Page 25 of Marry Me in Rome

I wasn’t stupid. I knew how to answer that. “No, here with my sisters. You?”

“Work trip. Record profits, so my boss paid all expenses. Enjoying Rome?”

I’ve barely seen anything I came to see. I’ve been attacked by a rock with a mouth, fallen into the river, lost my camera, and rejected by my only family. Thanks for asking.

“It’s great,” I said, setting down my glass a little too forcefully. Luckily, it didn’t break. “How about you?”

He laughed and leaned too far into my personal space. “You’re a good liar.”

I bristled. “Excuse me?”

“You look positively miserable. Had a fight with a special someone?”

If it was that obvious, this would be a long night. “My sisters, actually.”

“That’s why you’re alone. Not a fun place to be. You know, I’m a little lonely myself in this big room full of people. We could keep each other company.” He winked meaningfully across the room.

I followed his gaze to a dark corner at a couple engaged in an intense makeout session. They eventually pulled apart, still holding hands, and stumbled out of the bar toward the stairs.

The man’s meaning was clear. The dark corner was now available. I’d met guys at bars before, and they were rarely boyfriend material. But wasn’t that the point? A little kissing, feeling special and important for a bit, and then never seeing the person again? No commitment, no drama, only fun. This guy was cute in a masculine kind of way. For a few minutes, I wouldn’t feel lonely anymore. I’d be chosen, cherished, centered in someone’s world.

You had that today,a rogue thought said.

Indeed, I had. The day flashed through my memory—how it felt to be whirled about and embraced in front of the Mouth of Truth, being dragged through the Tiber while leaning against Matteo’s bare chest, leaning against his back and clinging to him as we raced through the city on that scooter. His hard-won smile that I loved making appear while we made pizza together.

Would I really rather have this than that? Did I want to spend the rest of my life embracing the empty imitation of love and running from the real thing?

“I’ve got to get back,” I told him, sliding off my barstool. “Thanks, though.”

“I’ll be here tomorrow night if you change your mind.” He swung around on his stool and started talking to the woman on the other side of him.

Okay, then. No loss there.

As I walked back to our room, I wished I could tell my sisters about the man, but they’d only launch into the “fear of commitment” speech again. Mom would appreciate my story, though. She’d always been a good listener. She also knew when something bothered me and had a knack for distracting me from hard things.

A memory of us sitting on the couch, watchingRoman Holidayhit so hard, it made me gasp.

It was the beginning of it all, the stage where we knew something was wrong yet the doctors hadn’t diagnosed her yet. The blissful part of my childhood when I thought the woman I looked up to most in the entire world would live forever.

She’d said something about Kennedy being gone for their movie night, and asked where I wanted to visit someday. I said Italy. Mostly because of my crush on the Italian model, Antonio Gucci, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. My poster of him was taped to the back of my closet for a reason.

“I have the movie for you, then,” she said with a knowing grin.

I expected an animated film, or maybe a teen flick. So the moment the black-and-white movie appeared on the screen, I groaned.

“The best movies don’t need color to be good,” she said. “Give it five minutes, and you’ll be lost in the story. I promise.”

“Fine. We have to wear pajamas, though.”

“PJs? It’s six-thirty.”

“You pick the movie, I pick the attire. I say PJs.”

She slapped her thighs and stood. “PJs it is. I’ll leave it running because the opening credits are long. We have exactly three minutes. Ready . . . go!”

We raced upstairs. I won because I swung around the banister the way I had five hundred times, and soon I was snuggled up against her on the couch while she stroked my hair. I still remembered how she smelled of dryer sheets and dish soap.

“This movie doesn’t have the happiest of endings, but yours will,” Mom murmured as the credits ended and the movie began. “My darling Jillie, yours absolutely will.”

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