Page 52 of Marry Me in Rome

“You made your point,” I told her, though I did offer an apologetic smile. She grinned right back.

“Go have fun,” Alexis said. “Vivi can show us around for a bit.”

“I’ll show them things they actually want to see.” Vivi gave her brother a pointed look.

“Then my job here is done,” he said. “Ready?”

I grinned. “Ready.”

Matteo took my hand and we turned onto a side road, winding through a charming neighborhood. I would never get over how these homes often backed right up to canals. Instead of garages, they tied up their boats to the back door. I tried to imagine going grocery shopping in this city and came up blank.

We soon arrived at a gondolier station with a long line, which Matteo bypassed. He waved at one of the gondoliers, who gestured to his boat and welcomed us with a wide smile.

As we settled in and greeted the gondolier, who seemed to be a friend of Matteo’s, I found my boyfriend’s arm to be the perfect pillow. Soon he leaned over. “In a minute, we’ll see the famous Bridge of Sighs, which connects Doge’s Palace interrogation rooms to the New Prison. They say it was prisoners’ last chance to see the city they loved before being shoved into their prison cells. See? Less violence all around.”

I shot him a glare. “Maybe today’s itinerary should be subject to prior approval.”

He laughed. “Fine, I’ll take you to the church of gold in Saint Mark’s Square next. After that, it’s up the steps of the Campanile so you can see the city from above. Same place Galileo set up his famous telescope before presenting it to the Doge of Venice in 1609.” He pulled me closer and kissed my head. “More importantly, I think it’s one of the most romantic places inVenice, which happens to be one of the most romantic cities in Italy.”

As I looked around at the city, moving slowly behind us with the low hum of activity in the distance and the man I was slowly falling for at my side, I shook my head. “I do like Venice, but now that I’ve been to both places, I would want to marry in Rome. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

I worried he would find my comment too forward, but the glint of light in his eyes only shone brighter. “Of course. I’m a little partial to Rome as well.”

“I do have a question, though. If a person were to, say, throw some coins into Trevi Fountain, do you think their wish would come true?”

“It depends how many. One for love, two for an attractive Italian, and three for?—”

“How about eight?” I blurted out. “What does eight coins in the fountain mean for my future? Does it mean I’ll have a zillion kids and a houseful of cats and dogs? Not that it’s a problem or anything, because I love all three, but I kinda want to know what I’m getting into.”

He slid his hand along my cheek, consuming every ounce of my attention. “It sounds like you’re going to need a big house. Luckily, I know one that’s available.” Before his words could register, he leaned in for a long, deep kiss that lit me on fire from the inside.

If there was a bridge of sighs of whatever, I didn’t get to see it. There would be a million photos of that to be found online. The world only had one Matteo, my handsome Italian man, and he was mine.

My life wasn’t perfect. My family had problems and drama and my past had some dark moments, but this momentwasperfect, and I looked forward to many more like this.

And that, I decided, meant that the world was exactly as it should be.

Of course Brandonhad to callright then,with both of my sisters, Matteo, and Vivi walking nearby. Because he couldn’t send a simple, noninvasive, quiet text. Apparently he had to consume the entirety of my attention. For a second, I’d even forgotten that I had Brandon Banks’s number—and that it meant he also had mine.

The truth was, my sisters didn’t know about Brandon simply because it would require far too long an explanation.

How could I tell them that one of the girls I worked with at the extreme sports summer camp in Colorado, Bristol, had shown up on the ship as a passenger? That she’d managed to get a group of other passengers together—all different ages—for paint balling and zip lining, but her father wouldn’t let her off the ship?

Which wasn’t a surprise. I’d heard about the guy from other counselors, and let’s just say . . . he was the quintessential workaholic dad in every way. Only Brandon Banks would invite his thirteen-year-old daughter on a cruise to spend time together and then ignore her completely. Just like he’d sent her off to summer camp to get rid of her last year.

Bristol’s little problem had consumed my thoughts during paint balling the other day and then again during zip lining yesterday. The train ride from Rome to Venice to catch our ship should have been spent bonding with my sisters, but I couldn’t help worrying about Bristol.

I knew exactly how it felt, living with a distant and distracted father, and she deserved better. Sure, she was one of many kids I’d worked with at that camp, but she also felt like a younger version of myself. I knew loneliness when I saw it.

So why was her father trying to call me? A mistake, surely. She’d once insisted on entering her dad’s number into my phone “for emergencies.” Which I figured meant emergencies like her phone dying. Low-stakes stuff. But what if an actual emergency happened?

Nope. I couldn’t think of a single reason why her father would call me, his daughter’s camp counselor from last year. In an emergency, he would call the police or ship security. Even the U.S. Consulate. For all I knew, a guy that rich had the president on speed dial. There was absolutely nothing I could do for him in pretty much every scenario.

Yep, definitely a butt dial.

I had just started to relax and enjoy Vivi’s little tour when my phone dinged with a text.

Where are you? Bristol is worried.

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