Page 33 of Marry Me in Rome

Leaving the camera, I slid off my bed and picked them up, reading the words printed on the top. TAYLER LAURIE. My life’s dream.

“I can take you,” Mom said softly. “I don’t know much about her, but it isn’t fair to you to miss it because of a decision your father made. Or I can drop off you and Kennedy if you want to go together.”

It was like offering popcorn with no butter or a rice cake instead of a birthday cake. The entire idea of the concert felt tasteless now. Pointless. A little ridiculous. The girl who loved Tayler Laurie yesterday wasn’t the same girl who sat on her bed tonight, talking to her mom about boys and the future. As much as I loved those songs about relationships and promises and trust, I couldn’t deal with all that right now. Not when I finally knew better.

Bye, Dad.

Without a word, I tore the tickets up.

Mom’s mouth slid open, then closed again.

I strode back to the bed, moved the camera aside, and opened the box of pizza. “You know what I really want to do?”

“Name it,” Mom said.

“Sleepover in the living room. All of us in our PJs, watching stupid kid shows and eating pizza.” Just like that time we watched Roman Holiday, only with all of us together. I wanted what remained of my entire family at my side tonight. “Unless you aren’t ready. If you need more time in your room, I understand.”

“There’s always tomorrow for that. I agree. Tonight should be a celebration. It isn’t every day a girl turns 14.” Mom jumped up to her feet. “Race you getting dressed.”

We might have kissedin the pool. And then again in the hot tub and the pool again. We were lying on a lounge chair, curled up in each other, when a thought occurred to me.

“This is it, isn’t it?” I asked. “Your favorite place for a wedding.”

He smiled to himself. “It’s my second favorite. My favorite is in Rome. I’ll show you sometime.”

I opened my mouth to insist he show me tonight on the way back to the ship, but a distant noise gradually grew louder until it was impossible to ignore.

Matteo groaned, slid to his feet, and went to the rail to peer at the water. Then he muttered something in Italian.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A boat. We won’t be alone much longer,” Matteo said. “I need to go put on a shirt.”

“I have a little more to put on. Do you know who’s coming?”

“Some friends,” he said simply. “Come on. I’ll show you where the restroom is.”

The “house” felt more like a hotel than anything. A luxury resort. Like with his family’s house, expensive marble tile covered every inch of the floor, smooth and cold against my feet.Despite the stone exterior, the furnishings were very clean and modern. A lounging area filled the entire front room, separated into at least four different seating areas. The ceiling towered far overhead. In the distance, a staircase led to what looked like a very modern chef’s kitchen built for entertaining.

“Go through the kitchen and make a right,” Matteo said. “I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. I couldn’t place the source of his irritation. The interruption, or these particular friends? Meeting the people in his life wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

In the restroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cringed. Matteo’s hands had tangled themselves into a half-dry bird’s nest. I’d have to wash it. Thank goodness for the shower in the corner. But I’d have to be fast.

I grinned during the entire four-minute shower, my entire body in a state of happy shock.

Our story was complicated yet simple at the same time. Two people who found each other attractive wanted to spend time together. If some of that time was spent kissing—okay, alotof that time was spent kissing—what did it matter? This was the perfect arrangement. I didn’t need to fear commitment because I couldn’t commit even if I wanted to. It felt freeing, having the decision made for me.

The perfect arrangement. A fling with a built-in deadline.

When I emerged, Matteo stood in the living room, wearing a fresh white T-shirt and shorts. His hair flopped into his face as if he’d taken a few fingers to it and called it good. I wanted to take a running leap at the guy and kiss him all over again. When he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he unfolded his arms.

Then I noticed Vivi standing across the room, scowling. A tenseness sank into my gut, pinning me in place. She said something in rapid-fire Italian, which Matteo responded to quickly.

“I said I’d fly you here.” Vivi switched to English. “I can invite people if I want.”

Matteo grunted. “Your friends, not mine. That wasn’t cool, Vivi.”

She’d invited his friends. He didn’t seem to want them here. Because he wanted to be alone with me, or because he didn’t want me to meet his friends?

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