by Hudson Lin
Clare smiled slyly at him. “She’s pretty and she’s your type.” She was having entirely too much fun with this.
Marco crossed his arms. “What do you know about my type?”
She gave him an oh-come-on look. “You like the smart ones, the competent ones who can keep you on your toes and give you a run for your money.”
That didn’t sound bad at all. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Just that Vivian’s your type.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter if she’s my type.” Marco huffed. “She called me a misogynist!” He muttered the last word between his teeth.
That caught Clare’s attention. She turned toward him, eyebrows raised, hand firmly mounted on her hip. “What did you do?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything!”
She cocked her head, daring him to say that again.
“I helped her with a stubborn passenger who needed to check his carry-on. He was trying to cram it into the overhead compartment. It clearly wasn’t going to fit, but he wouldn’t listen to her when she tried to get him to check it. So I stepped in. What?” His last sentence faded in conviction as Clare’s eyebrows rose even higher.
Her expression was intent. She twisted her lips as if to say Vivian had a point and turned back to loading the cart.
“What?” he repeated. He couldn’t believe this.
“She doesn’t need you to do her job for her.”
“It’s not her job. It’s our job. We do it together.” Marco grabbed the coffee pot from the brewer and plonked it on top of the cart with a bit of a clang.
It didn’t faze Clare. “Sounds like she got there first, so it’s her job. Remember, she’s competent; she doesn’t need you trying to impress her.” She filled clear plastic jars with water.
Marco pretended to be offended with a loud scoff, but before he could reply, the curtain snapped back and Vivian stepped into the galley. As if things weren’t bad enough. The sudden silence was a dead giveaway that they’d been talking about her. Who knew how long she’d been standing on the other side of that curtain?
She peered at Marco, then Clare, then Marco again, coldly appraising. A chill ran through him. Maybe he’d been too quick to jump to her rescue. Vivian didn’t look like someone who needed help. She looked like someone who could kick ass and take names.
“I’ll start the beverage run.” She grabbed the stocked cart and maneuvered it around them.
As soon as the curtain fell back into place, Clare leaned in close. “I wouldn’t mess with her if I were you.”
Yeah, no shit.
Chapter Two
Vivian double-checked she had everything she needed: room key, phone, a copy of her passport, water bottle, sunglasses. Check, check, check. She stepped into her most comfortable sandals, pulled open the door to her hotel room, and came face to face with him. Marco.
“Heading out?”
Vivian scowled. “Are you stalking me?”
Marco sputtered, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he dissolved into disbelieving laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
Marco shook his head and stuck his thumb behind his shoulder. “That’s my room.”
“Oh.” Now he must think she was paranoid.
He turned toward the elevators, took a half step, and paused. “Coming?”
She hesitated. It was stupid, she knew. Sharing an elevator down to the lobby didn’t mean they’d have to spend the rest of the day together. But it would mean a few minutes of having to be civil to the guy, arrogant prick that he was. The way he kept smiling at her during the flight, handing her things in the galley like he’d anticipated what she’d needed, how he always stepped to the side to let her walk in front of him at the airport. It was like he was mocking her, an unspoken reminder that she was some frail woman who needed his manly help.
Marco looked at her expectantly. They were at the end of the hallway. Unless she went back into her room, there was nowhere else for her to go but with him to the elevator.
“Yeah.” With a sigh, she followed him.
“Going out into the town?” Marco asked.
It was an innocent enough question. General small talk fodder. Still, Vivian eyed him suspiciously before answering. “Yeah.”
He glanced at her quickly and then dropped his gaze. “Listen. I wanted to apologize for what I did on the flight over. With the carry-on guy. You definitely had it under control. I should have let you handle it yourself. I’m sorry.”
Vivian stopped short. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. In her experience, misogynistic assholes never admitted they were wrong. Unless he wasn’t the asshole she thought he was. A crack appeared in the image she had of him in her head.
He’d stopped a couple of feet ahead and turned back to her, waiting.
“Yeah. Thanks.” What else what she supposed to say to that?
They continued down the hallway in awkward silence for some moments before Marco chimed in again. “Going to see anything in particular?”
A part of Vivian wanted to keep up the pissed off act and brush him off. One apology didn’t suddenly make him a good guy. But she’d been pretty irate all the way to Rome, and now that she was here—in Rome!—she was tired of being angry. Why ruin her day by getting bent out of shape over one guy? She relented. “Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Colosseum.”
“No Vatican City?” He pressed the down button for the elevator.
Vivian shook her head. “Not enough time. Maybe on the next trip.”
“I take it you’re new to the European lines?” He stood with his hands in his pockets, head tilted back watching the number flicker on the little display on top of the elevator door. His short-sleeved button-down was well fitted, showing off the slight bulge of bicep on his arms. His shorts were well fitted, too, pulled taut across his shapely ass. A light dusting of black hair covered his shins; his feet were clad in comfortable-looking boat shoes.
He glanced over when she took too long to answer.
“Yeah. I am.” She brushed her long side bangs off her forehead. Now that she wasn’t seeing red every time she saw him, she couldn’t help noticing just how attractive Marco was.
“That’s one of the best parts of the job, isn’t it? The travel. New city every week. Never gets boring.”
A quick laugh burst out of Vivian unexpectedly as she remembered all the crazy things she’d experienced mid-flight. “No, never boring.”
When she met his gaze, Marco was smiling. Not the smile he’d used on passengers—polite and welcoming. This one was gentler, soft around the eyes, affectionate. His black lashes made his eyes appear almost kohl-lined. His skin had a golden, olive undertone, like he somehow managed to maintain a perpetual tan despite spending most of his days in a flying tin can. His hair was thick, and Vivian itched to run her fingers through the black strands to find out if they felt as soft as they looked.
The elevator dinged, and Vivian jumped.
“After you,” Marco said as the doors slid open.
There he went again. Acting all chivalrous and everything.
There’s nothing wrong with chivalry, Viv. That’s what her dad would say. No, there technically wasn’t. But she was a full-grown woman, able to open doors all by herself.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Marco was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, too much hotness on display for Vivian’s liking.
“Can I stop you?” Annoyance at herself tainted her words.
“Ouch.” He seemed genuinely wounded. “Never mind.”
Vivian winced. She was giving him a hard time, and he probably had it coming. But there had been a flash of doubt in Marco’s expression, like he was reassessing whether he’d said anything wrong. Another crack appeared, casting Marco as a guy who meant well rather than someone who thought he had all the answers. Attacking him at every opportunity wasn’t going to fix anything. “No, I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “What’s the suggestion?
”
He appeared to weigh his words before he spoke. “I was simply going to suggest going to the Colosseum first. You wouldn’t want to take too long at the other places and run out of time for the main event.” His tone was dry, which Vivian supposed she deserved.
Plus, it was actually a good idea. “Thanks, I’ll do that.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Where are you going?”
Marco shrugged. “Wandering around. I like getting lost in these European cities and stumbling across a local restaurant that the tourists don’t know about.”
“I was hoping to do some of that too.” The elevator arrived in the lobby, and the door opened to a crowd of hotel guests with their giant luggage. Vivian squeezed out as they tried to squeeze in, and by the time she got clear, she’d lost Marco in the crush.
She spun around in a circle until she spotted him helping a gentleman right a suitcase that had toppled over. That was nice of him. In fact, now that she thought about it, everything he’d done since she’d met him was nice. Overbearing and presumptuous, sure, but nice all the way through, like he had good intentions but poor execution.
“Sorry,” he said, joining her after the gentleman with the suitcase had gotten on the elevator. “I see a suitcase and I can’t resist helping. I’m like a dog; I’ve been conditioned.”
He raised his hands like they were paws held just under his chin and gave two mocking pants with his tongue hanging halfway out of his mouth. Laughter spilled out of Vivian before she could stop it. He made fun of himself. She could appreciate that. Oh, what the hell.
“Hey, um.” Vivian stopped him before he turned for the lobby entrance. “I’m sure you’ve been to all the touristy sights before, but, um, would you want to, I don’t know, come with me?” She pushed her bangs off her forehead.
To say he was surprised would be an understatement. After the initial expression of shock, he laughed out loud. “You never cease to amaze, do you?”
Vivian frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Marco’s smile was warm. “I’d love to wander the streets of Rome with you.”
~~~~~
It was . . . amazing. There were no other words for it.
The sun was bright and hot, shining down on the city until everything was sizzling. But the intense heat didn’t deter any of the millions of tourists streaming around the Colosseum.
Vivian squinted from behind her sunglasses, one hand raised to her forehead for added shielding. She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. This was the Colosseum. The site of ancient battles between gladiators, inspiration for dozens of movies, a still-standing monument of the Roman Empire. And she was within touching distance.
“Cool, eh?” Marco stood next to her.
Cool didn’t begin to encompass all that it was. It was . . . indescribable. She pulled out her phone and began snapping pictures.
“You want me to take one?” Marco asked with an outstretched hand.
Vivian had been setting up a selfie. In all her years of solo travel, she’d become adept at them. In fact, it’d become something of a ritual for her dad to print them out and put them on his fridge. Not that he had his own fridge anymore. The sudden reminder shocked her out of her Colosseum-induced awe. She handed her phone to Marco. “Thanks.”
She stood awkwardly, not sure what to do with her hands as Marco squatted to take the picture. She wasn’t used to posing for anyone else.
“Move a little to your left!” Marco called out while waving his hand.
She shuffled over and readjusted her bag.
“Perfect!” He gave her phone back.
“Do you want me to take some for you?” Vivian asked.
Marco shook his head. “No, I don’t take photos.”
“None?” That was ludicrous to Vivian. “Why not? Don’t you want to remember the places you’ve been to?”
“Of course I do.” He shrugged. “I just remember them in my head rather than in a photo.”
“What about sharing the pictures with other people?” Her dad would kill her if she didn’t document every single thing she saw for him.
Marco’s expression took on a hint of wistfulness. “There’s no one worth sharing them with. I’m not big on plastering my whole life on social media for acquaintances to see.”
That sounded sad, but saying sorry felt meaningless and cheap. Instead, Vivian turned back to her phone and pulled up the camera app. As she switched it to video mode, she hesitated. Normally she had no problem recording videos for her dad. She’d send them to him when she got back to her hotel, and it would be like he was there with her. But she typically traveled alone. Would Marco think she was weird?
Vivian shook off the feeling. Why the hell should she care what Marco thought of her? She took a few steps away and raised her phone.
“Hey, Dad!” She aimed the phone up at the sand-colored arches rising three stories into the air. “I’m at the Colosseum. Can you believe it? It’s incredible!” She panned the camera left to right. “This phone can’t capture the scale of the thing. It’s huge. Like huge. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, but still.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Marco watching her. She stopped the video and saved it.
“Is that for your dad?” he asked, stepping closer.
She brushed her bangs off her forehead. “Yeah, it’s this thing we do.”
“That’s . . .”
Vivian stared at him, daring him to say what it was.
“Really amazing.” His sincerity was apparent. “You must be close to him.”
Vivian’s smile grew of its own accord. “We’re pretty close.”
Marco seemed to ponder something, but he spoke before Vivian could ask him what. “Mind if I jump in on that?” He was pointing to her phone.
“On what? My video?” She clutched her phone tighter.
“Yeah. You’re introducing him to the place, right? I can help with that.” Marco stopped suddenly. “Unless it’s like a father-daughter thing. I don’t mean to intrude.”
“No.” Vivian laughed it off awkwardly even though it was kind of a father-daughter thing. “It’s fine.” She pulled up the camera app again.
“Hey, Vivian’s dad!” Marco was all smiles, waving enthusiastically to the camera. “I’m Marco, Vivian’s friend.”
Vivian spun the phone around to point it at herself. “We work together,” she clarified.
Marco laughed. “Right, sorry, we work together. Not friends, at least not yet.”
Oh God. Now she was the ungrateful snob who didn’t have the courtesy to call a co-worker a friend. But Marco was still smiling at her like becoming friends was inevitable, and for some reason it made her pulse race a little faster. It must be the heat of the sun getting to her.
“Anyway, Marco apparently knows stuff about the Colosseum.” She turned the camera back to him.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He pointed to the pillar closest to them, and Vivian followed with the phone. “You see the pockmarks in the walls? The stone walls used to be decorated with colorful marble pieces. After the fall of the Roman Empire, the Colosseum fell into disuse and people started looting anything valuable they could get their hands on. That’s what all the pockmarks are. A lot of the marble pieces from here ended up in St. Peter’s Basilica over at the Vatican.”
Marco appeared pleased with himself. “Impressive, right?”
“Who? You or the looting Catholics?” Vivian shot back with a grin. It was an impressive piece of trivia, but she had to keep his ego in check.
“Me. Of course.” He walked backward along the wide cobblestoned street that surrounded the building, and she followed him while recording. “You know what the inside looks like, right? Big, open arena?”
“Yep.”
“The Romans used to be able to flood the whole thing and reenact naval battles in the same space.”
“That sounds like a lot of water.”
“That’s th
e Romans, go big or go ho—” Marco’s foot caught on a protruding cobblestone, and he pinwheeled his arms as he went down hard.
Vivian burst into a gut-shaking laugh. “Oh my God, are you okay?” She rushed over to where he lay on his back.
“Are you still recording?” Marco shouted, making no move to stand.
Only then did Vivian realize she’d been watching him through the screen of her phone. “Oh shit. Sorry!” She saved the video and put the phone away. “Seriously, you all right?”
“Yeah.”
She offered her hand, which he took, and together they managed to get Marco back on his feet. He brushed off his backside, and Vivian turned him around to check the damage.
“How’s my ass look?” Marco massaged his tailbone.
“Like there’s enough padding to cushion the fall.” Which was to say, pretty damn good. Vivian put some distance between them before she was tempted to give his cheeks a squeeze. She stuck her hands into her pockets just to be safe.
“It’s called a bubble butt, for your information.” He had the good humor to feign offense.
Vivian schooled her face and nodded in solemnity. “Noted.”
They both broke into smiles at the same time, and there went Vivian’s pulse, picking up speed under the warmth of Marco’s grin—or rather, the sun.
Chapter Three
“Buonasera, come posse aiutarvi?” A waiter in a white uniform and long black apron welcomed them to the tiny restaurant hidden away in a side street. Marco had never been there before, but it looked like a place that would have good food. He’d rarely been disappointed in Italy.
“Un tavolo per due persone, grazie,” Marco said to the waiter.
They were shown to a tiny table on the street in front of the restaurant, separated from the storefront by a strip of sidewalk. Marco winced as he sat, his tailbone sore from his earlier idiotic fall at the Colosseum.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vivian asked for the eighteenth time. At least she wasn’t giggling while she asked it now, small consolation it was to Marco’s pride.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s probably bruised. I’ll survive.” He shot her a mock glare. “It wasn’t funny.”
