A chance meeting at a wedding in Tuscany; an evening spent together over a meal I’ll forget long before I ever forget his face. And thatface. Eyes bluer than the Mediterranean, sharp-boned features, and a quick mouth, all packaged up with a tiny, lithe figure and clever mind. My fingers tighten around his hand involuntarily, as though even my subconscious doesn’t want to let him go. I clear my throat.
“Listen, how would you feel about… Well, you said you didn’t have another job lined up, and I’m here for the next couple weeks. So, I thought—if you wanted… Maybe we could?—”
“Roman,” Niilo interrupts, saving the pair of us from what was gearing up to be quite a lot of nothing wrapped up in too many words.
“Sorry,” I say, blowing out a breath hard enough to puff my cheeks. He uses our linked hands to pull us to a stop, turning meuntil we’re standing face to face, Niilo’s tipped upward to keep his eyes on mine.
“Roman,” he repeats, a sly smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “How would you feel about some company on your trip?”
“I’m not particularly interested in company, per se,” I admit. “But I’d like it if you came along.”
He laughs, looking delighted even as he shakes his head. “I’m not company?”
“Company is your parents stopping by unannounced, or friends not picking up on the subtle hints you’re dropping instead of asking them outright to leave. You’re not company,” I repeat. “You’re…well, you’re Niilo.”
“Makes sense,” he agrees solemnly.
“So…you want to come along?” I ask hopefully. That was easier than I thought it would be—no convincing at all. “I’ll book the hotel rooms, and cover meals and gas, obviously. And you can choose the music in the car. I’m easy,” I add, which sends Niilo’s sculpted eyebrows crawling up his forehead. “I mean?—”
“I know what you mean,” he says, gently interrupting once more. Unfortunately, my mouth isn’t quite done making a fool of me.
“And I promise not to murder you, or anything.”
Niilo jolts forward with a startled laugh, putting a hand on my hip to steady himself. Brushing a hand down my face, I join in, unable to resist. I’m relieved, at the very least, that he’s not yet sprinting in the opposite direction and calling for help. A promise not to murder him is probably something an actual murderer would say.
“Let’s make a pact, me and you,” Niilo recommends, eyes shiny and cheeks flushed. God, he’s beautiful. “No murder, robbery, nor any other form of mayhem or bodily harm will happen on this adventure.”
“Sealed in blood?” I ask jokingly. His lips twitch as he looks up at me. “Or actually, I’ve got a better idea.”
“As do I,” he agrees, rising up onto his toes as I lean down, put my hands on either side of his face, and kiss him.
CHAPTER 4
Niilo
“Wait,wait. You’re going on a road trip with a complete stranger? With a man you met during ajob?”
Carefully, I roll up my T-shirts and tuck them into my bag. Bent over my cot in the shared room, the only part I can see of my roommate is his waist and the fists currently planted on his hips. I glance up at his face, smirking at his expression. Mathéo glares.
“You were a stranger until a week ago,” I remind him, hiding my grin when he scoffs and throws up his hands, muttering in French. “And I had tolivewith you.”
I gesture at our small room, indicating the two twin cots and single nightstand between them. Mathéo’s hands find his hips once more and he walks a few paces back and forth, trying to think of an argument.
“But he is American!” is what he comes up with, making me laugh.
“You love them,” I remind him, remembering of all the nights he made me watch American football on his laptop. What a horrendously boring sport.
“I think you need to stay. Come with me to Naples, yeah? Or perhaps we are done with Italy. Perhaps we?—”
“I am not done with Italy. At least, not for the next couple of weeks, I’m not.” Finishing with the shirts, I begin folding my boxers into small squares, before tucking them into the bag. “I’m going on a road trip with Roman. If he ends up being awful, I’ll just have him drop me off and make my own way. It’s not as though we haven’t both had to do that before.”
Mathéo, like me, finished university and immediately hopped onto a plane to kick off his travel year. Unlike me, he’s missing home and will likely be traveling back to France sooner than I’ll go home to Finland. He makes a small, disgruntled noise in the back of his throat that somehow gives the impression of a rude hand gesture. I grin at the socks I’m folding together.
“Fine. I can see you aren’t going to be swayed. I promise to say something nice about you when they interview me for the podcast episode about your murder.”
I skirt around him to snag my charger from the wall, thinking about the pact Roman and I made the evening before. He could be crazy, I suppose, but trusting my gut has gotten me this far and served me well on the journey. I trust him. Even without anything to base the feeling on, I trust him.
Mathéo trails after me like a disapproving shadow as I gather my few belongings, packing them safely away. He helps me strip my bed, the way guests are required to do when they vacate, and even goes so far as to give me a grudging hug when it’s time for me to leave.
