“Now youhaveto let me drive.”
My eyes went full-on glare. I pinched his waist.
He yelped and stepped back. “Ribs.”
“Nu-uh. Not this time. Get in.” I climbed into my car before he could nab me again. Jack piled into the passenger side, his long legs barely fitting, even with the seat pushed all the way back.
He gave me his best blue-eyed, puppy dog look. Drat him.
“We’ll compromise.” I caved. “I’ll let you drive once we get past Empoli.”
Jack beamed.
On the way, we argued over which Marvel superhero was the best. (For the record, it’s Ironman, no matter what Jack said about Spiderman. Snark wins every time.) And then we moved on to research preservation methods for fragile Greco-Roman artifacts.
True to my word, I did pull over in the retail park in Empoli and swapped seats with Jack.
True tohisword, he drove perfectly.
We were belting out theHamiltonsoundtrack as we pulled into an office building on the outskirts of Pisa.
We were doing this, Jack and I. We were committed and in this together.
That’s what romantic love was, I realized. Two imperfect people embracing an imperfect life and their imperfect selves and somehow through it all . . . creating perfection.
I could take this next step. I loved Jack and I wanted to be the best me I could be for him.
“Where are we?” Jack killed the engine, surveying the building.
“Dr. Cacciatore’s office.”
Jack’s face was comical confusion.
“She’s a therapist and counselor. I called and made an appointment a couple days ago.”
Comprehension dawned on his face, spreading like the most brilliant sunrise.
“Ah.” His entire expression softened.
He leaned across the center console and kissed me. Hard. Decisive. Thoroughly.
“I love you, Jack Knight-Snow.”
“I love you, Chiara D’Angelo.” Words so fierce.
I held out my hand to him. “Ready?”
“For a life with you?” He took my hand and lifted my fingers to his mouth. An old-world courtly gesture. “Always.”
Epilogue
Jack
Allow me to address the common questions that I get.
Yes, I amthatJack Knight-Snow—the researcher who raised the Etruscan hoard from the bottom of the Mediterranean.
Yes, I am the guy who has a habit of being caught kissing Chiara D’Angelo of D’Angelo Enterprises. There have been a total of six ‘incidents’ now. Though in the interest of full disclosure, the kissing session in downtown Florence near the Duomo was somewhat staged. I wanted to make a statement to the world.
