Bloody hell . Even his whisper oozed sex appeal, and based on the look by the blonde chick to his side—a look that implied she was in the company of an Italian god—I wasn’t alone in my drooling over him.
Fuck me . I needed to have my brain assessed. Maybe it’d been swapped with a horny teenager’s last time I was passed out drunk.
“Correct,” Matteo said. “It’s from an underground river that is part of Cloaca Maxima. Ancient Romans were a very clever bunch. Their sewer system was built in the sixth century, and did you know that you can drink water from all the fountains around the city? They are all fed from natural water.”
Our trip through that church was over way too quickly—or maybe it was because I missed most of it with my stupid randy thoughts—and before I could say ‘ I’m a complete nutter who needs a brain transplant,’ we were back on the bus, sitting side by side again, and heading to yet another church.
I’d heard many stories about the church of Santa Maria della Concezione Dei Cappuccini, so I was prepared for what we were about to see.
We followed Matteo down a steep set of steps to a series of ‘rooms’ located beneath the church called the Capuchin Crypt and when we stopped in the first viewing area, my jaw dropped and all the tiny hairs on my neck prickled to attention.
I was so, so wrong.
Nothing could have prepared me for this.
The rooms were decorated with human bones. That I’d known, but it was the extent of the bones and how they were displayed that was both fascinating and downright creepy.
I reached for Roman’s hand. Not because I was scared. Just because . . . no reason.
Yay me.
He squeezed our palms together and pulled me closer. Like I needed an invitation. I’d rather inhale his delightful scent than the musky, chalky smells surrounding us any day.
Matteo waited for all of us to cram into the small cordoned-off area at the front of the first display before he spoke. “These crypts are said to be decorated with the skeletal remains of nearly four thousand Capuchin friars. When the monks arrived in 1631, they brought with them cartloads of deceased friars and didn’t know what to do with the bodies.”
I didn’t know whether to be impressed or mortified by their decision to use the bones as art by sticking them onto the walls in a macabre decoration. One room had a pair of mummified arms crossing each other in a display that was reputed to be the first ever coat of arms. Even more creepy were the robed and hooded skeletons with shriveled skin still clinging to their bones.
I’d seen a dead body once. It was a guy who had died at one of Mother’s so-called parties. Everyone had thought he was just sleeping on the mattress that he’d dragged out to be near the fire the night before. I’d seen him several times during the next day and had wondered why nobody had thought to wake him or move him out of the blazing sunshine. But come afternoon, when the flies had started buzzing around his open mouth, they finally figured out he was dead.
It was an image I did not need right now. Not with all these bones in front of me.
Roman stood at my side staring wide-eyed at the hundreds of skulls, seemingly fascinated by the display. He leaned toward me. “This’s messed up.”
If he continued to lean in and whisper in my ear like that, smelling incredible like he did, then I was very likely to jump his bones, and that would be messed up.
We stepped from one crypt to the next. Each one was decorated in different human bones . . . jawbones . . . pelvises . . . arm and leg bones. But it was the Crypt of Skulls that had my eyes bulging.
Not Roman though.
If Roman found it creepy, then he wasn’t showing any signs to that effect. Maybe he’d seen heaps of dead bodies, given that he’d said they buried nearly two people every month in his tiny hometown.
I couldn’t wait to get out of there, and it was a relief when we were finally back on the bus again. This time though, we were headed back to our departure point. I glanced at my watch and was surprised at the time. I felt like I’d been on this tour all day—it was only three o’clock in the afternoon .
Roman raised his eyes from my watch to me and nudged his shoulder to mine. “What are we going to do next?”
“Oh.” I hadn’t really thought about next . “What would you like to do?”
He shrugged. “You’re the tour guide. What do you suggest?”
I grinned up at him. Was this a test?
Challenge accepted. Bring it on.
I’d taken many of my tourists on the express tour of the Colosseum over the years, but because of our limited time on account of there being so many other amazing places to see in Rome, I had never seen all of the Colosseum or the surrounding Roman Forum ruins.
This was my chance, and I knew for a fact that Roman had never been to Italy’s most iconic ancient attraction either. “How about a private tour of the Colosseum?”
His eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”
We said goodbye to our group and Roman and I both gave Matteo a ten Euro tip and made promises to leave a review on TripAdvisor for him. It was a request I’d made many times over for my tours. Although if anyone did leave a review, I wouldn’t know. The internet and I were not friends.
I glanced at my watch. “We’ll have to hustle,” I said. “The colosseum closes in two hours.”
“Shit. Come on then.” He grabbed my hand, and giggling, we wove through the never-ending Rome crowds toward the giant ancient landmark that could be seen from nearly every corner.
We purchased our tickets and entered the guarded gate with about ninety minutes until closing time.
Before we headed into the main structure, I paused before one of the giant arched entrances and pointed up. “See the ‘ X ’ up there?”
He followed my gaze .
“It marks this archway as gate ten. There are eighty of these gates around the Colosseum. They were designed to get the spectators in and out of the venue as quickly as possible.”
“Huh.” He nodded, seemingly impressed.
“Okay, so picture this. It’s the year seventy AD. Have a guess how many people came to this stadium to watch the events?”
He shrugged, but his eyes danced from me to the enormous structure towering over us. “I don’t know. Maybe ten thousand.”
“Try fifty to sixty thousand.”
His eyes widened. “Shit. That’s huge.”
“Yep, so even two thousand years ago they had to consider managing crowd control. Impressive, eh?”
He ran his hand through his luscious hair and it slinked into place again. Meanwhile, I shoved two annoying curls away from my eyes and they bounced right back into my vision.
After passing through the entrance, I directed him to walk with me along the grand vaulted ceiling causeway. “This walkway used to circumnavigate the building, but a massive earthquake in 1349 destroyed a large portion of the Colosseum.”
It was tempting to walk straight toward the internal archway to overlook the interior arena, but I had another idea. “We’ll start at the top.”
“Okay.” He indicated for me to lead the way.
Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, I grabbed the handrail. “See how the stairs are different heights and widths?”
He cocked his head. “It was built thousands of years ago. Don’t give them a hard time.”
“I’m not. They did it on purpose to stop people from flooding the upper levels too quickly. Another form of crowd control.”
He huffed. “Huh.”
We started up the stairs—me taking my time, making sure I didn’t go ass over giant tit, and Roman bounding up them like an Olympic gymnast.
He waited at the top of the third set of stairs, and when I neared him, I said, “Did you know that 1349 when that earthquake hit was the same year the plague roared through Europe?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, they thought the earthquake had released the plague onto them,” I said between ragged breaths. “They didn’t know it was from the fleas carried by rats. In fact, that wasn’t known until the late eighteen hundreds.” Realizing I was rambling, and not doing a very good job of it as I could barely breathe, I shut up.
Roman offered his hand, grinning. “You love history. Don’t you?”
I rolled my eyes and grasped his palm in mine. “Sprung.”
He pulled me up to the narrow landing, allowing me into his personal space. Holy smokes he smelled so good. “I think it’s great. It must be amazing to remember all this stuff.”
Stuff. That was exactly what it was. And all of it was going to be useless in a few months’ time.
After several flights of stairs that were hard enough because each step was different but even harder because of my pathetic aerobic abilities, I stopped at the top level and clung to a railing. I could barely breathe, let alone speak. The spectacular view didn’t need any announcement though. From our vantage point, we overlooked the massive arena and extensive views of Rome itself.
“Wow. This is magnificent.” Roman did that sexy whisper thing again and I wondered if he’d practiced it. Like in the shower or something, to hear how it sounded.
No. I couldn’t imagine him being that vain.
I gazed at him, hoping he’d be just a little bit puffed like me. Nope. This stadium was built for men like him. He could run up and down those stairs ten more times, dressed in a loincloth, glistening with sweat, long hair bouncing off his bare shoulders.
Woah . I stifled a giggle. Now that was an image I’d be happy to retain.
His mother had to of had some kind of divine intuition naming him Roman.
My mother probably had veins full of dope when she’d named me. No divine insight for good ol’ Daisy Chayne. What the hell was she thinking? It was just one of the many questions I planned to ask her when I saw her again.
Jesus, Daisy. Focus ! Why was I thinking about that bitch when Mr. Perfect was at my side? Grrr.
After regaining my breath, I directed his attention to the middle of the arena. “So, you know they had gladiator fights, right? Do you know what else the crowds came to see?”
“No. What?” He tilted his head and the setting sun caught in his irises, igniting the honey color in a way that I hadn’t seen before. It was like we were somehow destined to be in this exact position, at this exact moment. I met new people every month, but I’d never met anyone with eyes like his. I wondered if his sisters had eyes like him.
Maybe one day I’d find out.
It’s never going to happen, Daisy. So, stop it. Focus.
I cleared my throat. “In the peak of the Colosseum’s event life, between the first and the fiftieth centuries, a typical day involved simulated animal hunts in the morning, complete with hungry lions and other exotic animals. Then lunchtime would be public beheadings. ”
“Nasty.” He scrunched up his nose.
“Yeah, but the crowds loved it. And the afternoons would be gladiator fights to the death.”
“Sounds like fun.”
You’re fun. I grinned up at him.
He blinked at me.
Oh, God. Did I say that out loud?
Unsure whether or not I had, I pointed to the center of the arena, which was now a series of excavated walls. “The floor of the arena used to be made with wood that they covered with sand. After all the blood and gore, they’d simply sweep it away. Oh, and they had these lifts that they raised by hand to sneak hungry animals into the arena. A little added bonus for the spectators. Not so good for the gladiators.”
“Nothing like blood and guts to get the crowd going.” Roman did that cute thing where he scrunched up his nose and all I wanted to do was kiss him. He was beautiful and cruel and mean. And everything I wanted in a man but could never have.
He was killing me, and he didn’t even know it.
Back down on the first level, as we skirted the arena and I pointed out all sorts of trivial stuff, Roman seemed utterly fascinated. But I still couldn’t work out if he was doing that for my benefit or because he was genuinely interested.
And being the fucked-up mess that I was, I couldn’t decide which one would be better anyway.
Even with all that doubt crushing my sanity, I still loved every one of my ninety minutes with him in the Colosseum.
I’d been here thirty-four times—this time was the one I would always remember.
It even eclipsed the first time I’d visited, and that had been spectacular.
As a guard ushered us toward the exit, Roman continued to ask me questions about different aspects of the Colosseum, convincing me that he was genuinely interested.
Deciding to capitalize on that curiosity once we were outside, I started strolling toward Roman Forum. These ruins were within walking distance of the Colosseum and in my opinion, just as spectacular. They were so vast it was impossible to control visitors, so entrance was easy and free.
We ambled along side by side, him pointing out things and me explaining what he was looking at and how it slotted into Rome’s incredible history.
Just when I thought our afternoon couldn’t get any better, Roman drew my attention to a building to our right with festoon lights draped across the front terrace. “Is that a restaurant?”
“Looks like it.”
He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Come on. Let’s go see if they can fit us in for dinner. I’m starving.”
Fifteen minutes later, I felt incredibly underdressed as a waiter sporting a dinner suit—complete with a waistcoat and bow tie—walked us right through the restaurant which was about a third full, and offered us a front-row table. My breath caught, and my embarrassment over my unsuitable attire evaporated the moment I saw our view overlooking the Roman Forum and the Colosseum.
My day hadn’t just got better—it’d shot straight to my list of best days ever.
The waiter asked us to wait for a moment while he adjusted the table to an angle so Roman and I could sit side by side and see the view, rather than sit across the table from one another.
We sat and I tried to take it all in. Our view. The quaint restaurant. Roman. “This is spectacular.”
“It sure is.” His eyes were on me as he said it, and I just about melted at how they captured me. Roman always made me feel special. Right now, I was royalty.
I had never felt like that. Like I was on top of the world. Invincible.
But there was an underlying sadness in his eyes that’d been on display since the beginning of this tour, and as much as I didn’t want to ruin our beautiful day, I needed to get to the bottom of it.
The waiter topped up our water glasses, draped a white napkin over my leggings, possibly to cover them up, and opened a menu before handing it to me.
The meals were written in Italian. I recognized a few of the words, but most were beyond my translation abilities. Based on the delicious aromas coming from the kitchen, I could probably point at any one of the meals and be confident it would be delicious.
Instead, I folded the menu closed and turned my attention to Roman who was studying the wine menu. “Would you mind ordering for me? I can’t read it.”
“Of course. Let’s start with a wine.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Red or white?”
“White please. Red makes me silly.”
His honey eyes glowed. “Red it is then.”
I playfully slapped his arm. “You’ve already seen me drunk. We don’t need another repeat of it.”
“But it’s fun.” He flashed his spectacular grin and my girly bits started singing.
I squirmed on my seat. “For you maybe.”
“Well, how about a rosé then?”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
The waiter must’ve been watching us because the second Roman placed the wine menu down, he was at our side .
Roman ordered the drink in Italian, and the moment the waiter scurried off, I reached across the table and placed my hand on his arm. “This is so nice. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I squeezed my fingers and was on the verge of asking the probing question when the waiter returned. He must’ve been on roller skates or something. He was so bloody fast. I glanced around the restaurant. There were nearly as many patrons as there were staff. Their ploy was probably to get people in and out as quickly as they could, so they could keep churning the patrons through the door . . . and the money.
But they had no idea who they were messing with. I was not leaving until I knew what was wrong with Roman.
As the waiter displaying the lovely bottle to Roman removed the top and poured a sample into Roman’s wine glass to taste, I decided that maybe getting Roman drunk would help him loosen up a little.
Lord knew it worked for me.
Roman did his thing with the wine. Swirled it. Sniffed it. And after a taste, confirmed it was up to scratch. The waiter poured our wines and left us in peace.
We raised our glasses and I waited for Roman to make a toast. “Here’s to exploring.”
“Absolutely. I’ll drink to that.”
We sipped our rosé and peered out over one of the most incredible sights in Rome. In the distance, the Colosseum was illuminated to perfection and dominated the horizon. Between the ancient stadium and the terrace we were seated on, were the ruins of several significant archaeological sites that’d been on display for nearly two thousand years. Views did not get any better than this.
The minutes ticked on, and our conversation flowed from what we did today to various aspects of our view that Roman pointed out. Everything was absolutely perfect. This day would be forever known as one of the greatest highlights of my life.
My heart swelled with that thought.
But it deflated just moments later when I realized that we may never have another moment like this. Time was running out.
“What’s wrong?” Roman cocked his head.
Shrugging, I released a deep sigh. “I was just thinking how wonderful this is.”
Blinking at me, he sipped his wine. Then put the glass down with an inquisitive expression. “But you looked sad.”
Roman was just like Zali. He could read my bloody mind. And that was sooo dangerous. But there was no point in lying. Weighed down by a sadness that wouldn’t go away, I said, “I was also thinking of how limited my days were in Europe.”
A shroud of darkness clouded his eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”
The butterflies in my stomach did a little happy dance. But could he just be saying that to placate me? After all, Roman was the master at making people happy.
“Me too.”
The waiter appeared at Roman’s shoulder. “Are you ready to place your order?”
“Oh, sorry. Been chatting.”
“No problemo. Take your time.” Bowing, he backed away.
Yeah, back up, buddy. We’ve got all the time in the world. Actually, no . . . we didn’t. In fact, we were pressed for time. How can I get Roman drinking?
Roman picked up the menu. “You hungry?”
“Always.” I raised my glass. We chinked them together and drank.
Placing his glass down, a curious smile curled at his lips.
“What?” I frowned .
“Do you like the wine?”
“Oh, yes. It’s really good. You?” I raised mine to my lips, hoping he’d do the same.
“Of course. It’s from Italy. Only the best.”
Just like you.
Looking at me all weird, he collected the menu and relief washed through me. I needed to be careful. Maybe he could read my bloody mind.
Roman ran his finger down the menu. “What do you like to eat?”
“Everything.”
He frowned. “That’s not helpful.”
“It’s true. I grew up on Coco Pops and Vegemite. I haven’t tried a single food yet that I didn’t like.”
“Really? What about liver or kidney?”
“Yeah, yum. Bring on a steak and kidney pie any day. As long as the pastry is good.”
He chuckled. “What about anchovies?”
“Absolutely, especially on a Caesar salad.”
“You’re weird.”
I cocked my head, grinning. “You only just figuring that out?”
“Nope, I had you figured from the day I met you.”
I squinted at him, watching him study the menu. “No, you didn’t.”
He paused running his finger down the page and turned to me. “I did. But I think it was you who was confused.”
Confused? More like off my bloody rocker. “I’ll admit, I’d lost my way.” I raised my glass. “But I’m back now.” I took a sip, trying to make it as small as possible. Although the wine was very yummy.
He drank with me. “Cheers to you, Daisy, and finding your way.”
I clinked my glass. “To finding my way.” But even as I said it and sipped the delicious wine, a rotten thought blazed through my brain like jagged lightning. I may have found my way, but that path was about to be obliterated and I’d be starting all over. Again.
God damn it. Life was fucked.
Maybe that was why I enjoyed Roman’s company so much. He was so positive. And levelheaded. And fun. Nothing seemed to faze him.
As he ordered our meals in his sexy accent and used his hands in that animated way when he spoke, I turned my gaze from him to the ancient ruins outside. The Colosseum was a legacy left by ancient rulers with some incredible foresight.
What was my legacy going to be?
Big-boobed, history-loving Aussie chick who didn’t believe in love.
Yep, that was about right.
So essentially, it was nothing.
I grabbed my glass and took a gulp and promised myself that I would not ruin tonight with my sad-sack shit.
Capturing Roman’s incredible gaze with mine, I said, “So, what’s your favorite meal?”
“Anything Mamma makes.”
“You must have a favorite.”
“Oh, well, she makes. . .”
And just like that, I fell under his spell as he talked about his mother’s cooking. It was a world I’d never experienced. The way he described it with his hands, and his eyes, and by gliding his tongue over his cherry-popsicle lips, was like something in a beautiful fairy tale.
Our conversation was so easy, and as our meals arrived, we ordered another bottle of wine.
We ate prawns and scallops dripping in butter and garlic for our entrée, and sipped our way through that second bottle of rosé .
Our mains were spaghetti marinara for me and the godfather linguini for him, which he explained was basically pasta with a range of spicy sausages and a tomato sauce.
Roman showed me how to use my spoon to twirl the spaghetti onto my fork. He was an excellent teacher—patient, funny, sexy as all fucking hell. That was another first for me, and I’d never forget the way his hands touched mine as he showed me.
The rest of our evening was an utter delight, and I didn’t want it to end.
But of course, it did end.
And once again, I didn’t manage to get to the bottom of Roman’s troubles.
Worst wing-woman ever.