Page 96 of No Stone Unturned

“The pope has his reasons for doing what he does. He is guided in ways we don’t understand. According to the messenger, the pope has also asked us to bring our medals from Salerno.”

“Why?”

He gave me that look which meant I should know better. “One does not question the pope. However, I think we might be expected to stand for more photos.”

Groaning inwardly at the thought of more photos and smiling, I pulled the medal out of my purse and put it on. Grumpy or not, I could be a team player when required.

We finished our breakfast and said goodbye to Nonna. She kissed both my cheeks, took one long last look at the engagement ring, before giving me a squeeze that made me wince.

Principessa strolled into the foyer as Slash brought our suitcases down. I knelt on one knee and pulled off a small pink fuzzy ball I had on my keychain. I scooted it across the floor a couple of times before she jumped on it, flicking it back and forth between her paws.

“It’s yours,” I said. “I owe you for helping me and Nonna in the kitchen. But don’t get too excited. It doesn’t mean we’re buddies or anything. Consider it a peace offering.”

Principessa remained focused on the pink ball, so I rose and lifted my purse on my shoulder.

“So, you’re friends with the cat now,” Slash said.

“No. We arenotfriends. We were momentary allies. There’s a difference.”

“If you say so. Let’s go.”

I gave one more hug to Nonna, and she squeezed my cheeks hard and said something to me.

I looked at Slash. “What did she say?”

“She told you to keep taking good care of me.”

I gave her a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry. I’m on it, Nonna.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Lexi

Before we left Sperlonga, we stopped at a boutique clothing store. I had nothing suitable with me to meet the pope, so Slash picked out something for me to try on. It was a simple black dress with a crew neck and a flared skirt that fell well below my knees. Simple but elegant. We added a black cardigan and a pair of medium heels. I wore the outfit out of the store and we were ready to roll in less than thirty minutes. That was good because I hated shopping almost as much as I hated small talk.

The drive from Sperlonga to the Vatican took us a little over two hours. Slash expertly managed the typical Italian traffic, zooming into the city, hugging the curves and going up side streets at what I personally considered an alarming speed. Everything seemed much closer together than in the States. The roads were smaller and tighter, but the cars didn’t seem to slow as they passed each other with mere inches to spare.

Slash drove directly to the Vatican entrance. He provided our names and we handed over our passports. The guard stepped into the security house and came back to check inside our car and trunk. Satisfied we were not carrying any weapons or bombs, he provided us with special tags and told us where to park and check in with the next round of security.

Slash drove to where the guard had instructed and parked the car. We got out and Slash opened the trunk, pulling a sky-blue tie and a dark sports jacket out of his duffel bag. While he put on his tie, I carried my sweater over my arm for the time being because it was still hotter than a fifty-percent-off sale on the newest iPhone.

Slash knew where to go, so I followed him as he strode toward the entrance of a building where more security was stationed.

“What’s this building?” I asked as we approached.

“The Apostolic Palace,” he answered. “It holds most of the Vatican administrative offices. It’s called a palace, but it’s more like a series of small buildings within a building, all arranged around the Courtyard of Sixtus V. I don’t know exactly where we’re meeting the pope, but we’ll present ourselves and be escorted to the proper location. We’re a little early, so we may have to wait.”

“Okay. I hope I don’t throw up.”

He tucked my arm into his elbow. “You’ll be fine. Let me do the talking.”

“That’s not going to be a problem.”

“Good. Remember to refer to him as Holy Father.”

“Holy Father. Got it.”

We were met by security and escorted through what Slash called thePortone di Bronzo, a large stone arch with an iron door at the entrance of the Apostolic Palace. The Swiss Guards, the pope’s personal security, were stationed at the entrance dressed in their full regality, including the colorful striped pantaloons and berets.

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