Page 54
In an odd sort of irony, my time here had mirrored the city’s storied past. Full of drama, blood, scandal, beauty, and love.
Love?
Oh no.
Was it possible that I had, against all forms of reason, logic, and self-preservation…fallen in love with Sebastian Diamanti?
I stared at the fountain while one tourist after another stepped up to the stone edge to toss in a coin.
A street vendor explained the tradition to a group of American visitors nearby.
One coin for a wish to return to Rome someday.
Two coins promised a new romance with an Italian.
Three coins guaranteed marriage to the person you met.
I wondered how many coins it would take to escape the grip of a man like Sebastian Diamanti.
The water's continuous roar matched the chaos in my head—relentless, powerful, beautiful in its destruction.
A young couple beside me laughed as they tossed their coins together, their faces illuminated by hope and the subtle blue glow reflecting off the water.
The man whispered promises of forever to his companion.
What would they think if they knew who and what waited for me beyond this momentary sanctuary?
Just then, a warm coat was draped over my shoulders.
I didn't have to turn to see who it was.
I knew Sebastian had found me. He always found me.
I shuddered, my body absorbing the welcome warmth. The fabric still held the heat of his body.
He wrapped his arm around my front and pulled me back against his chest.
Neither of us said a word.
What was there to say?
I stood there within the dangerous safety of Sebastian’s arms and listened to the calming whoosh of the water over the din of the tourist chatter.
His heart beat steady and strong against my back, the rhythm so different from my own erratic pulse.
After several minutes, he led me over to a gelato vendor.
The small cart was a burst of color and light against the night, its glass case illuminated to showcase dozens of vibrant gelato mounds piled high and sculpted into perfect peaks.
Each flavor was a work of art—pistachio the color of spring leaves garnished with whole nuts, stracciatella dotted with dark chocolate shards, and fragola the exact shade of a summer sunset topped with slices of fresh strawberries.
The vendor announced proudly that everything was homemade as he gestured toward his creations.
Delicate chocolate curls, thin waffle cookies, and tiny almond biscuits adorned each flavor, promising more than just sweetness. They promised an experience.
The elderly vendor's hands bore the marks of decades of craftsmanship, his fingers nimble despite their gnarled appearance as he worked behind his stainless-steel counter polished to a mirror shine.
When Sebastian asked, the man told him with pride that he'd been making gelato for fifty years.
