I made short work of paying the bill—a ridiculously small amount for the incredible meal we’d had—and we soon stood outside, the cooling night air giving me goosebumps. I slipped on my jacket, but still felt the chill.
He must have noticed. “Here.” He put his arm around me and pulled me close. The warmth of his body was welcome but also massively distracting. My lady parts had no way of knowing this was chivalry and not seduction.
I tried to send a signal to them, but they ignored me. “So, we meet the bus near Castel Sant’Angelo, non?” he asked. He was so good at remembering details—probably why he was so successful as a journalist.
“Oui,” I replied.
“This way.” We walked slowly, our heights making the whole “arm wrapped around me” thing a little awkward, but I didn’t want him to let me go.
When we arrived at the pick-up point, there were a few people from the tour group already there, but none that I knew very well, so I just smiled my hellos. We were ten minutes early, and part of me wanted Jean-Luc to leave right away, so we could say goodbye without a huge audience. Another part wanted him to stay as long as possible.
I looked across the nearest bridge spanning the Tiber and saw Georgina leading a large group of people towards us. Bollocks. They’d be at the pick-up point in moments.
“Hey, you guys!” called a cheery voice behind us. Lou. We turned around to greet her, Dani, Jaelee, Craig and Jason. Lou made introductions between the men, who all shooks hands, then gave Jean-Luc a hug he clearly didn’t expect. He returned it good-naturedly.
“How was your night?” she asked looking back and forth between us.
“Lovely. We, uh, explored a little. There are definitely some places we need to go back to tomorrow. Oh, and we had the most amazing dinner.” I had a thought and turned to Jean-Luc. “Do you think Anna would mind if I took the girls there for dinner tomorrow night?”
I heard, “Hey!” from Craig. Oops, I’d forgotten Craig.
“And Craig.”
“And me.”
“And Jason.”
Jean-Luc laughed. “I think she would be very happy to see you again and to cook for everyone.”
“She will miss you, though.”
“Yes, but I think you are, how do you say, a good substitute.”
“High praise.” I smiled up at him, forgetting we had an audience of five. When I realised, I was met with a collection of amused faces. I bit my bottom lip. “Uh,” I said to Jean-Luc, “come with me.” I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him away from the group. I was fairly certain I heard a disappointed, “Aww,” from Dani.
When we were far enough away from my friends, I stopped and faced him. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
I was hit with a rush of sadness and regret.
How had I ever cut ties with this person, the boy who had become this wonderful, funny, beautiful man? I was such an idiot. And now I had to say goodbye to him not knowing when I would see him again—if I would see him again. Would we end up like those acquaintances you run into at the shops? Oh, we must catch up soon. Oh, I’d love that. Give me a call.
Regret was fast turning into panic. “I really do want to make sure we see each other again.”
“Good,” he replied. “So do I.”
“Are you … do you … are you coming to London any time soon, for work?”
“Nothing planned at the moment, but I can let you know.”
“Right.” I bit the lip again. “So …”
“This is terrible, yes?”
“It’s the worst.”
Jean-Luc threw a look over his shoulder at my friends. When I looked, I saw that Georgina and the large group had arrived, but Tom and the coach hadn’t—another moment or two to drag out this excruciating goodbye.
“This may surprise you,” he said, turning back to me. “But I was hoping to kiss you.”
It did surprise me, but it was also thrilling. I’d wanted to kiss him—badly—since the moment we saw him on the street in Paris, before I even knew who he was. And standing there in Rome, after the night we’d had together, I didn’t care that it was probably a terrible idea.
“You should.” I peered up at him. “You should definitely kiss me.”
His eyes lit up and a soft smile alighted on his face. His hands—his large, strong, warm hands—found my waist and snaked around to the small of my back, pulling me closer to him. I stretched onto my tiptoes and lifted my face to meet his.
He tilted his head and his hair fell across one eye as our lips met. His were firm and warm as they moved against mine, tentatively at first, then with an ardour I knew I would remember all my days. I felt a flick of his tongue against mine, and his arms tightened as he held me close against him. My feet lifted off the ground for an instant—just long enough for me to feel like a beloved little being.
The sophomoric chorus of “Ooh”s receded into the background, and when my feet were back on the ground and we slowly pulled apart, I was a little breathless. I looked up into those incredible green eyes.
So was he—breathless.
“I have waited twenty years to do that.”
I stared at him wide-eyed.
“It was worth it, the wait,” he concluded. I broke into a huge grin and he did the same. “I will call you. We will make plans.” All doubts that we’d see each other again dissipated into the cool Roman air.
“Sounds good.”
I heard the coach pull up and people started to file on, the bright lights from inside spilling onto the footpath.
Jean-Luc grasped both my hands and I turned back towards him. He leant down and kissed one cheek, then the other, then softly pressed his lips to my forehead. “Goodbye, ma chérie.”
Oh! So that’s what forehead kisses meant!
“Bye!” I stood on tiptoes again and planted a big smack on his lips, then skipped off to the coach. I was the last to board and as I passed a scowling Georgina I said, “Buona notte, Georgina.” I saw confusion register on her face as I stepped onto the coach.
But I didn’t give a flying fig about Georg-bloody-ina. I’d got my first wish.
***
Early the next morning, the whole tour group was up, dressed, breakfasted, and on the coach by 6:00am—because when you’re going to the Vatican in a large group, you need to be in line by 6:45am to meet your guide and get your tickets.
When Tom pulled the coach to a stop, close to the Vatican’s entrance, we hustled out and lined up on the footpath like schoolchildren. Georgina seemed pleased with how well we executed this manoeuvre, but really, she’d explained it in such excruciating detail on the ride into the city, we were hardly going to mess it up.
Gabriella, our guide from the day before, approached us, seemingly unhurried but bustling with efficiency. “Buongiorno!” she said cheerily. It was a vast contrast to how she’d greeted us the day before. Perhaps she was a morning person. Only half of us replied; the others were probably still half-asleep.
I was usually a morning person, but the late nights of the tour were taking their toll. I hadn’t once woken up without the help of an alarm, something I rarely used in the real world. I stifled a yawn so I didn’t insult her.