Page 10 of Marry Me in Rome

I shook my head, slumping against my pillow. Was I so easy to forget? Maybe I needed to be less forgettable so he would remember I existed.

He sighed and sat on the side of the bed, making it sag. I had to adjust my seat to keep from sliding off. “Listen, Dads sometimes make mistakes. Today I made a big one.”

If he wanted me to say something, I wasn’t sure what it was. I simply listened, still unable to look him in the eye. The thought of being alone for so long, even in our own house with all the lights on, made me tremble inside. I had hated every second of it.

“I want you to know that I will never accidentally leave you behind again. You’re my baby princess and you always will be. Okay?”

I sniffed. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He gave me another hug.

I returned it this time, although I didn’t blame Dad. Not really. Inside, I blamed myself. If I meant more to him, none of this would have happened.

At that moment, I made myself a promise as well. I’d live so I could never be forgotten again.

“Don’t worry,” Dad said as he rose and headed for the door. “Jack will find his way home. That dog loves you too much to stay away for long.”

The walkto our next stop felt ten times different after my little tiff with Matteo. I kept my gaze straight ahead, cemented on our route and the traffic. My skin still responded to the memory of his touch at the Mouth of Truth while my brain screamed that this man was not my friend.

The incline of our walk helped. Soon I found myself at the top of a hill, looking down over the city from above. But Matteo didn’t linger and continued to an empty paved square with walls covered in shrubbery and an old-looking metal door on one side. Only one other couple lingered nearby, whispering to each other.

He went to the door and peered through a keyhole.

“Good,” he said. “It’s still clear enough to see.”

“See what?” The hole barely looked big enough to stick a finger through. If we’d made this trek and passed up an incredible view only to peek through a tiny hole in a door, he was about to hear my opinion on the matter.

“Three countries, in a manner of speaking,” he explained. “Italy, Vatican City, and the Order of the Knights of Malta. Plus a little surprise framed in the center. You may need your camera to see it well, though.” He stepped back and motioned to the door.

I bent over and peered through. At first, all I saw was two lines of hedges running into the distance, one on either side. This garden looked well tended yet unremarkable compared to some of the gardens I’d seen in Paris. By his expectant expression, there had to be something else to this.

I powered up my camera and slipped it onto the hole, peering at the screen in back. The camera moved backward as my lens protruded from the front and the view sharpened.

I gasped.

There it was—St. Peter’s right in the center, in all its glory. The hedges framed it perfectly. In the distance, the city spread behind it with a warm afternoon glow against the bright blue sky.

“Incredible,” I whispered.

“Best view in the city.”

I had to agree. Strange that my Instagram research never mentioned this. Trying to hide a deep sense of awe, I adjusted the angle of the camera and snapped a few shots. “And the Knights of . . . whatever? What does that mean?”

“One of the oldest orders in the world, established in medieval times. They spend their time in service of the sick and needy and follow the Augustinian order rather than the Benedictine like the Knights Templar did. Each member pays yearly dues to participate. They have their own sovereignty, so we leave them alone and they leave us alone.”

I turned my camera vertically to grab a few more shots, then pulled my camera away from the keyhole. “How far away do you think St. Peter’s is from here?”

I leaned forward to look again just as he did. Our cheeks brushed, mine as soft as his was rough.

“S—sorry,” I said quickly at the same time he said, “You go first.”

We stood there, awkwardly waiting for the other to move back in, and I resisted the urge to touch my face. If I’d leaned at a better—um,differentangle, I would have known what his lips tasted like. Not that I wanted that.

Okay, maybe I wanted that. But I couldn’t have that as long as he wanted that. And I was pretty sure he wanted that.

His eyes flicked to my lips.

Yep. Definitely wanted that.

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