Page 23 of Rome with Dad's Best Friend

For a moment I think about my morning breath, horrified, but when Marco kisses me he doesn’t seem to mind. “Morning,” I manage, my brain short-circuiting at having him in front of me in only a towel and not letting me think of anything else to say.

“I like your outfit today,” he teases, fingering the collar of his own shirt. His hand drops down to cup my breast and I shiver, my back arching as I instinctively push my chest towards him, wanting him to touch me more.

But I’m trying not to get caught up in that again, at least not for a moment. I want to talk to him, to ask him the question that’s been on my mind.

“Do you really live here alone?” I ask. “There are so many extra rooms.”

“Yes,” Marco says, dipping his head to kiss my neck. “Those are for my family.”

“Your family?” My heart drops down into my stomach. I thought it was too good to be true. Maybe it is. “Where are they?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Marco says, easing aside the shirt collar to kiss my shoulder. “I’ve been waiting a long time for the right person.”

The way he says it, coupled with the possessive way he holds my shoulder and kisses my skin right after, makes my heart leap all the way back up again, almost jumping out of my mouth. Could he mean… me? Really?

I don’t have the chance to ask more, even if I could get the words together to ask for more. Because Marco has found the one single button holding the shirt together over my breasts and slipped it open, and his towel has dropped to the floor, and all of a sudden every single other thought in the world has been wiped right out of my mind.Chapter NineteenMarcoAfter the best wake-up call that could be possible, I laugh and drag Hannah into the shower with me, knowing that all of the cleaning I just did has been undone – and also that there is a way to make getting clean again so much more fun.

Once we’re finally dried off, I grab the bags of clothes we bought yesterday so that Hannah can get dressed. “Here,” I tell her, though I don’t think she could possibly look any better than she does wrapped in one of my towels, her face flushed from the heat of the water that still drips from her hair. “I just have to go make a quick work call.”

It’s a lie, but a white one. She doesn’t need to know the reason I head outside to the garden, sliding the kitchen door closed behind me so that she won’t hear while she gets ready. Because the thing is, ever since she made that comment about the house being too big for just me, I haven’t been able to stop picturing one thing. Hannah, here in this house, chasing around after our children.

And there’s one thing that I need to do before I can make that happen.

I press the phone to my ear, waiting nervously for it to connect. I don’t get nervous – not me. This isn’t my thing. But somehow, I feel butterflies in my stomach as the line rings, and they only spring more into life when it connects.

“Hello? Marco?”

“Ciao, Simon,” I say, greeting Hannah’s father by name. “How are you?”

“I’m great. I wasn’t expecting your call.”

I half-smile to myself. No matter what I may feel about Hannah now, there is a lot of history between the two of us, as well.

“Can’t a man call his old friend out of the blue?” I ask.

“Less of the old,” Simon jokes. “Although, you’re probably right. So, what’s going on with you?”

“Well, actually, I did have a reason to call you,” I say, sensing even myself that I’m stalling for time without getting to the point. “I was just – what do you Americans call it? – yanking your chain.”

Simon laughs. “Go on, then. What is it?”

“Well,” I say, hesitating one final time as I glance up towards the bedroom window, where I know Hannah is dressing even now. “I actually ran into Hannah.”

“You did?” Simon laughs. “Did she contact you?”

“Not at all.” I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “Actually, it was kind of wild. I was walking down the street and we just saw each other.”

“Wow!” Simon laughs again. “That’s great. How’s she doing? I was worried about her, taking this vacation on her own for the first time.”

“Oh, she’s doing great,” I say. “I made sure to look out for her.” Gearing myself up to tell him just exactly how much I did that when he interrupts me again.

“She hasn’t been running around with any boys, has she?” Simon asks. “I don’t want her to get distracted. Or taken advantage of, either. I know what those Italian boys can be like. You were one yourself, once, I’m sure.”

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