Page 16 of Luca
“Your bodyguards aren’t very subtle,” I say around a mouthful, tipping my chin toward Paolo and Tony, who are attempting camouflage via expensive sunglasses and the world’s least-convincing guidebook held upside down.
“Paolo’s getting married next month,” Luca says. “Tony’s got three kids.”
“Ah…he seems sweet,” I say, wiggling my fingers at Tony. He scowls at me and I grin. “Okay, sweet for a man who probably has multiple guns hidden under that jacket.”
“Don’t call him sweet.” Luca warns. “He’s killed twelve people.”
Wow…way to put it right out there.
I should flinch, but I don’t. I’m glad it’s me sitting here, instead of my terrified sister. He watches my reaction carefully. I hope he’s disappointed.
“Do they always follow you?” I ask. “Everywhere?”
“Part of the deal.” He swipes my last crust right out of my hand and eats it. His mouth brushes my fingertips on purpose. “You’ll have protection too now as my wife.”
“What? No! I don’t need big, surly men following me around all day.”
“Protection isn’t optional. You’re my wife. That makes you leverage to my enemies.”
“You have enemies?”
“Yes, many.”
“Doesn’t make them mine. As far as I know, I don’t have an enemy in this world.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll keep it that way.”
I fight the urge to snap back at him. I chew my lip instead to distract him and it works. His eyes dip to my mouth and stay a fraction too long.
“I’m ready to check out the Trevi Fountain.” I stand up and dust the pizza crumbs off my clothes. “How about you?”
“Of course,” he replies. “What would be a tourist day without the famous fountain?”
I stop flinging crumbs down the steps long enough to look at him. “Are you humoring me today? By coming along with me? Am I keeping you from work stuff?”
He hesitates before answering. “No, today is nice. Surely a man, even a busy man, is allowed one day after his wedding to spend with his new wife?”
I smile back at him, stupidly pleased with his answer. What the hell am I doing? Playing along like I’m a besotted fool for my new husband. Then I remember, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing.
Or is it?
Hell, at this point, I’m not sure. The lines are beginning to blur and this is only the first day.
The minute we arrive at the Trevi Fountain, I realize it’s a huge mistake. The crowd is shoulder-to-shoulder tourists, crammed in tight while hoping to get a photo. Everyoneis tossing coins and swinging selfie-sticks around. A typical tourist nightmare to endure just to say you’ve been here.
Not to mention it’s blazing hot.
We try to make our way forward with the bodyguards following us. If anyone were watching they might think we were part of a very slow, boring parade.
I tug on his sleeve. “Can I take your photo with my phone? When’s the last time you took a normal, candid picture?”
“Never.”
I laugh and then realize he’s serious. “Then congratulations, you’re about to be immortalized like a teenage exchange student. I deserve to have a photo of my handsome husband on my phone. Right?”
He lifts a brow, but surprisingly doesn’t argue with me.
He stands where I tell him and looks like a man who’s pretending to be human. Stiff and uncomfortable. I take a few shots and check them. They’re all terrible.
