When in Rome (A Heart of the City Romance Book 4)

by C.J Duggan

  I blocked out those voices inside my head—No time for negativity—as I shifted, moving to push Marcello against the door, so hard his back hit. I took great delight in the way his brows rose in surprise. I giggled against his mouth, taking control and being far less gentle than he had been with me. Maybe it was the alcohol that gave me the courage, or the brink of something ready to explode inside me that had me so ready for this, whatever this was.

  Rome had never looked so good: Marcello’s hands sliding up across my dress towards my breast, kissing me back harder, faster and more eagerly. The moment was broken by the echoing, drunken singing that would haunt me long after this trip was over.

  ‘When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore!’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Nate.’ I breathed out a laugh, glancing back at Marcello who had frozen, listening to the approach of the nearing chorus. I expected to see those dimples, for him to laugh and shake his head. But instead something flashed across his face when I looked at him, and the act of him breaking away from me so fast was like a slap. He moved to lean against the alcove of the door, his hands in his pockets. I stood there, chilled by the sudden exposure I felt now that he had put space between us; was he that embarrassed to be seen with me? I frowned at him, offended and ready to ask what the hell he was doing when Nate appeared, his arm slung around Kylie’s shoulder, who seemed to have miraculously recovered from her heartbreak over Johnny.

  ‘Marcelloooooo, come stai,’ Nate sung into the air.

  Marcello smiled at me, trying to include me into the moment, but I wasn’t exactly feeling the funny vibe, too pissed to be lighthearted right now.

  ‘Oops, we weren’t interrupting, were we?’ Nate whispered, or at least attempted to.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, wrapping my arms around myself and pushing away from the door. ‘Are you guys heading back?’ I asked, moving to stand with them in the street.

  ‘Si,’ Nate said, followed by a hiccup.

  ‘Good, I’m coming too.’

  ‘Sweeeet, party at Hotel Luce del Sole,’ Nate yelled.

  Kylie looked between me and Marcello, her bloody woman’s intuition not missing a beat, the air so thick with tension I could see her brain ticking over in thought.

  ‘You’re not coming, Marcello?’

  I hated her in that moment, but not more than I hated him when he answered, ‘No, I think I’m going to call it a night.’ His eyes flicked to me, but I wasn’t interested in the staring game right now. I simply walked away, not even giving him the courtesy of saying goodnight.

  I marched with my arms braced around myself, warding off an invisible chill, so angry I had to make sure I didn’t let my rage step me too far away from Nate and Kylie, who followed behind. They were there, I could hear them, but I wouldn’t look back to check where or how far. I was done looking back.

  I might be many things—a joke, a snake—but I would never be someone’s dirty little secret in the dark.

  Ever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Concentrate on the cracks, Sammi, keep focusing on the cracks.

  It was the only way I could stop the world from spinning, staring down and hiding in the shadow of Nate’s six-foot-three shadow as the blistering Italian sun beat down on us.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sammi? You don’t look so good.’

  I swallowed deeply, shaking my head and placing my finger to my lips to urge silence. I could feel the chunks rising, and staring at the cracks in the pavement helped keep me from filling them with the remnants of last night. Ugh, now I didn’t want to look at them. I tilted my head up to the sunshine, thinking some vitamin D might help. Wrong! I wanted to hiss at the sun that threatened to pierce through my Ray-Bans; the throbbing of my brain and the burn of my skin was enough to make me feel nauseous. Worse still, we were standing in the longest line I had ever seen in my life.

  ‘How much longer?’ I groaned, shielding my face from the sun and pressing my rapidly warming water bottle to my neck. I looked on at the group, amazed at their ability to recover from last night’s binge drinking. But worse than the effects of the alcohol were the vague memories of pissed-off meter maids, shots at the bar borne of desperation and the very real and very vivid memory of kissing Marcello. The way he pressed me against the rough edges of the building, the feel of his tongue in my mouth, his hand sliding up my thigh.

  ‘I think I need to sit down,’ I announced, feeling the world fall away before I made the move to sit, my vision going dark as someone’s arms broke my fall, muffled voices and shadows dancing around me.

  Air whipped at my face, followed by a drenching of water that felt icy against my burning skin. I flinched, coughing and spluttering.

  ‘I think she has alcohol poisoning.’ Harper’s voice seemed so far away that I felt like I was hallucinating, but when I opened my eyes to see her big brown ones filled with concern I realised I was back in the land of the living.

  ‘And here I was thinking I was going to have to offer mouth-to-mouth,’ Nate said, suggestively.

  Now I knew this wasn’t a hallucination.

  My eyes shifted to Nate’s upside down smile; my head was resting on his thigh.

  ‘Why am I always waking up with your penis near my face?’

  Nate shrugged. ‘Just lucky, I guess.’

  Ordinarily I would have been mortified at having released my internal thoughts without edit, but for now I was far too sick and sorry to care about it, lying on my back like a starfish on a rocky street in Rome, which was, incidentally, really uncomfortable.

  ‘Man, you better get up before Maria gets back. I haven’t been standing here for the past hour only to miss out because you can’t handle your grog.’

  ‘Oh, Jodie, always so selfless.’ Nate laughed, helping me to sit up, which was a monumental effort. I rubbed at the back of my head, which hammered with pain, double-checking there was no blood. I examined my clean hand, before mustering enough energy to glower up at Jodie, standing there with her arms crossed.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said.

  ‘Like what?’ Maria’s heels appeared out of nowhere, her dazzling smile accented by hot cherry lipstick that matched her dress. Following Jodie’s eyeline, she saw me on the ground, white and beaded with sweat.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Before I could answer, Nate moved to sit cross-legged beside me. ‘Oh, we’re just taking ten, Maria. We like to switch things up.’

  I didn’t have it in me to fake it, nor to continue in line. ‘I think I got too much sun yesterday,’ I confessed. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Then I remembered Maria was at the bar with us last night, batting her eyes at Nate. Oh, God, had Maria seen me knocking back drinks at the bar like a sailor?

  Jodie snorted. If I had the strength I would have kicked her feet out from underneath her.

  ‘Well, you certainly don’t look very well. Let’s get you out of the heat,’ Maria said, her voice laced with concern. She was probably worried about how my potential hospitalisation would affect her Trip Advisor rating.

  ‘Would you mind if I head back to the hotel? I think I just need to take a nap.’ Having the room to myself would be amazing. I would sleep off my hangover, drink plenty of water and have a decent, sensible meal and an early night. The thought of eating made my stomach roil distressingly, but I knew I needed to get some food into me … and keep it down. We were leaving Rome tomorrow so I really had to sort myself out; being trapped on a bus feeling like this was not an option.

  ‘But you’re going to miss the Colosseum tour.’ Bookworm Gary seemed deeply concerned, unable to understand my decision to opt out of the longest queue on earth. As I stared up at the imposing, arched grandeur of Il Colosseo I felt only a dizzying nausea, proof that I was in no fit state to appreciate the historic wonder. Nate helped me to stand as I swayed and tried not to fall in front of Maria, who was, thankfully, distracted with her cell phone.

  ‘Sorry, guys,’ I said, and mea
nt it too. While we weren’t exactly the tightest crew, I didn’t want to spoil anyone’s day—well, except perhaps Jodie’s.

  Harper rubbed my arm. ‘You do look really bad,’ she said with a pout. I knew she didn’t mean anything by it, our drunken tiff forgotten in the bright light of day, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Maybe I was being precious, I thought, examining the group before me, a picture of health. Johnny had matched me drink for drink and he seemed fine. Kylie and Harper had sipped ridiculously large, seriously strong cocktails and they were positively chipper; was I really such a lightweight? Maybe I should put on my big-girl pants and just tough it out. But as we shuffled forward, I realised that they were the first actual steps we had taken in the line. Could I handle walking around a space that was over twenty-four thousand square metres when I had just fainted after standing still?

  I was so done.

  Just as I was about to admit my defeat to them all, Maria ended her phone call.

  ‘Come, Sammi—I have organised for you to get back to the hotel.’

  I wasn’t going to lie—I was flooded with so much relief that my shoulders visibly sagged. Though the bus that had dropped us off what seemed like hours before lacked air-conditioning and apparently any form of suspension, I awaited its return as if it were a solid gold chariot turning up to my rescue.

  ‘Thanks, Maria,’ I said quietly, zapped of energy but also sorry that I was being so difficult, walking away from the group and leaving them to themselves and their high-functioning livers. Seriously, how did they do it? Freaks.

  Maria walked me to the edge of the promenade, where I could lean against a blissfully cool stone wall in the shade of the buildings and take small, quenching sips of water from a Roman drinking fountain, thoughtfully installed to keep tourists hydrated on hot summer days. I fantasised that the water might have magical healing powers, or provide eternal youth, or something. Or at least provide the drinker with the power to get through one day without embarrassing themselves, which would be mighty useful right now. Alas, it was not so, but I did feel slightly better.

  ‘Sorry to be such a nuisance, Maria.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry.’ She waved away my words. ‘It happens all the time.’

  I straightened a little, energised by the thought that I was not alone in my idiocy. ‘Really?’ I asked.

  Maria cocked her head to the side, her brow crinkling as she searched her memory for the last time such an event had occurred. With a quick intake of breath, she went to speak but then stopped, shaking her head and mumbling under her breath. She pursed her lips and tapped her chin.

  Yep, there was no one else like me. I had been told as much yesterday. I was different. I was the only twenty-something who could not manage to drink, dance and enjoy the sheer abandonment of my youth. Instead, I felt like a ninety-year-old woman who needed sensible shoes and an afternoon nap. I should never have come here. I should have just saved my money and watched Roman Holiday again from the safety of my own recliner, where the Pepsi Max flowed and the bowls of Samboy salt-and-vinegar chips were eternal.

  ‘Anyway, not to worry, you’ll be resting soon.’ Maria rubbed my shoulder, sympathetically.

  I inhaled deeply, longing for the churning, long-since serviced sound of the little white bus pulling up, its doors screeching only partly open until the driver pulled them all the way apart. Right now it was my only fantasy, however sad that was.

  Eager for a distraction, I surveyed the surrounding crowds, all kitted out with comfortable shoes, water bottles, backpacks and simmering excitement. A man pushed a sleeping child in a pram. A group of laughing girls tried to navigate the challenge of their selfie stick. A couple had a barely contained argument in front of their children, all of them hot and exhausted before their day had even begun. It was the credo of tourists: see as much as you can, snap as many pictures as you can, look happy—even if that means faking it—and keep going, no matter the cost. Later they’d all be swearing over their hotel internet access while adding filters and then uploading dream holiday snaps to their social media pages in a desperate bid to make everyone back home envious; I mean, they were only human. I, on the other hand, was a terrible poster girl for my generation. I hadn’t uploaded anything; my phone had a few snaps of some of yesterday’s sights, but mostly I’d been too lost, too in awe, too invested in what I was seeing. Not counting on wiping myself out in the first few days, I had assumed that I would get to see it all again—that I would have the chance to play catch-up and be a better ultimate tourist; to show my parents a slideshow of photos that they could brag to their friends about in supermarket aisles.

  ‘Yes, Claire is still in Paris—oh, and did I mention Sammi is in Rome now?’

  I felt a pang of homesickness, but more than that I felt a sudden urge to call my sister, to beg her to come to Rome and hold a cold compress to my forehead and tuck me into some clean sheets. But as much as I wanted that, there was a part of me that never wanted to tell anyone, ever, how much of a lame human being I was. I couldn’t blame it on heatstroke. I blamed it on my ill-fated attempt at letting go of my inhibitions and living life with abandon. For me, that apparently translated to poor decision-making, like deciding to kiss Marcello. This way of living clearly led to trouble. As much as I would be sad to leave Rome tomorrow, my departure couldn’t come soon enough. One more night of laying low and this city, and the beautiful brown-eyed man, would be left behind.

  He would be the one good thing I could relay to my grandchildren in many years to come. I could build it up as an enchanting, epic story of love in Rome; Marcello, the man I never saw again, who simply slid into the night, never to be heard from again. It certainly sounded a lot more magical than my current sequence of events: a drunken pash followed by the mother of all hangovers, which saw me trying to keep the chunks down out the front of the Colosseum. Nope, the other version was so much sweeter.

  I smiled to myself, remembering the pulse of the music, the flash of the lights and Marcello’s hot mouth on my neck as I laughed and pressed into him, his skin burning and sliding against mine as if no one was watching. I felt my cheeks heat at the memory of the man who made me feel unexpected things, who made the blood pump in my veins and my heart beat erratically. In one day he had given me more of Rome than I had ever expected—a unique view of the city that doesn’t feature in the glossy tour guides. As I smiled to myself, sifting through the small pros of my short stay here, I tried not to let my heart feel too heavy about the mysterious Roman. He was just a memory now, a hot, sordid memory overruled by how quickly he had moved away, not wanting to be seen with me.

  I slid down the wall, taking a moment to rest my forehead on my knees and indulge in replays of last night, so vivid it was like I was back there again. The burn of the shots of off-brand liquor at the bar, the look of dark, deep-set eyes watching me with amusement. With the cool stone at my back, a moment to rest in the shade and the memories of a not altogether bad evening, I felt much better; the nausea had eased and the world had stopped spinning. I had worked through the worst and, although I wasn’t going to head back into the line, I would be climbing aboard the bus feeling much better.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. You’re going to be okay, Sammi.

  And then I heard his name.

  ‘About time, Marcello!’ Maria’s voice rang out.

  I lifted my head and saw that unmistakable figure in the distance, making his way towards us, and I felt my stomach twist again. I didn’t feel so good anymore.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There was no bus, no golden chariot; instead, there was Marcello and a helmet held out to me.

  I recoiled. ‘What is that?’

  His eyes dipped to his hand, confused. But I wasn’t referring to what he was holding; my attention was fiercely locked on what was behind him. Marcello’s eyes eventually followed.

  ‘I am not getting on that,’ I said, crossing my arms and taking a step back.

  Maria touched the side of m
y arm tentatively. ‘It really is the fastest way to get back, and far more comfortable than you would expect.’

  ‘Where’s the bus?’

  Maria sighed, looking at her phone. ‘Pietro is not answering his phone. He won’t be back here for another three hours for pick-up.’

  I paused. Was three hours really so long in the scheme of things? I looked at Marcello, my knight in shining armour, though there was nothing shiny about him. He was dressed in all black: black jeans, black tee, black boots, black mood. The cheery, smouldering Marcello I kissed last night had been replaced by a cold, distant stranger. Maria looked between the two of us, our body language speaking volumes, my arms crossed, his insouciant lean. It was like she was working with two defiant children. The fact he seemed so unimpressed about having to help me made me all the madder; had he regretted last night so much? While I was seated on the cobblestones lost in dreamy reminiscing about what could have been the one highlight of my Roman adventure, he was dragged here to help Maria clean up my mess.

  A story to tell my grandchildren? Jesus, Sammi, wake up.

  ‘Sammi, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to the group and I can’t leave without knowing what you want to do.’ Maria’s voice snapped me out of my death stare and I blanched.

  Shit, it’s not always about you, Sammi.

  ‘Sorry, Maria, of course. Look, I think I will wait for the bus. I have water and shade and I’ll be—’