Rome WIth Dad's Best Friend Read online

  And to think, I was worried about him having feelings for her.

  When the assistant – whose name, I learn, is Fran – leaves again, Marco joins me on the sofa and we cuddle close together to watch something stupid on TV. I’m barely even paying attention, just enjoying the feeling of being close together like this.

  But even as we stay together, my head pillowed on his lap, a growing doubt begins to rise up inside of me, making me confront something I didn’t want to think about before. Even though everything that has happened over the last couple of days has been real, and wonderful, it’s left me with a big question that I still don’t know the answer to.

  All of this time, we haven’t really spoken about the fact that my time here is limited. That I have only another two days left, and then it will all end – I have to fly home. I’m only here on vacation, but this is Marco’s home – so he won’t be joining me, and I can’t stay here, not with college on the horizon.

  All of which makes me wonder exactly where this is going at the end of the week – and whether I’m allowing myself to fall for someone who won’t even be around after this.

  Even though the glow I feel inside can’t be dampened by my doubts, they still linger. I focus on watching the television, trying not to think about anything else – and when it gets to be too much, I lift my head and find Marco’s face, and draw him into a kiss, so that he can make me glow again and take my mind off the growing fear.

  I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to hear him tell me that at the end of the week it will be over, or to hear him tell me we’ll make it work and see in his eyes that he’s lying to me. For now, just being together is enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Marco

  At last, in the middle of the afternoon, I have to at least get-up and do something. I’m used to working all day, making deals, having business lunches and dinners – sitting around doing nothing, even if I’m doing it with the best person in the world, is not quite comfortable yet.

  The good news is that I know exactly what I have to do.

  “Hey, stay there and relax,” I tell Hannah, planting a kiss on the top of her head as I ease away from the sofa. “I should make some calls about work. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I do have work calls to make – although maybe not in the way that she thinks. And above that, I need to make some plans. Since I don’t want to give them away just yet, I’ll have Fran make all of the arrangements for me – but that means a necessary piece of subterfuge, at least for now.

  I step outside into the garden and make my first call. “Ciao, Fran?”

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she says, crisply. “Are you ready to reschedule some of those missed appointments?”

  “Not quite yet,” I tell her, suppressing a smile at her manner. “Actually, I’d like you to arrange some things for me…”

  When the plans are made, there is nothing left to do except try to make the most of Hannah’s last two days in Italy. A day spent around the house is fine, but it can’t be her last memory from her first solo vacation. Just like everything else this too is something I want to make special for her.

  I make sure to choose our activities carefully. On Saturday morning, we start out by going shopping again, because Hannah needs to have more of the finest things. I won’t send her home with anything less than a bulging suitcase. I’m happy to do it because I see the smile on her face when she wears something expensive, something really built to flatter a woman’s body and make her feel special, and I want to see that smile every day.

  After shopping, the afternoon is dedicated to the last bit of sightseeing, exploring the parts of Rome that Hannah has not yet seen. Each stop has to be quick because there is of course no time to linger when only a day and a half of her trip remains; but I make sure that she sees the important things, that she has a good time, that she doesn’t feel too rushed.

  And then there is food, which I know is part of the string that ties us together. As an Italian man, I of course love our cuisine, and Hannah enjoys it too, which means I have no qualms about taking her to the very finest Italian restaurants here in our great city. Not all of them are the most expensive; sometimes it’s more about that traditional touch, the family restaurant using those recipes handed down over generations.

  But, yes, I admit, sometimes I like to choose the flashiest and most expensive places because I like to show off. I love when Hannah sees that I’m recognized in these places, that they even give me special treatment because they know I’m one of their VIP customers. To take her to a private, roped-off table, and to have the maître d’ showing us lavish attention – to see the stars in her eyes, that is truly special.

  Of course, I try also to create special memories in bed. I made sure to pay off the hotel in order to allow her to leave early, and moved all of her things to my home so that we could be together as much as possible.

  But all too soon Saturday is over, and on Sunday morning we go out to explore one more time, and all too soon again it’s Sunday afternoon, with only a few hours until Hannah must fly back home. And it’s time for her to pack her bags, including a new suitcase for all the extra luggage I’ve prepared for her to take, giving me a small window of time to also prepare the things I must do before she’s gone – before she even suspects a thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Hannah

  This is it, my last day.

  More than my last day, because Sunday is already half gone, and my flight leaves in just a number of hours. I don’t even need both hands to count them. A desperate heaviness has settled over me. It began this morning, a frog in my throat, a lump I can’t quite swallow. An elephant in the room that I don’t want to turn and look at. I can’t bear to.

  Every word we exchange seems more laden with meaning today, quieter and sober because we both know that this is it. The end of everything. I wish desperately that I had booked my vacation for two weeks instead of one – that I had met Marco a day earlier – anything to make this separation less painful. I almost think about changing my flight, seeing if I can stay with Marco for another week since it costs me nothing to stay at his home.

  But when I hint about it, telling him that I wish I was staying longer, he only makes a hum of agreement and touches my shoulder, and walks on. So, I have my answer. As wonderful as this week has been, Marco does not wish to extend it any further.

  He’s probably right. If we part ways now, we don’t have time to ruin everything. We still have bliss, without arguments or disagreements, without misfortune or hard times. Now we are happy. If we drag out this farewell for another week, things might turn sour. I just have to keep telling myself that, because every bone in my body wants to go back into the house and cling onto a radiator so that he can’t drag me away.

  Not only has Rome been such a welcoming vacation, but I’m losing him. My Marco. The man I have fallen in love with in such a short time. I didn’t know him before this, however much I thought I did, and the man I know now is someone I would gladly spend my life with. I blink back stubborn tears as I carry my purse to the car and get in, at Marco’s insistence that I allow him to load up the trunk with my suitcases.

  I take a moment to dab at my eyes. I know that if I start crying now I won’t be able to stop. I distract myself by turning on my cell phone, looking at the messages I have from friends back home, and from my Dad.

  Home. I try to comfort myself with that thought. My own bedroom, with all of my things. My laptop, which I didn’t bring with me. College. All my friends. A new year of possibilities. Somehow, none of it manages to overcome the lump in my throat – but at least I’m not already crying by the time Marco gets into the driver’s seat, asking me if I’m ready to go.

  I can only nod. I don’t trust my voice to hold up if I have to answer.

  I stare out of the window, trying hard to reframe everything in my mind, that it’s not that I want to cry because I’m leaving, but rather that I should be getting
a last good look at everything that we pass by. My last glimpse of Rome. While I’m struggling to hold onto all of this, suddenly time slips by me and out of my grasp, and now we are pulling up in a parking lot outside the airport, pulling into one of the marked bays not far from where the shuttle bus stops.

  I blink, looking up at the cars around us, realizing that we’re not where I expected. “You can just drop me outside the front of the airport,” I say. “You don’t have to pay for a parking ticket.”

  “Nonsense,” Marco says, reaching over to open his door with a mysterious smile. “I have to make sure that you get on the plane just fine.”

  I would argue with him, but since he’s already out of the car and I’m still in it, I don’t have much choice. I just get out, following him around to the trunk to start unloading my bags. I’m not looking forward to taking two suitcases through the airport, but that’s the price I have to pay for all of my beautiful new things.

  But I stop dead when I reach the trunk, tilting my head in confusion. Because beside my two suitcases is one more, and I’m sure I didn’t pack three, and I don’t even recognize the last one. What is this? One more gift? Is Marco going on a business trip today as well?

  “Why is there another suitcase?” I ask, my tongue thick, feeling a strange sensation I don’t recognize.

  “Well, it’s mine,” Marco says, beaming at me.

  There are pieces of this puzzle that seem to have matching edges, but I can’t quite manage to click them into place. Maybe because I’m too scared of being wrong. “Why do you need a suitcase?”

  Marco doesn’t say another word, but chuckles lightly and reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He takes something out that I instantly recognize as a plane ticket, because it’s exactly the same as the way mine looks, with the same airline logo, the same…

  The same flight number.

  “Marco?” I say, looking up at him with tears in my eyes. I don’t want to be wrong.

  “Yes, bella,” he says. “I’m coming home with you. I need to speak to your father so we can do this right.”

  All of my questions are answered in that one sentence. I’m so happy I almost feel like I’m floating on air, and I don’t come back down to earth again until the plane does, and I realize this means we’re actually going to have to talk to Dad about the fact that I’ve been claimed by his best friend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Marco

  I have to admit that even I’m feeling the pressure as we pull up outside the Greene family home, the taxi ready to drop us off on the sidewalk. We deliberately didn’t tell Simon about Hannah’s flight time, so that he wouldn’t come to meet us at the airport. We agreed that it would be better on his home turf, instead of making a scene in a public place.

  But I wonder if I made a mistake as we sit outside the house. In a public place, at least he would be less inclined to hit me. Here, I don’t have any such protection.

  Still, I force myself to get out of the car and go to the trunk. Hannah takes one of her bags and heads to the door, but not before shooting me a conspiratorial look. It doesn’t exactly say ‘everything is going to be fine’ more like ‘no matter what happens, we are in this together’. Which in some ways is reassuring, and in others, not so much.

  I hear Simon before I see him. He exclaims happily at the fact that his daughter has come home, rebuking her for not letting him know to come and get her, cheering, and taking her suitcase at the door. But I know it won’t be long until he sees that I’m here, and I try to steel myself as I grab the last two suitcases out of the trunk.

  “I didn’t need a ride, Dad,” I hear Hannah say, as I come around the front of the taxi and towards the door. Behind me, I hear the engine starting as the taxi takes off. “I had someone to bring me.”

  “What?” Simon looks behind her and sees me for the first time, and our eyes meet. He looks startled, even taken aback. “Marco? You didn’t need to escort her home. What, do you have business in the area or something?”

  “No,” I say, thinking that it would be far too awkward to tell him right here on the street in the early morning. “Let me get these bags inside. I’m going to find a hotel later, but we’ve had a long journey.”

  “Right,” Simon says, giving me an odd look. But he helps with the bags anyway, and then we’re both inside, sitting down on the couch with the bone-deep exhaustion that can only come from international travel.

  “So, ah,” Simon says, coming back into the room and gesturing vaguely at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” I say, glancing at Hannah. “Actually, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What is it?” Simon says. I can hear the tension in his voice now, a tightness. He knows that something is up, but he just doesn’t know what.

  “I love him, Dad,” Hannah blurts out before I can say anything. “I didn’t expect it, but when we bumped into each other, it was like fate. And I just fell in love.”

  I feel my heart surge in my chest. It’s the first time I’ve heard her say it. For a moment, I can’t find my voice, hearing those words overwhelms me with a feeling of lightness and joy.

  “What?” Simon asks. He looks at me. “Look, Marco, if Hannah’s got herself confused…”

  “No,” I say, snapping back to myself. “No, it’s not a silly crush or something like that. It’s mutual. I love your daughter, Simon. We’re together.”

  Simon looks back and forth between us without speaking. He just keeps blinking his eyes and getting redder and redder in the face.

  “It wasn’t planned,” I attempt because he isn’t saying a thing and it’s beginning to unnerve me. “It just happened. We spent the day together and fell hard, and over the rest of the week we only fell deeper.”

  “No,” Simon says, surprising me. “No, this isn’t right. You’re telling me something that can’t be true. You wouldn’t do that, Marco. You wouldn’t take advantage of my daughter.”

  “Dad!” Hannah cries out. “He didn’t take advantage of me. I wanted this. He makes me happy.”

  “No!” Simon repeats again. “I won’t have it. I won’t allow it. You’re not to see each other again.”

  There’s a long pause, Simon visibly shaking with rage, before Hannah answers him in a low voice. “Dad,” she says. “I love you. But I’m not a child anymore. I’m going away to college. How do you think you’ll be able to control who I see or don’t see?”

  Simon splutters with rage, shaking his head. Before he does something rash like forbid her from going to college, I know I need to step in. This anger is only temporary, and I need him to calm down and start seeing things from our side. Once he does, I know he will have a different perspective. Maybe enough to make him happy for us, even.

  “Simon, this is real,” I tell him. I rise to my feet, keeping my hands low in a calming gesture so that he can see it isn’t a move of aggression. “I’m in love with Hannah. I mean that. It’s not a fling or the chance for a holiday romance. Nothing like that. I want to be with her. I want her to be my family.”

  Simon looks like he might be sick. “She’s young enough to be your daughter,” he says. “And you’ve only known each other for a week.”

  I have to correct him again. “But she’s not my daughter. And even if it’s only been a week that we have really got to know each other, something in our souls is connected. We’re meant to be together.”

  “I feel it too,” Hannah says, joining me on her feet. “I’ve never felt like this before with anyone. I love him, Dad.”

  “Goddamn Italians,” Simon scowls, throwing those words to the back of the room as he turns away from us, wiping a hand over his mouth and chin. “So passionate about everything. You make it sound like you’re in love when you’ve only just met.”

  “I’m not Italian,” Hannah points out. “So, listen to me. What I feel is real.”

  Simon whirls around again, raising his voice as he points at me. “What you fe
el, yes. But what about him?” He shakes his head. “Marco is twice your age. He’s an old man, like me. He’s at a different point in his life. He’s not worried about college or starting a career, he’s halfway through his. He should be sending grown kids off to college himself, not dating one.”

  “I do love you, Dad,” Hannah says, a little sadly. “But Marco is nothing like you.”

  “I know we have an age difference,” I say. Perhaps a little of an understatement. “But that means nothing to me. You’re worried that I don’t feel the same commitment as Hannah, that I will let her down.”

  “Of course you will!” Simon practically explodes. “You don’t care about the same things. You’ll get bored with her and fly back to Italy.”

  “Actually, when she’s finished studying, I would like Hannah to come to live with me in Italy,” I say. “But that’s something we can discuss further down the line. Because, as much as I love my country, I would go anywhere for her.”

  “You say that now, but it’s only words,” Simon scoffs.

  “You’re right,” I say, simply. “It is only words. And actions speak louder. That’s why there’s something I want to do.”

  I turn to Hannah, who is looking at me in surprise. She has no idea that I had something else planned, and she’s as much in the dark as her father is. But what I have to say, and do, I hope will be enough to reassure both of them that I’m here to stay. In it for the long run.

  “Hannah,” I say, taking both of her hands in mine for a moment. “It’s been less than a week since we reconnected. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You are the one for me.” I drop to one knee, letting go of her hands to reach inside my jacket pocket and draw out a jewelry box. “I want to be by your side for all time. I want you to be my wife and bear my children. Hannah, will you marry me?”

  Hannah takes a second to react. I can see it in her glazed eyes and her slightly pink cheeks, the surprise, the overwhelming happiness, the struggle to process and articulate. But then she overcomes it and opens her mouth. “Yes,” she says, simply, the only word I wanted to hear.