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Rolling my eyes, I turn to Ella and Isla. Isla is currently running in circles around our little group, arms out wide. Ella jerks her head towards her.
“She’s an airplane.”
“Ah. Of course.” I watch Isla for a minute, shaking my head. “I guess at least she’s going to crash and burn and sleep like a rock tonight.”
Before Ella can answer, Natasha waves her phone around and announces that the SUV should be here in less than a minute. I glare at her, but I focus on being able to get all of our little party into said SUV, along with the luggage.
When I’m safely seated in the SUV, I pull out my phone and browse through the new emails that have popped up in my inbox. Ella and Isla sit in the row behind me, their faces pressed against the window. Out of one ear, I hear them point out things as they see them.
“All the buildings here are old and dusty,” Isla says, her voice disapproving. “It’s gross.”
Ella laughs. “Remember what we talked about?”
“No.”
“You should be open to new experiences,” Ella gently chides her. “I know you can’t fully appreciate this, but just getting to visit Rome is amazing. Most kids don’t get to take these kinds of international trips on their summer break.”
Isla is quiet for a minute. “Where do other people go on their breaks?”
“Well, where I’m from, most people never leave the city at all. So no fancy private planes. No cushy SUVs like the one we are in. My parents don’t just own their own penthouse in basically any city they want to visit.”
“Are your parents poor?”
Ella gives a surprised laugh. “Not at all! Your dad just happens to be a very lucky man.”
I turn around, looking back at my daughter. “That was a rude question.”
My phone chirps in my hand. I look down to find a message from my private investigatory team titled: WENDY ALLEN.
Widening my eyes a little, I quickly scroll through the email. A slow smile spreads across my face as I read the information presented.
My PI team finally found concrete proof of some information that Wendy won’t want anyone talking about. I look back at Ella, satisfaction sparkling in my eyes.
She glances up at me, sees that I’m excited about something. She mouths, “What?” to me.
But I just shake my head. Now is not the time nor the place.
As we drive through the tourist-packed streets of Rome, I find myself in a good mood. The ancient white stone that makes up most of the buildings here is unique and eye-catching. The SUV drives down into a more densely populated district. At one point we pull up at a stoplight and right there before us is the oldest part of Rome, spilled out like ink etched into an ancient map. The slightly darker roofs are all the same material but all different shapes; domes, steeples, cupolas. Looking out over the city takes my breath away just a little even though I’ve seen it before dozens of times.
When we finally climb out of the SUV, I can’t look away from the Pantheon. It stands to our left, its neat triangular roof and classic Roman columns the very definition of impressive. It is sucking up all of the air in the broad plaza.
My eyes go to Ella. She’s staring at the building like it is the only one of its kind, though we are surrounded on all sides by ancient architecture on all sides.
I brush her hand with mine. She startles and looks at me with something akin to shell-shock. My lips twitch and she wrinkles her nose at me.
Natasha walks right between us, lugging a heavy bag toward the sidewalk. She seems huffy, although that could be leftover irritation from her screwup at the airport.
I watch her go, shaking my head. When I glance back to Ella, she has a small smile on her face.
“This is my first time in Rome,” she reminds me in a soft tone. “Most of us haven’t had the lavish lifestyle you’ve been afforded.”
“I didn’t say a word.” I shrug a shoulder and clap Isla on the shoulder, ruffling her hair. “Come on. Let’s go inside and put our bags down. Then we can regroup.”
Taking Isla by the hand, I head away from the Pantheon and toward a large marble building on the very opposite end of the large plaza. It’s a large stone building of only five stories, but it is the better half of a city block in size. Small groups of tourists flit back and forth before me, too busy looking at their maps to notice the small entourage that trails me, bringing the luggage along.
When I walk up to the building, massive glass doors open. A small bald-headed man in a pristine blue uniform bows, greeting me.
“Lord Grayrose. Welcome to Rome. I hope your flight was a pleasant one. I am Lorenzo, your concierge for the day. Please, step inside La Rosa.”
