Chapter 3 – Welcome to Rome, Let’s Get Drunk #2
He places a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I've been coming to Lucia's bar for years. If anyone is following anyone..." He lets the suggestion hang in the air, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
The bartender, Lucia, apparently, approaches with a knowing smile. "Matteo! Conosci la bella Americana?"
"We met on the plane," he explains in English, for my benefit. "Lucia makes the best wine selection in Trastevere," he tells me, sliding onto the barstool beside mine. "Her family has owned this place for four generations."
Lucia beams at the compliment before returning to her other customers.
"So," Matteo says, turning those intense green eyes on me. "You found your way to Trastevere without my help after all."
I take another sip of wine, using the moment to compose myself. I thought the suit on the airplane fit him perfectly, but the white shirt and dark jeans—chef’s kiss.
"I managed just fine. The taxi driver only tried to overcharge me twice."
He laughs. "And the wedding dress? Did you donate it to a local bride, or is it hanging in your Airbnb closet as we speak?"
"It's folded in my suitcase," I admit. "I couldn't bring myself to leave it behind, but I'm not exactly planning to wear it again."
"A shame. You wore it beautifully."
There's something in his gaze that makes my skin warm, and I know it's not just the wine. I glance around, trying to distract myself. "Your business meeting seems to have ended early."
"Not business. That's Antonio, an old family friend. He owns the building next door." Matteo signals to Lucia, who nods and reaches for a bottle without him having to specify. "He was just leaving anyway."
Lucia returns with a bottle of wine that looks significantly more expensive than what I've been drinking. She sets down two fresh glasses and pours a small amount in Matteo's for him to taste.
He swirls it expertly, takes a sip, and nods his approval. She fills both our glasses and leaves the bottle.
"This is from a small vineyard near my family's estate in Tuscany," he explains, watching as I take a tentative sip. "What do you think?"
I don’t know shit about wine, but I swirl it, pretend to sniff it, and take the tiniest sip. “Mmm. Tasty.”
Matteo's lips curl into a small, amused smile. "Tasty? That's a two hundred Euro bottle of Brunello di Montalcino that's been aging for fifteen years."
I nearly spit out my next sip. "Two hundred euros? For one bottle?"
"The vineyard only produces a few hundred bottles each year," he explains, seemingly unfazed by the price. "The family has been making wine the same way since the seventeen hundreds."
I take another sip, this time paying more attention. It's undeniably delicious, but I'd never have guessed its value.
"Okay, fine. It's incredible," I admit. "But I feel like I should be wearing gloves to handle the glass now."
He laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes something flutter in my stomach. "Wine is meant to be enjoyed, not worshipped. The best bottles are the ones shared in good company."
His eyes lock with mine as he raises his glass. "To new beginnings."
I clink my glass against his. "To new beginnings."
As we drink, a comfortable silence settles between us. The bar has filled up around us, the hum of conversation mingling with soft jazz playing from hidden speakers.
"So, your first night in Rome," Matteo says, refilling our glasses. "Any grand plans beyond drinking expensive wine with strangers?"
"Just this," I reply honestly. "Wander around, get lost a little. Maybe find some pasta that will ruin me for American Italian food forever."
"A worthy objective," he nods approvingly. "Though I should warn you. Once you've had proper carbonara, there's no going back. It will haunt your dreams."
"I'm willing to take that risk."
We fall into easy conversation, the wine loosening my tongue as Matteo tells me stories about growing up in Rome. The bottle empties as we talk. I tell him about my family, work and friends.
"Another?" he asks when our glasses are empty, but I shake my head.
"I should probably eat something if I'm going to keep drinking," I admit. "Jetlag and alcohol aren't the best combination."
His eyes light up. "I know exactly the place. If you trust me?"
I hesitate, studying his face. Those green eyes hold no malice, only genuine warmth. And despite the rational part of my brain reminding me that I've known this man for less than a day, something deeper tells me I can trust him.
"Lead the way," I decide.
Matteo leaves far too many euros on the bar, waving away my attempt to contribute.
"It's just a short walk," he says, guiding me with a light touch at the small of my back. I don’t know if it’s the wine or our proximity, but I’m feeling a bit giddy and sexy.
“This way,” Matteo says, guiding me down a narrow alleyway that is barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side.
Our shoulders brush occasionally, and I can smell his cologne —a subtle blend of cedar and something else citrusy. I find myself stealing glances at him, particularly at his lips.
I think I want to kiss him.
God! It must be the wine. I shouldn’t have drunk on an empty stomach.
With the distraction and debate going on in my head, I miss a lose cobblestone and stumble.
Matteo’s reflexes are quick. His arm goes around my waist, steadying me and at the same time, drawing me closer to him.
“Careful there,” he whispers, his breath warm against my cheek.
His green eyes leave mine and flicker down to my lips. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted to kiss him until this moment. Now if one of us leans in…