Less than a minute later we spilled back onto the street in a noisy cluster of athletes, winter sunlight bouncing off shop windows while Olympic volunteers shouted directions at confused tourists near the barricades.
Olympic Boulevard buzzedaround us with constant movement and color, tourists flooding between outdoor screens and merchandise stalls while volunteers directed crowds toward Piazza Duomo.
Noah bought roasted chestnuts from a street vendor and burned his fingers trying to eat them too fast.
“This is how I die,” he announced to all of us.
“Not fast enough,” Nathan replied with a smirk. “And can you do it quieter?”
Luka walked beside me as we moved through the crowds, close enough that I remained painfully conscious of him without either of us risking accidental contact. Every few seconds I caught him looking around at the city itself: people packed shoulder to shoulder beneath flags and banners, athletes laughing openly in the streets, couples holding hands without glancing over their shoulders first.
I watched him notice all of it.
At one point we passed two men kissing outside a bookstore beneath a faded Pride flag hanging crookedly over the doorway. Luka’s stride faltered before he kept walking, and that tiny reaction hit harder than any dramatic confession could have.
Nobody here even looked twice.
For him, though, I could practically see old instincts colliding against the reality in front of him. After what he’d told me about that guy, Kristof—and what Mark had shared—I could only imagine what was going through his head.
By the time we reached Piazza del Duomo, the square had filledwith tourists taking photographs beneath the cathedral’s massive white façade while street musicians butchered an Italian pop song somewhere near the metro entrance.
Brooke stopped dead. “This cannot be a real building.” Her tone held awe.
Beside me, Luka tilted his head back toward the cathedral spires disappearing into the pale winter sky. The tension that had followed him into the café eased from his face while he stared upward.
“No,” he murmured. “It really cannot.”
Then a familiar voice cut through the noise behind us.
“Well. That explains why Ethan refused to tell me who else was coming.”
Mila froze.
I turned to find Donna DeLuca standing a few feet away in a dark wool coat, sunglasses pushed into her hair despite the weak sunlight. She gazed at Mila, her smile warm enough to start a fire all on its own. “Hey, beautiful.”
The changein Mila's face happened so quickly it caught me off guard. Surprise flashed across her features, then dissolved into a happiness so obvious there was no hiding it.
Everyone else saw it too.
“Oh my God,” Noah whispered behind me. “There aremultiplesecret relationships happening?”
“Shut up,” Keisha muttered, clearly delighted.
Mila appeared completely blindsided. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?”
Donna shrugged as she approached us. “I wanted to surprise you.” She beamed. “Surprise. Although I should clarify that whatever weird matchmaking operation Ethan’s running had nothing to do with me.”
“I prefer the term visionary,” Ethan replied.
She glanced in his direction, then bit her lip. “I haven’t told a soulabout you, for obvious reasons. But honey….” Her eyes sparkled. “I’m sure happy to see you.”
Mila looked wrecked in the best way humanly possible.
Ethan leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Wanna know something? Mila looks at Donna the same way Luka looks at you, when he’s forgotten to hide it.”
I couldn’t say a word.
Donna took Mila’s hand without hesitation, a totally natural gesture.
