Page 97 of Rome: The Ballerina

Are you dehydrated? Well-rested? Stressed?

Where are you?

It’s likely I’m neither. And, I’m taking off. Landing in about forty-five minutes.

That’s why.He replied.

That’s why?

I felt my heart break a few minutes ago. It must’ve felt you sneaking off.

Sneaking off?I chuckled.

Where are you headed?

Shopping.

A forty-five minute flight to go shopping? I’m intrigued. Special place.

Special people.

Understood.

Tell me something good.

The gray bubble appeared and then disappeared. Then, it appeared again. I waited with my thumb against my teeth. Seconds passed before the bubble disappeared.

By the time it reappeared, my head was against the seat again and I was snuggled up in the cover. I watched the screen intently, anticipating his response.

Saturday.

Seven.

Is this your way of asking me on a date, Mr. De Bacco?

Is there a question mark behind either of those texts Ms. Mellow?

I blinked rapidly, trying my hardest to confirm the words at the end of the text although they were abundantly clear. The signs that Saint was created specifically and especially for me were so profound. They left little room for wonder.

No.

Because I haven’t asked a question.

Saturday.

Seven.

Then Saturday at seven it is.

Get some rest, love. Later.

Later.

As soon as the message was delivered, I tapped his contact and returned the gesture. My brother would have my neck for what I was about to share, but he’d already said it himself. I was in a different territory. Should I need him, he’d come.

You started sharing your location with My Saint.

I placed the cover over my head and squealed. My feet punctured the air one after the other. So much was happening inside of me. Things that had been out of place my entire existence were finally aligning themselves, naturally.

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