Page 89 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

“What was that for?” he asked with a grin.

“I’ve never seen you in a beanie before. It makes you look like an art student. Or my sexy art professor.” She bit her lip.

“Wicked woman. If I have to take you back to the hotel to satisfy your fantasies, it’s going to throw off our schedule. If we want to make it to St. Peter’s Basilica, we’ve got to leave now. It’ll be faster if we hail a cab.” He stepped toward the street, scanning it for a taxi.

“Wait.” She stilled him with a hand on his arm, her new wedding ring glinting next to the giant engagement ring she hadn’t yet gotten used to. “We’re in Rome. I want to slow down and enjoy it.”

He stepped back under the umbrella, his face only inches from hers. “You really want to go back to the hotel and do the art professor roleplay?”

She laughed. “Not really. But I do want to sit in a café with my husband and watch Rome go by.”

Heedless of the other people on the sidewalk, he gathered her into his arms. “I thought you wanted to see all the sights on your honeymoon in Rome.”

“I did. But then I remembered that there’s a joy in going with the flow, too. I’m sorry to mess up the itinerary you worked so hard on.”

She could see the effort it cost him to relax his shoulders as he let go of his carefully structured plans. “It’s fine. We’ll make other trips to Italy. We’ll see the basilica next time. Right now, I want to do whatever my wife wants to do. And if that’s sipping wine at some overpriced sidewalk café in the rain, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Thank you.” This time, she kissed his lips. “And after the café, I want to buy one of those beautiful scarves I see the Italian women wearing.”

“Then we’ll head toward the Spanish Steps. And I’ll buy you the most beautiful scarf you can find.”

“Mmm, yes, please. I know exactly how to thank you when we get back to the hotel.”

“You can give me a little taste now.” He pressed his lips against hers, his tongue teasing her lower lip.

She jerked back. “We just came out of a church!”

“But we’re on our honeymoon in Rome. Jesus would understand. The Pope too, I bet.”

“Come on.” She seized his hand and pulled him along the street she thought led toward Rome. Though if it was the wrong direction, Alex would guide her back to the right path. He had an unwavering sense of direction. Well, except where she’d been concerned. He’d taken a long, meandering journey back to her after high school. But they’d both ended up exactly where they needed to be.

Together.

He held tight to her hand and led her straight out of Vatican City. They had to stop in the souvenir shops, of course. She hadn’t yet found the Pope John Paul II bobblehead she wanted to surprise Rafe with. Apparently, everyone else wanted him, too.

And when their leisurely, romantic walk in the rain ended at a boutique near the Piazza di Spagna, there were too many beautiful scarves to choose only one. Alex bought her three. He wrapped the red patterned one around her neck, the silk quickly warming against her skin.

He didn’t check his phone once at the outdoor café as they sipped the most delicious wine Mary had ever tasted. He seemed content to look where she pointed—at an adorable dog, or a man who looked like Michael, or even a cute handbag—and almost always agreed with her.

It was dusk when they returned to their hotel to change for dinner. Their room overlooked the Trevi fountain, lit up in greens and golds, and Mary paused in front of the window to admire it.

“It’s not quite as showy as the one at the Bellagio at home, is it?”

“Showy?” His arms came around her, and his familiar vanilla scent loosened her joints until she felt as supple as her new scarf. “Today, we saw some of the world’s most famous art. And people have been admiring that fountain for hundreds of years. Yet you compare it to a garish hotel in the most lurid city in the world?”

She turned in his arms to put her back to the view. “Don’t think I haven’t loved every minute we’ve spent in Italy. But I guess I’m a Vegas girl at heart. I want a little zhuzh.” She traced the sharp line of his jaw. “I guess that’s why I like you so much.”

“You’re saying I’m more of a Bellagio fountain than a Trevi?”

“You’re almost too pretty for everyday use. Like my grandmother’s china.”

“Almost?” His lips tipped up into a smirk.

“Almost. But I like having you every day.” She rose to her tiptoes and kissed him.

“And I love you. Every day.”

“Even when I’m not appreciative enough of the most famous fountain in the world?”

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