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JULIET
I finishmy third glass of champagne as the plane dips through the clouds and Rome comes into view, a patchwork quilt of fields and foreign architecture spread out below me.
We’re here.
A little thrill travels down my spine as the pilot announces the final descent. First class was lovely, but I can’t wait to get out and explore Rome.
I return my tray table to its upright position and take a glance into the aisle. Caleb is seated one row ahead of me, on the other side. I think he kept us apart for a reason, and I can’t say I mind one bit. He’s been sipping coffee and tapping away on his laptop, the entire eight-hour flight.
Fine with me. Not being near him meant I could relax and enjoy the luxurious surroundings. I even got a little nap in, converting my seat to a lay-flat bed. I’m glad, I’ll need all my strength—and wits—to deal with him on this trip, and even now, I’m bracing myself for hostilities to resume when we land.
But they don’t. We roll into the gate, and the doors open, but Caleb doesn’t pay me any more attention than he has for the rest of the flight: He grabs his briefcase and heads out to the terminal, without so much as a glance in my direction.
Okaaaay, fine.
I follow him to baggage claim and retrieve my things. A driver is waiting past security, carrying a sign for Sterling Cross, and he whisks us outside, to where a sleek black town car is idling by the curb. I slip inside, seated beside Caleb in the backseat.
But still, he doesn’t say a word. He just scrolls on his phone, tapping at the screen, as the car glides away, ignoring me—and the foreign city outside the window. But I can’t play it so cool. I practically press my forehead to the glass window, drinking in the new sights and sounds as we make our way into Rome.
It’s incredible.
Tightly packed traffic snarling the boulevards, modern buildings jostling with ancient crumbling ruins. Everywhere I look, there’s something new to take in, from the wide streets with chic boutiques, to the daredevil scooters flying past. And through it all, the terracotta glow of golden sun sinking in the evening sky, like the city is bathed in a different kind of light than back home.
I can’t get enough.
The car pulls up outside our hotel, and I take another gasp of delight. “That’s the Colosseum!” I say, staring in awe at the ancient ruins sitting right across the street.
“Si, signora.” The driver beams, but Caleb is as expressionless as ever. I’m breathless. I never thought, in my life, that I’d be here. The city is alive, full of ancient Roman architecture, quaint cafes, the scent of garlic and delicious Italian food. What more can I want?
“I have meetings to attend to for the rest of the day,” Caleb says shortly, as a bellhop takes our bags. “You can get settled in. Jet lag can be a bitch.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say immediately, watching him leave. Sleep? Who needs it when I have exploring to do?
Except… As I check in and take the elevator to my hotel room, I start to yawn. Once. Twice.
I swipe the keycard and open the door to a gorgeous suite, with gilded fixtures and flowered wallpaper, like a room out of a palace. Crossing to the window, I throw open the balcony doors for a perfect view of Rome. Dragging the air through my lungs, I will myself to stop yawning. There is so much to do. So much to see.
I turn to the bed. It’s so fluffy and inviting, piled with pillows.
I’ll just take a little nap and then go out on the town, I tell myself, pulling back the covers and kicking off my shoes as I yawn, yet again. Just a little one.
* * *
When I wake,bright sunlight is streaming through the curtains.
I sit up and look down at myself. I’m still wearing my traveling clothes. I find my phone. It’s eight o’ clock—in the morning!
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stretch. I’ve slept all night.
Shoot. I’ve slept all night.
I jump out of bed and rummage around for my itinerary. Luckily, the first meeting with Moda Eccezionale isn’t until later in the day.
That means plenty of time for seeing Rome.
I quickly jump into the shower and get myself ready to be a tourist. In the lobby, the concierge pulls out a map and circles a few points of interest in walking distance that I might want to try. Because I’ve never been to Italy, I decide to take it easy. The Colosseum is right across the street, so that’s my first stop.
I strike out, ready to see it all. My mother spent a summer in Italy right after college, and I grew up hearing her stories about the trip. She and some friends from college had gone on a whirlwind backpacking tour through Europe, but Rome had been by far and away her favorite stop. The Colosseum was truly breathtaking, she would say, with a distant look in her eyes.
