Page 22 of Marry Me in Rome

“Just thinking. If you like this, there’s something else I want to show you.”

I grinned. “Really? Can we go right now?”

“No,” he said with a frown. “It would take a whole day. But if you want to toss your little tourist list and see it tomorrow, I’m willing to take you.”

My thoughts raced. “So we’d have to travel there. How far is it?”

“About two hours each way.”

I wanted to tell him that, yes, of course I’d spend tomorrow with him. That there was nothing Rome held that I couldn’tsee another time, that our minutes together were rapidly diminishing and I wanted to hold to every single one.

But . . . my sisters.

Matteo thought I cared about pleasing my sisters, like I worried about what they thought. But that wasn’t it. I worried about what theyneeded.Despite having traveled over a week together already, Kennedy and Alexis still didn’t see eye to eye. Like Matteo was the buffer between his mother and the rest of the family, I was the buffer between my sisters. Hunter would be leaving tomorrow and Kennedy would need me. Alexis too. The whole point of this trip was to spend time with them, and they’d be hurt if I agreed to spend a second day with a guy I barely knew, no matter how charming and sweet his grandmother or sprawling his family villa was.

All I could do was look at the man who’d given me so much already, swallow hard, and hope he would understand. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

When I wokeup on my fourteenth birthday, I immediately smelled hash brown waffles and smiled. Birthday Breakfast was a thing of legend at my house and my favorite tradition. Mom knew how to mash up the potato strings so they’d cook just right. The smell also meant a plate full of regular waffles and sausage patties would be waiting. She knew I loved to layer them all into a giant waffle sandwich too big to eat with a fork.

The door opened and Kennedy peeked her head in, all dressed and ready to go at 7am. She’d even curled her hair. “Hey, old lady. Happy Birthday.”

“I’ll never be as old as you,” I murmured, stretching and startling Sunshine, who’d been curled up on the bedspread between my legs. She jumped off the bed and turned to glare back at me with sleepy eyes.

“And I’ll never be as take-care-of-me-I’m-adorable as you the minute I wake up, so I guess I’ll have to rely on my brains. What do you do, wake up in the middle of the night and style your hair?” She walked in and messed up my hair before I could shove the pillow over my head. “There. That’s better.”

“You’re supposed to be nice to me on my birthday,” I growled.

“That was the nice version. Get up. Breakfast is ready and I’m starving.” She strode out and left the door open three inches. A trick Mom always used—leaving it open meant I’d have to get up and close it if I wanted privacy. Not that I had any intention of sleeping through Birthday Breakfast.

But even that would be nothing compared to the gift sitting on my dresser for the past eight months—tickets for a daddy-daughter date to see my favorite music artist in the entire world.

I dressed quickly, threw my hair into a messy bun, and practically ran into the kitchen.

Kennedy sat at the table, already lost in a math book. Alexis glared at her empty plate, her soccer jersey rumpled like she’d slept in it. Mom set down a bowl of heated syrup, glanced at Alexis, and rolled her eyes. She always complained that she could never get Alexis’s clothes clean because she refused to take them off.

Mom came at me for a huge hug. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she wore a wide smile. “How’s my birthday girl?”

“Fourteen,” I murmured into her shoulder.

Mom withdrew and covered her ears. “I didn’t hear that. It isn’t mathematically impossible for my baby to be fourteen.”

“Yet it’s completely possible for your thirteen-year-old daughter to turn fourteen,” Alexis grumbled. No matter what came out of Mom’s mouth, she constantly criticized or corrected her. More so lately than usual, though I had yet to figure out why.

Mom ignored her.“Fourteen or not, I hope you’re hungry enough for this. I think we could feed the neighborhood.”

“Or Lexi,” Kennedy said.

Alexis punched her arm.

I loved my family.

I pulled a napkin over my chest, tucking it into my shirt below my neck. I only did this at home, mostly because it madeMom laugh. I knew my duties as the youngest daughter, and I performed them well.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

Some of the light in Mom’s eyes faded. “We’ll start without him today. Kennedy, will you say grace?”

We asked a blessing on the food and then dug in. I groaned with pleasure at the very first bite. A bottle of ketchup sat right in front of my plate for the hash brown waffle, but I never needed that. Hot syrup would do just fine.

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