Page 96 of Only One Tour Bus

“The rest of the day is yours to explore. Group dinner is tonight at six, and tomorrow we’ll be back here for the Vatican, which we’ll start early because there’s a lot to see, but most of it is inside. Callum has the lists for recommendations on what to see, eat, and drink like the Romans did. Enjoy and please stay hydrated and sun-screened in this heat. I have some if you want to reapply before you leave!”

“Our babies are off on their last adventures with us.” I rest my head on Callum’s shoulder in sadness. The same sadness that comes near the end of every tour. It’s hard to spend twenty days with a group of people, taking care of them and spending so much time with them, and then watch them leave, most likely never seeing them again.

“They’ll be fine.” But Callum puts his arm around me to comfort me when I’m being absurd. “Roshni and Camila look happier together.”

“I know. Did you see Camila help Roshni down those stairs at the ruins? So romantic. So much eye contact and lingering touches.”

“And I’ve seen some of the individual tourists group together and open up, too.”

“My dream of being a bridesmaid at a former client’s wedding is getting closer and closer.” I rub my hands together like a supervillain planning world domination and not a woman planning on how to get an awkwardly fitted, unflatteringly colored dress.

“One day, I’m sure.” Callum nods.

“In the meantime, there is something I’ve never done in Rome that I really want to.”

“What is it?”

“It’s something that I’ve dreamed about but never took the plunge to actually doing when I’ve been here in the past.”

“All right,” Callum says it slowly, probably wondering why I still haven’t said what the activity is. He’s rightfully cautious after what happened in Venice.

Because I know he’ll hate it. That’s why I’m avoiding telling him.

“So you’ll do it with me?”

“You still haven’t told me what it is.”

“But will you do it with me?”

Callum puts both hands on my waist, turning me so I’m looking at him directly in the face. “Once you tell me what it is,” he says slowly.

“Well…the activity is a staple in this city. A cultural experience.”

“Is it starting an empire that spans Europe, Northern Africa, and Western Asia?”

“That seems very ambitious. I was thinking we would start with this thing and then maybe work our way up to imperialism. And then not do imperialism, because it sucks.”

Callum’s shoulder’s sag as he comes to some internal realization. One he’s resigned himself to. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph. It’s Vespas, isn’t it?”

The wind rushes through my hair as my Vespa zips along the busy Via del Corso. Sure, it’s hot air, but it’s marginally better than standing in still hot air.

“Weee, Callum! I’m on a Vespa!” I have no idea if he can hear me over the sounds of afternoon traffic on this road, but it feels right to verbalize the weee either way.

“I can see that.” The words are behind me, where Callum is driving along on his own Vespa. Not nearly as excited as me, but he did agree to get on his Vespa, so a smart woman would take her wins and not push.

And I am a smart woman, as much as Rob doesn’t think so.

Since I didn’t have confidence in our Vespa driving ability, especially with the look on Callum’s face when he heard the idea and only begrudgingly agreed, I found a tour to train us on the vehicles and take us around the city.

Callum has been very judgmental toward our poor tour guide and the amount of history that he’s (not) learning from this trip. Which is unfair since he is an expert, and also in the tour game. He keeps looking at me, deadpan, whenever we make our (numerous) photo stops. I just roll my eyes and make him take photos with me in front of the most beautiful sights in the city.

And I get plenty of photos of him on a Vespa. Not for social media; for me and my memories of this trip.

When we’re at the Colosseum he even tells me to hand him the “wee camera” and takes some pictures of me, ordering me around to where he feels is the best shot for me and, more importantly (to him), for the Colosseum. And then he takes some more of both of us (me and the historic site) on his own phone.

I think he might be developing a little bit of enjoyment for photography, even if I do think I might have created a monster. A very bossy monster to rival the most demanding photographers in the fashion industry.

And I think I love this monster. I love the way he lights up when he talks about history. The way he pretends he doesn’t enjoy things he’s decided are frivolous but secretly likes doing them, just a little bit and not in a way he’ll admit out loud. But I know him by now; if he really didn’t want to engage with my shenanigans, he wouldn’t.