We went to the Trevi Fountain, and I tossed in a coin so I’d return. Naz gave me ten of them—eleven with mine—to toss in.
After, he took me underneath the fountain where there’s a secret archaeological site.
Vicus Caprarius, City of Water, is below the famed fountain and is an ancient apartment complex that was home to Rome’s upper-class. The site dates to the first century, was discovered in the late 1990s, and showcases artifacts, like terra-cotta figurines, African pottery, mosaic tiles, and a bunch of coins.
The showstoppers are the pools that still fill with water. The tour guide told us it was because of Aqua Virgo, one of the eleven aqueducts of Ancient Rome. The aqueduct fed into the Trevi Fountain, so the water we spotted in Vicus Caprarius would eventually make its way back to the fountain.
I thought about the number eleven. Eleven aqueducts. Eleven coins Naz had me throw in. Maybe there was some symbolism. Maybe not. He was a Fausti, though, and they were known for it.
Maybe he felt it was a lucky number.
We lingered on the Spanish Steps and meandered along the Tiber River. Naz took me for a late lunch at Alla Rampa, not far from the Spanish Steps. He had wanted to take me to a “small, family-owned trattoria you will love,” but I was ready to eat. It was my fault, he had offered to take me earlier, but I was so caught up in exploring, food was the last thing on my mind.
Food. Was. The. Last. Thing. On. My. Mind.
InItaly.
Naz said Alla Rampa’s bucatini alla gricia and rigatoni alla amatriciana were good, so that was where we went. And it was close. He seemed relieved because I was starting to get testy. My sister had anemia, and sometimes I thought I did too. I felt weak and cranky when I didn’t eat every couple of hours. I tried to eat small meals often to ward it off. Or it could be hypoglycemia. Either way, it caused me issues sometimes.
We were seated right away. I expected it to be touristy from the proximity of it to the Pantheon and overly busy because of it. It was bustling, but not too overwhelmed with tourists. The ambience of the place whispered Rome, with its apricot and pale lemon walls with exposed brick and dark furniture, and so did the music playing softly in the background.
I took it in while Naz seemed to take me in.
“What?” I asked when our eyes met.
“You are sweating, and your color is off. Pale.”
“Sometimes I feel weak when I don’t eat enough.”
He stood from the table and approached a waiter. He spoke to them, gesturing with his hands, and the waiter turned around and headed toward what I assumed was the kitchen.
Naz waited outside of it with his arms crossed.
A minute or two later, the waiter came out holding two dishes. Naz said something to him, and the waiter nodded behind him with his head. Naz busted through the kitchen door and came back out a second later holding two more dishes.
The waiter was visibly sweating as he set the dishes down. Naz set his two down and claimed his seat again.
He nodded toward the food. “The protein will help.Mangiare.Adesso.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was starving and honestly feeling weak. He dipped a napkin in a cold glass of water and took the seat next to me, lifting my hair, applying it to my neck.
I set my hand over his. “I’ll be okay. Just let me do this.” I grinned at my lame joke, but he didn’t. He was too busy watching me like I might melt into a puddle and disappear.
“Letmedo this for you,” he whispered.
I nodded, my body craving food to get my energy up. A minute or two after I cleaned two plates, and was starting to feel somewhat better, the waiter brought out the main meals. Bucatini alla gricia and rigatoni alla amatriciana.
“Which one is yours?” I asked.
He rolled his top teeth over his bottom lip. “We can share.”
Uh, I wanted him to do that again, but I had to dig in. He asked me a question, something about a camera, but I held my finger up. “This is my Meg Ryan moment inWhen Harry Met Sally—when Sally pretends to have an orgasm in the middle of a restaurant. Except this is a food-gasm. Let me have this.”
“Should I call you Sally then?” He grinned and lifted his glass of wine to his lips.
“Call me whatever you want, just don’t call me away from this table.”
He laughed, and I could hear every ovary in the room sigh.
