“You’re ready,” I say, approaching her as she looks up at the sound of my voice.
“Yeah,” Hannah says, and shrugs with a giggle. “I don’t know why, but I woke up early today. I guess it must be the excitement.”
I can only blink for a moment. And here I thought I was the only one who had been bitten by the bug. Am I crazy, or is getting Hannah to fall into my arms going to be easier than I thought?
“Well, there’s not a moment to lose,” I tell her crisply, offering my arm. She stands to take it in what I hope will become a habitual gesture, smoothing out her clothes. Today she’s wearing a cute dress that falls to her knees, patterned with yellow and brown polka dots that make me think of sunflowers. Fitted to her waist, it flares out below, making her bust stand out in the tightly-fitted fabric that reveals a little of her cleavage. I feel a tightening sensation in my groin, the beginning of hardness. I don’t want to imagine other men seeing that cleavage, but at the same time, the jealousy stirs something in me.
“Where are we going first?” Hannah asks, thankfully breaking my train of thought.
“Where else?” I ask. “Il Colosseo. The Colosseum, I believe you call it.”
Hannah claps her hands in delight as we walk towards the doors. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing it. Is it as good as it looks in the pictures?”
“Why ask me?” I say with a smile. “You’re about to find out for yourself.”
And we are off. From that moment, the conversation flows freely, and with every moment I find myself becoming bound to Hannah more and more. With her delighted excitement at the Colosseum itself and the subsequent visit to the Pantheon; with her serious questions in return to the excellent local knowledge of each of these sights that I give her; with her ability to talk about anything, no matter the topic, and even to strike up conversations with other tourists in the short lines that we have to join here and there.
Of course, we don’t have to line up often. I made sure of that by calling in some favors, and we are able to enjoy everything at our own pace without the pressure of time, seeing everything to its fullest. I want Hannah to take home great memories of Rome, for this to be a week she will never forget. It will need to be, if she’s going to come back to me afterward, to remain at my side.
By far the favorite moment of the day for me is after the Pantheon when we retreat around the corner to a well-known gelateria that is hidden behind the ancient building, for traditional Italian sorbet in cones. Hannah grabs her phone and gestures to me, beckoning me closer; when I do, she aims the camera our way and we take a shot together, holding our sorbets, smiling, the Pantheon’s ancient walls behind us.
“Our first selfie,” she tells me with a laugh. “Don’t we look so happy?”
“We do,” I agree, surprised in spite of myself. “But you should put the phone away. Your sorbet is dripping.”
With a yelp, Hannah flicks out her tongue, lapping melted sorbet away from the side of the cone. I feel that tightening again and look away for a moment. What I wouldn’t do to have that tongue somewhere else, to have her lapping away at me instead. And if I don’t find a way to control my lust, it might be sooner than expected.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hannah
Dinner is the perfect end to a wonderful day. I’ve seen so much of Rome already, and Marco has been attentive at every step. True to his word, he showed me how to skip past all of the lines, to evade the tourists’ traps, even the rose sellers in the squares who are determined to trick you into parting with a Euro. After a visit to the Trevi Fountain, where everyone throngs in droves and the air is stifling, we escape to another restaurant, this time in a room that appears carved out of stone with a traditional atmosphere.
“So, what do you think of Rome now?” Marco asks, watching me as I skim through the menu.
I look up with a grin. “I love it,” I say, and I don’t think I just mean the city. Not that I could dare say that to him – but the way he’s looked after me all day makes me feel so safe and happy. With Marco, it feels like I could have anything I ever wanted – and he even manages to make me feel as though I would deserve it.
“Want to share a pizza?” Marco asks. He reaches over and taps a spot on my menu, a giant-sounding pizza with so many toppings I have trouble visualizing them all on one slice.
“That sounds good,” I smile. It does. It really does. Sharing food – it makes this feel almost like a date. I decide, that it wouldn’t be too awful if I allowed myself to pretend that it is.
“I’ll order,” Marco says, waving a waiter over. He speaks to the man in rapid-fire Italian, and I know that we’re about to eat something special. Marco seems to have that effect, wherever we go. Either it’s because he knows this city so well that he can always find his way to the best, or it’s because he has that presence about him that makes people want to do better – I can’t tell. But the effect must be wearing off on me, too, because I’m still lamenting the state of the suitcase I brought with me and the utter lack of anything I could wear that might possibly be deemed sexy.
The food comes before long – another aspect of the Marco effect, I’m sure – and I can’t help
