Page 36 of Marry Me in Rome

There was nothing to say. I hadn’t cared enough about them to chase them around the world, that was certain. Matteo had loved recklessly and with all his heart. I had stolen hearts recklessly but kept my own impossibly out of reach.

Our relationship made little sense. Matteo was refined, educated, and wealthy. He thought through things before he did them. He was well-dressed and well-spoken and intelligent. I was a tornado of chaos. Flighty. Spontaneous. We were opposites in pretty much every way. We shouldn’t be attracted to each other.

And yet, when he looked at me, I felt lit aflame from the inside. I’d never experienced this level of attraction before. The fire inside only grew more heated by the hour, as my understanding and appreciation of him deepened.

Another woman would be lucky indeed. The one after me, after today.The only day we have left together.If I had to write it into the skin of my arm in order to remember, I would. I wanted to kiss him senseless and forget all about our pasts and our troubles, yet I craved knowing more about his man and his world in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Your mom didn’t approve of Clara either, did she?” I asked.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. His triceps bulged as he did, and I swallowed back an intense urge to kiss him again. “My mother found out about the ring. We fought before I left. She said if I went after Clara, I’d never have a home there again, nor an inheritance when she passed.”

Wow. “What didn’t she like about her?”

“Clara encouraged me to follow my passion rather than pursue the family export business. The longer we dated, the further I drifted from my family. My mother likes to have control, so she made me choose between love and family.”

A choice no son should ever have to face. Not fair at all. “But you didn’t even marry Clara.”

“No, but I did leave. I moved out that day and started my—started my own business.”

I stared at him. He still refused to tell me about his photography studio, and I had no idea why. He held me in his arms like someone precious to him, yet I couldn’t be trusted to know his passion for art. His own version of keeping his heart safe, perhaps?

He saw my expression and lifted a hand to cup my face. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I only think it would be better to show you, and we won’t have time. Maybe if you ever come back.”

If I ever come back.The thought should have been a comforting one, but instead, the panic rose. Returning meant picking things up where we left off and seeing where this led—him moving forward cautiously and I . . . doing what? Pushing our relationship along until he mentioned the L-word, then retreating back home again?

I didn’t want to think about it. I couldn’t. Not right now.

He lowered his lips to mine, and we shared a long, slow kiss. Then I pulled back. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was hungry.”

“That’s right. What would you really like for lunch?”

“I told you.” I swatted at his arm. “Linguine Piccolo with Grilled Swordfish and Parsley Anchovy Sauce.”

He chuckled. “Do you even like swordfish and anchovies?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“We’ll make an Italian of you yet. I’ll tell the chef.” He rose, pulling me after him, and we made our way to the kitchen.He headed straight for a cupboard and yanked it open, digging through its contents. “Jillie, we’re making linguine piccolo with grilled swordfish and parsley anchovy sauce.”

I grinned. “There’s no chef, is there?”

“I’m the chef. Today, so are you.” He retrieved an apron from the cupboard and handed it to me. “I’m no Nonni, but I can still show you how to make a pretty incredible pasta.”

We spenttwo hours making lunch. We ended up using sea bass instead of swordfish, which sounded safer anyway, and a bit of dill instead of fresh parsley. Despite my fumbling attempts at making pasta, it tasted delicious. Pretty incredible, actually.

I spent the entire time wishing I could do this forever. He and I cooking together in the kitchen, dusting each other with flour and reaching around bodies that seemed to always “accidentally” be in the way. By the sixth time he found me standing right in front of a tool he needed, he swept me into his arms, pressed me against the countertop, and kissed me for so long that the pasta dough went too soft and had to cool in the fridge for a few more minutes.

After we ate, I set aside some food for Vivi and his friends at my insistence. Sure, Vivi had tried to use his friends to split us up, but it didn’t mean they had to starve. Soon he checked his phone and frowned. “We’ll need to leave soon. I have an event tonight.”

“You do?” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice. I had assumed we had some of the evening to be together. I didn’t have to return to the ship until eight.

“The trip back will take an hour longer by boat. Vivi is staying here tonight. I’ll have the driver pick us up in about thirty minutes. What would you like to do until then?”

I gave him a wolfish grin, and he laughed. “Besides kissing. I’m still recovering from the kitchen.”

“Fine. Maybe you can show me around the island?” It wasn’t incredibly large—just big enough for the house and the grounds, most of which was terraced.

The terrain made for a beautiful walk. We strolled together in silence, hand in hand, clinging to each other almost desperately. I didn’t want the magic we’d found here to end. Soon we’d have to go back to Rome and nothing would be the same.

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