Page 39 of Tilly in Technicolor
Moving slowly, as if I’m a wild animal that she’s afraid to startle, Mona backs up to her purse, digging around in the pockets. She keeps her eyes locked on mine, knowing that I will absolutely lose my shit if she looks away for even a second.
She holds out her wallet. “Take my credit card and leave,” she says sternly, like I’m robbing her.
Body buzzing with joy and lips pressed tight, I manage to nod slowly and take Mona’s card. Then I turn, grabbing Oliver’s elbow.
“What’s going on?” Oliver asks, eyebrows furrowed as I pull him toward the door.
“I’ll explain on our outing,” I say, shooting Amina a giant grin and wink as we move past. She’s still rooted to the spot, but a second later, she grins back.
“Right, but am I being paid for these hours?” Oliver asks.
I groan. “I’ll pay you to stop talking,” I say, continuing to drag Oliver with me. I hear the door shut behind us, and my smile grows. “Do you accept gelato as currency?”
Chapter 19When in Rome
TILLY
Rome is what I would call a sensory nightmare. The heat presses on my shoulders and neck with a physical force, sucking the energy from my muscles. The crowds are so thick and noisy as we try to navigate around Trevi Fountain, I feel like I’m being swallowed whole by the masses of bodies and won’t ever have room to breathe again.
And the noise. Holy fucking hell, the noise. There’re motors and shouts and dings and water and chatter and bird coos and baby cries all combining in this grating hum that tunnels under my skin and darts up and down my spine with razor-sharp pain.
I become so overwhelmed by it all that I stop walking, breaths short and tears poking at my eyeballs. I feel Oliver stop, too, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. If I look at him, I know I’ll do something mortifying like start crying or burrow my face against his chest. He’ll probably ask me why I stopped walking, or what’s wrong with me, or give me one of those cold looks of his and it will be mortifying and impossible to explain that my nuclear reactor is ever so slightly imploding in on itself in the most catastrophic way humanly possible.
And that I’m flipping out.
In public.
A light tap on my thigh draws my attention down, and I see Oliver’s fingers tapping away at his side in jerky movements. I risk a glance at his face. His shoulders and neck are taut with tension and a muscle in his jaw tics as he stares up at the sky. Is he… could he be hating this, too?
In a flash that makes me jump, those endless brown eyes land on me. He must be able to read the misery on my face because he reaches out, his long fingers lacing with mine.
“Come on,” he says, tugging my hand. He turns, pushing against the crowd. Pulling me with him.
Ollie’s never touched me for this long before—any physical contact is the briefest of adjustments to my hands: whispers of touches. It should feel foreign and weird and make my nerves jostle around my body that his fingers are intertwined with mine. But, somehow, all it feels is safe.
And just a tiny bit perfect.
The grip of his hand is firm and steadying and tight enough that I know I won’t dissolve in all the stimuli around me. Ollie creates space for me as he leads us.
I don’t know where we’re going, but for some reason, I trust that he’ll make sure it’s better than here. I keep my eyes pinned on the spot between his shoulder blades, channeling all my focus on the threads of his black shirt, the way the fabric pulls and moves with every step he takes.
We finally pop out on the outskirts of the most congested area, and he tugs me down a narrow side street, the air cooler from the shadows of the rough stone buildings. Ollie’s head darts back and forth as he walks, peeking down alleys and alcoves, the explosive noises of the city draining behind us the deeper we wind into Rome’s hidden labyrinth.
We fly past a narrow opening between the buildings, and,out of nowhere, he stops in his tracks. I plow into him, nose squishing against his back.
It pains me to admit this, but he smells ridiculously good. The bastard.
First there’s his outrageously handsome face, then his annoyingly beautiful descriptions of colors, and now I have to live with the knowledge that he holds hands like a pro and smells like a god? He makes it so hard for me to hate him.
Ollie spins around, pulling me between the buildings after him.
“Whoa,” I say, my jaw dropping as we step farther into a hidden courtyard. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the lower light of the area. The surrounding buildings are tall and lopsided, leaning comfortably against each other. Lines with billowing laundry flap overhead, and small balconies overflow with plants.
And the silence.
I could weep in appreciation for the silence. It’s soft like a blanket, none of the mayhem of Rome invading this safe little space.
I shuffle a few steps farther into the courtyard, then, without thinking, plop down onto the cobbled ground, the nervous energy draining from me in the peacefulness of this corner.
