Chapter Twenty-Eight

June 16

IT MUST BE easier to not dwell on negativity in Italy, because I really do manage to keep myself happy and distracted for the next several days. I can feel that latent anger bubbling up in weird ways, like when I almost cried because a gelato shop didn’t have a flavor I wanted to try, but I really was craving chocolate. Still, for the most part, I am surprisingly serene for a woman who has just had a sex tape released without her consent.

Carter, to his credit, doesn’t bring it up at all, and seems to be joining me in this lovely state of denial. We visit a few more wineries in the area, and each night enjoy the bottles we purchased locally after our passeggiata. We manage to even have sex without me freaking out and/or being reminded of what is now circulating the internet, for which I give the wine most of the credit.

Our overnight stay in Rome approaches and we both immerse ourselves in reading about all the places we want to see and things we’d like to do. I’m regretting that we only have one night there, but Carter keeps reminding me that we can always come back. It makes me smile every time he says it, as I imagine our future together. I can tell he feels the same way.

From our reading, and at the advice of the landlord who owns the bed and breakfast we’ve booked, we decide to take a train to Rome instead of driving. I love trains, hate the idea of having to find parking, and can tell we’ll be able to navigate the city on foot anyway, so I’m in. And thus, we leave our little car at the train station nearest Trequanda and begin our Roman Holiday.

The train ride is uneventful until I get an idea.

“What’s the train equivalent of the mile high club?” I ask Carter, with a devilish look on my face.

“Um, the two hundred kilometer per hour club?” he guesses, smiling at the look on my face. “Did you want to become a member?”

We’re in a crowded train compartment, but there are bathrooms at both ends and I’m suddenly 100 percent sure that yes, I do want to join that club.

“You go first,” I say with a quiet giggle. “I’ll knock three times and then you let me in.”

Carter needs no convincing and is soon out of his seat and down the aisle. I note that he goes into the bathroom on the left, give him a minute’s head start, then make my way down to meet him. I congratulate myself on the foresight of wearing a dress today as I knock three times. The door opens, and I almost let out a laugh that would surely have given us away.

Carter is standing as far back in the tiny bathroom as he can so that he can let me in, pants and boxers around his ankles, full erection on display, and holding handfuls of paper towels, obviously meant for our use once we are done.

“You’re so prepared!” I whisper before laughing again as I close the door behind me. There’s barely enough room for him in here and I’m suddenly not sure this is going to work.

“Hop up on the sink,” he says, clearly prepared for that thought as well. It’s cramped, but I manage to sit and hike my skirt up, giving Carter enough room to put himself directly in front of me. He pulls my panties down and off, pops open the buttons on my dress to give himself a nice view of my lace-covered breasts, then presses himself inside me.

It’s a bit uncomfortable as the faucet presses into my tailbone with each thrust, but as it was my idea, I decide not to say anything. The movement of the train and this angle, though, are hitting me in just the right places and it’s the perfect combination of pleasure and pain. Seeing that I’m into it, Carter thrusts harder and harder, smiling as I welcome him in, wetter and wetter. He kisses my neck as I throw my head back and I bring back that devilish smile as I feel him finish, then pull out quickly to clean us both up.

“Welcome to the club,” I say with a wink as I exit the bathroom and head back to our seats. I’m only few steps out of the door, though, when I realize I’ve forgotten my underwear. Please let Carter pick those up, I think, sitting back down awkwardly in my seat.

He comes out of the stall a moment later and I give him my best “Did you get my underwear off the floor?” face as he walks toward me. He nods and I wonder if I am actually telepathic.

“Lose something?” he says, handing me my balled-up panties.

“Why thank you, good sir,” I say, taking them with a laugh. I put them in the front pocket of my bag and decide I can’t get them back on in this seat without making a scene. I can’t imagine our little tryst went completely unnoticed by other passengers, and I don’t want to risk calling more attention to myself by getting up now, so I go commando for the rest of the trip.

“You’re the only person I’d have sex in a train bathroom with,” I say in a conspiratorial tone.

“Ditto,” says Carter, wincing. “That was terribly uncomfortable. But super hot.”

“Uncomfortable for you?” I scoff. “Which one of us had a faucet digging into her ass?”

“Ah, ouch. Let me know if you need that massaged later.”

“After everything we’ve planned for such a short trip, I’m sure I’ll be needing a full-body massage tonight.”

“Deal,” says Carter.

We spend the rest of the ride looking out of the window and as rural landscapes give way to the outskirts of the city, my heartbeat quickens with excitement. As much as I’ve loved relaxing and getting away from it all, there are just too many things I’ve always wanted to see nestled into the Eternal City. I am practically giddy.

We grab our bags and head for the exit, with me taking a quick stop in the restroom to re-panty myself. We’ve got another train to catch and a bit of a walk to the little apartment we’re staying at just around the corner from The Vatican. After a quick map check that we’re getting on the right route, we join a throng of tourists and locals, then keep an eye out for our stop. I’m wearing my backpack on my chest because that’s what the guidebooks said to do and feel both silly and savvy. With how close we’re pressed in this train car, it would be easy for someone to reach in and rob me.

Carter is smiling down at me as I cradle the bottom of the bag as if it’s a baby.

“Laugh all you want,” I say. “We’ll see who’s laughing when you lose your wallet.”

“I was just imagining you pregnant,” he says. “You’re going to be adorable.”

I flush and not because it’s about a million degrees in here. Carter is thinking about our future in very real, very sweet ways. In all my relaxing, I’ve forgotten to really evaluate how I feel about him. About us. Do I even want to move forward with my plan after we get home?

On the one hand, I have no doubts about how I feel about Carter. I can see a path ahead for us and it really does seem like it leads to happily ever after. Haven’t we proven that on this trip? We haven’t fought or even argued, and it’s been the best month of my life.

But is it that hard to live a peaceful existence in paradise? With no work, no chores, and no commitments each day, what do we even have to fight about? Maybe this wasn’t the best idea for our month. How do I know this isn’t just the vacation effect?

That’s silly, I tell myself quickly. How unfair would it be to hold this trip against Carter after all the work he did in planning it? The effort he’s made has to be in the pro column. I guess I can just list “not sure how we’d work on the real world” as a negative without pretending that Italy was a bad idea. We’ve usually gotten along back home as well, so I can’t say I have no idea how things would go, but that wasn’t actually a relationship, was it? It’s easy to keep things smooth when there are no expectations of something more. Marriage is so much more.

“Where’d you go?” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Oh, uh, I was just trying to remember where we’re supposed to be first today,” I say, thankful for the distraction before I went into full panic mode.

“The Coliseum,” he says. “We have our tickets and a thirty-minute window to use them so we can skip the queue out front.”

“Queue?” I say. “You’re so European now.”

“Just trying to fit in ’round these parts,” he says with a hint of Southern drawl.

“There’s my all-American boy.” I reach up to kiss his cheek.

*

AS WE STEP off the lift in the building that holds our home for the night, I feel a chuckle rise in my throat. What was advertised as a “spacious bed and breakfast in our lovely apartment” has got to be the most cramped space I’ve ever stayed in, if the rest of the apartments are anything to judge by. We’ve passed two open doors and they are comically small. I hold my breath as I knock on the door at number 11 and wait for our hosts.

“Buongiorno!” says a short, scruffy, but pleasant-enough looking Italian man. “Come in! Come in!”

We walk in and I relax a bit, noticing this is a corner unit and appears to be at least twice the size of the other apartments I saw. It’s still pretty small, but if the other ones are normal for the area, I can forgive the “spacious” description.

Our host welcomes me with a hug and kiss on each cheek, then reaches for Carter to do the same.

“I am so happy you have come to stay with me,” he says. “Here—let me show you to your room.”

We follow him through the tiny living room and down the shortest hallway ever to a room with twin beds and a small balcony. It’s small, but clean and cozy. The bed situation makes me a little sad, but I make a mental note that we can probably push them together.

“You need anything in Rome, you ask Guiseppe,” he says, pointing to himself. “I live here all my life and I tell you all the things you need to know.”

“Well, we’re a bit hungry,” I say.

“Of course, of course,” he says. “You want to get food far away from the tourist places, okay? You have a map? I mark a few places for you.”

We hand him the map we’re planning to use, and I smile as he circles about twenty places, telling us who has the best of each type of food we could possibly want. He knows we’re only here for a day, but I like that he’s thorough. And who knows? Maybe we can eat a tiny bit at each location and have our own mini food tour of Rome.

“And for breakfast tomorrow,” he says, “I show you.”

He walks us into the galley kitchen and slides open a tiny box on the counter.

“Pastries are here,” he says, pointing to some pre-packaged items, “and coffee is here.”

With all the wonderful food options, I feel like eating these possibly stale, plastic-wrapped options is an insult to all of Italy, but he seems so eager for us to eat what he’s provided that I make a mental note to throw a couple into our bag in case we get hungry on one of our tours tomorrow.

“Thank you so much, Giuseppe,” says Carter magnanimously. “We’re going to head out for the day, but maybe we’ll see you later?”

“Yes, yes,” he says, shooing us to the door. “Giuseppe is here if you need him. You try the food I circle, yes?”

“We’ll do as many as we can,” I promise, kissing him on both cheeks as we go to leave. He seems thrilled that I’ve returned this courtesy and I genuinely wish we were staying a bit longer so that we could hang out with Giuseppe even more.

As we walk out of the apartment building, I breathe in the city and reach for Carter’s hand. Today is a good day, and we haven’t even started exploring yet. My giddiness returns as we consult our map for the best way to get to the Coliseum. We find our way back to the underground system and take a quick ride to what looks like the best exit.

Walking out of the new station, it takes us a minute to get our bearings in the blinding, Roman sunlight.

“Which way is it?” I say, putting up a hand to shield my eyes from the sun as I squint to look around.

“Uh, Cyn?” says Carter. “Turn around.”

A bus in the street behind me has moved on, and I turn around to see the Coliseum is right behind me. Huge, magnificent, and absolutely iconic, it towers over the cars passing by as if to say “I was here before you and I’ll be here after you. Look upon me with reverence.”

Or maybe it’s an inanimate object and I’m projecting. Either way, it’s pretty cool.

We pass by the idiots who were too stupid to buy tickets in advance and walk right through the entrance, as I pull out my headphones for us to share. I downloaded a guided tour onto my phone so we can explore at our leisure, which is just what we do.

From there, we make our way through the Forum and several other incredible sights. We find ourselves pretty hungry and right next to big tourist attractions, just like Giuseppe warned us about, but before I can consult our map to see if any of his recommendations are nearby, I see a familiar view. Golden Arches. And not ones adorning some ancient church. It’s a McDonald’s, sticking out like a sore thumb among all this beautiful architecture. I hear Carter scoff as he sees it too, then give him my biggest puppy-dog eyes.

“You don’t seriously want to eat there,” he says. “What about all of those places we wanted to try?”

“French fries,” I say. “I want french fries.”

“Damn,” he says. “That actually does sound pretty good.”

“Right? We can still eat the rest of our meals here at better restaurants. But right now, french fries sound amazing.”

“Let’s do it,” he says. And we do. And they are salty, hot, and delicious.

“All the amazing food we’ve had on this trip and this is your favorite?” says an abashed Carter as I lick salt off my fingers.

“Absolutely not,” I say. “But damn if that didn’t hit the spot.”

We both laugh and make our way back to the streets. I suggest that we ditch the map for a bit and just wander, confident that we’ll stumble across something incredible if we just keep walking. I am proven right after a few blocks when we turn a corner and see the Pantheon directly ahead. We check that out, follow a few signs, and find ourselves in front of the Trevi Fountain.

“This,” I say softly. “This I need to stare at for a minute.”

“Stare away,” he says. “It’s pretty great.”

There are so many things to see at this one space that I know my eyes can’t possibly take it all in.

“We have to come back here at night,” I say, inspired.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says, taking my hand as we walk closer to toss our coins into the fountain.

We continue with our wandering, finding hidden treasures all throughout the city. Even the regular streets are just beautiful to stroll down.

Eventually, we are hungry again, and a quick check of our map shows that we are in between two of the Giuseppe-approved spots.

“What do you say we order one entrée at each?” I say.

“And one appetizer?” says Carter.

“Deal. And maybe a dessert at the second.”

“Even better.”

We do just that and decide it’s a tie between the two places. We, however, are the winners, for being brilliant enough to think of going to both. Leaving the second spot takes us to a lovely church that sits at a high point in the city. I walk out to get a better look at it and realize it sits at the top of the Spanish Steps.

“How is everything here so iconic?” I say, marveling at what Rome has shown us so far.

“Iconic is in the eye of the beholder,” says Carter. “You’ve been dreaming of these places since you were a girl.”

Indeed, I have. And as we make our way back through the places we’ve already been to see how different they look at night, I feel like it’s a completely new city. Somehow, everything is more magical at night, and my heart could just burst with joy at getting to see it all with someone I love.

I stop in my tracks at that thought as we come back to Trevi. Have I told Carter I love him on this trip? Or ever? I know I’ve thought it, but have I said it? Has he said it to me? I honestly can’t remember. I know he’s shown me, and I hope I’ve shown him, but I’m so confused now about what’s been said aloud that I feel terrible. Has he been waiting all this time for me to say those words?

“What’s wrong?” he says, realizing I’m a few steps behind.

“I just love…this city,” I say, chickening out.

“It loves you too.” He winks at me.

Okay, maybe we haven’t said it to each other, but it certainly seems to be understood.

We stop at another Giuseppe recommendation, this time to share a bottle of wine at an outdoor table to people watch and rest our tired feet. The wine hits me hard and fast, and it seems to have the same effect on Carter.

“We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” I say. “Should we make our way back to the apartment?”

“All ready for that massage?” he says back, slightly slurring.

I had forgotten about that, but now I’ve popped back up with a second wind.

“Guess that’s a yes,” he says, laughing as we down our last sips of wine and head for the exit.

We’ve walked so much that we’re not too far from our apartment. We stop quickly to see St. Peter’s and Castel San Angelo lit up at night (gorgeous), but then find ourselves back in the elevator that takes us to our room for the night. We use the key we picked up earlier and step in to find the place empty, which is just fine with me, as I’m now very much looking forward to my massage and everything that comes after.

We head into our room, and I pull my dress off over my head, leaving my bra and panties on for the time being. I lay down on the bed facedown and sigh as Carter quickly joins me, gently sitting on the back of my legs. He massages my shoulders, then my back, being very much the gentleman at first. He stands up to massage my butt and upper thighs and I moan as my muscles relax in relief. I really am sore, and this feels as therapeutic as it does sexy. After he’s made his way down my whole body, he steps off the bed and I hear him undress. Soon, he’s back on my legs, but this time he’s naked and our massage quickly takes a turn.

He reaches up for my shoulders again, but this time he leans down to kiss me too, and his dick presses into my ass. My back rub becomes a chest massage as his hands reach around to cup and fondle my breasts and the sensation feels amazing. Everything is electric. I’m tired, tipsy, and ridiculously turned on. I can hear people passing under our window and I get a sudden bolt of inspiration.

“The balcony,” I murmur.

“What?” he says, now massaging my belly and reaching one hand down toward my inner thighs.

“I want to have sex in Rome. Like outside—in Rome.”

“Ahh,” he says. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

I stand up and walk my sexiest drunk walk toward the balcony and open the door. The space isn’t big, but I don’t want to be on it anyway. Just near it will be fine. I can see the moon and a bit of the city. This is what I wanted.

I turn around to see Carter, naked in the moonlight and I shiver. He’s so fucking hot. And I feel pretty damn hot too, come to think of it. Unable to be away from my hotness, he comes closer and kisses me, hard. His tongue is amazing, and I want to feel it somewhere else.

“Go down on me,” I whisper.

“As you wish,” he says, dropping to his knees.

He pulls off my panties for the second time today and I spread my legs a bit to give him better access. Hungrily, he begins licking and sucking every inch of me, flicking his tongue around on my clit so hard that I wobble a bit where I stand.

“More,” I say, and more he does, using fingers inside me and his tongue all around until I come and nearly scream. Now I really do feel like I might fall over, which I decide to play off by dropping to my knees and eagerly bringing his dick into my mouth. He is hard and perfect, and I can tell by his moans that he’s loving this as much as I loved mine.

“Hang on,” he says, pulling me back to standing.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“The opposite. Keep doing that and I won’t get to fuck you in Rome like you wanted.”

I laugh, but with all the wine we’ve had and all the walking, I can’t blame the guy. I turn back around so that I’m facing the balcony and take in the view again. I’m only wearing a bra now and Carter stands behind me, kissing my neck, reaching in to pinch my nipples and basically feel around however he can. I’m about to ask how he wants me when he moves my legs apart again and thrusts his throbbing erection into me.

I giggle for a second until I hear voices below us on the street again. I’m sure they can’t see us, but the thought that they, or someone else, could see us makes my heart stop. I flash to a grainy video of nineteen-year-old me and feel like I might throw up. I didn’t know I was being filmed then. I haven’t known all year when people have been watching me. What if someone is watching me right now?

If Carter feels me go rigid, he doesn’t mention it and he soon finishes. I try to pretend I didn’t just have a panic attack while we were having sex, but as soon as I turn around, he can tell something is wrong.

“Did that hurt?” he says, looking concerned. “I wasn’t sure if something happened right at the end there. You know you can always tell me to stop, right?”

I can’t even answer, but I shake my head and try to get the word no to come out of my mouth, something to reassure him that it wasn’t him. Instead, I start to cry and fall onto one of the beds in the fetal position.

“Whoa, whoa,” he says. “What’s wrong, baby?”

He’s stroking my back and saying other encouraging things that should be helping me, but all I feel is every negative thought I’ve been squashing coming back to the surface and looking for a way to explode.

“I don’t understand,” he says, sweetly trying to get me to talk to him. But all I hear is the opening my rage has been waiting for.

“Of course, you don’t understand,” I say between sobs. “How could you? You’re not the one with some sex tape going viral. No one filmed you without your knowledge. No one is calling you a whore.”

“Where did this come from?” he asks, looking completely blindsided. “Did someone see us on the balcony? That was your idea.”

“Oh, like you tried to stop me,” I say, knowing how irrational that must sound. “You’re totally fine going along with it as long as you get off.”

“We’re both tired and drunk.” His logic is impeccable. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

Half of my brain shouts yes, but the other half will not be quieted so easily. I am hurting and freaked out; apparently, I cannot rest until he is too.

“I want to go home in the morning,” I say, practically spitting out the words. “I don’t want to be here anymore with you. I can’t think straight here.”

“What—what are you saying?” he says. He looks like I’ve slapped him. I wish that’s what I’d done instead.

“I’m supposed to be using our month to figure out how I feel about us. But all I know is that I have no idea how we’d be back in the real world.”

“What real world? This is the real world, Cyn. I was going to see if you wanted to go to Paris with me before we go home…”

“Paris?” I nearly scream. “You think this is the real world and so is Paris? These are my fantasies. These are the places I’ve always dreamed of going. I could have come here with a stranger and had the exact same trip.”

I know I’ve gone too far when his eyes change from concern to anger.

“You think a stranger would have known all the places you’ve wanted to see?” he says, nearly whispering. I wish he’d yell. “You think one of your other guys would have taken five months to plan the trip of a lifetime, knowing all the while that you’re out fucking someone else? Maybe you are a whore.”

I’ve done it. I’ve pushed so hard with my toxic anger that I’ve brought it out of him too. I knew he couldn’t be so okay with this whole thing as he’s seemed all year. Maybe he doesn’t actually mean what he’s saying right now, but there’s no going back.

“Maybe I am,” I say. “And maybe whoever I end up with is just going to have to love me anyway. I thought you could have been the one, but—”

“But what, Cyn?” he says, tears streaming down his face. “What changed your mind all of a sudden? Because I know I’m the one. I can’t believe what I just said. Please, please, let’s talk again in the morning.”

I roll over on my little bed, afraid to face him with everything between us still lingering in the air.

“Morning,” I say. “Sure, we’ll talk in the morning.”