Ellie always took pains to avoid talking about Miss Brightling; the mere mention of his fiance caused Henry to retreat into himself.
“I—yes.” Ellie extended her trembling hand, and his smile spread again. “And I promise to return it.”
Henry held her palm in his and they both giggled. “This feels terribly formal.”
“Far too serious for us,” Ellie replied as he slid the band down her finger. The last time someone pushed a wedding ring on her hand, her groom grimaced and looked at her with disdain. She fought the longing swelling in her breast, the desire for this gesture tomeansomething.
This ring was promised to another woman, one an ocean away but still occupying a place in Henry’s future, unlike Ellie.
They both stared at the ring for a moment before she met his gaze. “Thank you, though. It was thoughtful of you.”
He shrugged. “I’ll wear this one, too.” He withdrew a larger band and shrugged. “My grandfather’s. They were in love, and they wanted to keep their rings together…” He trailed off, and Ellie felt a jolt of panic.
“You don’t need to do this. We don’t have to wear rings—”
“I want to, if you do.” His breathing was quick, and the insecurity in his expression took her aback.
“I do,” she said before nearly choking on the phrase. “I mean—”
Henry laughed, his shoulders relaxing, then handed her the larger band. “Would you do the honors?”
Ellie took his hand and slid the ring over his finger, the gesture so intimate a rush of affection poured through her. “I look forward to being married to you.”
He gave her a half smile that melted her, an impressive feat considering she had already dissolved into the planks below her feet. “And I you, wife.”
Bloody cobblestones.
No, that expletive was not strong enough. Henry’s soles throbbed so violently he wished for some Roman deity to strike him down just to end his misery.
Rome had no limit to its labyrinthine streets. Evidently his Italian was worse than he thought, because Henry’s directions had landed them at the wrong hotel, requiring them to backtrack to their proper destination on foot.
“I swore the hotel would be right here,” Ellie muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. Her cheeks were pink, curls stuck to her temples.
Ellie held the map in her guidebook and pivoted it in her hands, attempting to determine where they had become turned around. The first time they’d become lost, he had made a joke to ease her frustration; the second time he had said nothing while gritting his teeth. But now the sun was hanging high overhead, baking his skin like the surface of a star. He was past the point of jollity.
“El—” Henry dropped his hands to his knees. “Please, can we ask someone for directions?”
Her eyes, like the rest of Henry’s existence, blazed with irritation. “I tried that,” Ellie spat. “Don’t you remember? And we both thought we knew Italian, but after we passed the same fountain three times realized neither of us actuallyspeaksthe language required torequestorcomprehendthe directions?”
He stared at her for a moment, wondering if she might truly burst into flames. So he burst into laughter.
“Oh, El, come here,” he said, pulling her into a damp hug.
She grimaced as she came into contact with his soggy waistcoat and pushed back. “I say we jump in the next fountain we see.”
“Capital idea.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. “You go first.”
She barked out a laugh as they turned a corner and the street opened into a long, bow-shaped plaza. White-washed buildings flanked one side, wrought-iron balconies draped with begonias. The day’s laundry hung limply between windows over the square as though they too were exhausted from the heat. Romans gathered to celebrate the end of a work day over antipasti and wine at café tables beneath sun-bleached canopies. On the far side was a cathedral, a massive dome with matching towers dominating its facade. In the center was a towering fountain and sculpture. A giant Egyptian obelisk towered above four travertine blocks with intricate sculptures reaching towards the heavens.
“This is it, the Piazza Navona!” Ellie exclaimed, her voice trembling with exhaustion and glee. “And that’s the Bernini, theFour Rivers.Egglesford lectured about this during the first week. Look at the details of the water flow!”
“Ellie,” Henry growled. “Hotel. Now. There are riversin my shoes.”
On a cooler day, her glare could have turned him to ice. “Our hotel isthere, the Hotel d'Navona.”
She gestured towards a white brick structure rising behind one restaurant, its wall decked with climbing vines and wisteria. Arched windows swung open in the oppressive heat, linen curtains stretching their fingers out over the balcony rails as though attempting to catch the breeze.
“Charming,” Henry said, his voice low.
