I laugh and slip his shirt over my head to make the dash back to my room for my own clothes.
Ten minutes later, and I’m following Colton down the cobblestone street to his Vespa. The restaurants and bars around us are closed, but the city’s never silent, laughter and music streaming to the street from house parties continuing into the early morning.
The drive isn’t far, less than fifteen minutes with the roads clear, and I nestle into Colton’s back, using the excuse to snuggle up.
Colton parks his Vespa a few blocks away, knowing I’ll want to savor the joy of walking up to it. The tight streets of Rome make for the most epic reveals, narrow, almost claustrophobic walkways giving way to large piazzas hosting heart-stoppingsights with no warning. My skin tingles when I hear the rush of the water from around the corner, so close, but still out of sight. A siren’s song drawing us in.
And then it’s there. Oceanus lit up above the pool, shining like the god he is. Two horses sit at his feet, one bucking and one docile, a vivid representation of the unpredictability of the sea. It’s massive and wild, a bit gaudy, but so essentially Roman.
The fountain doesn’t belong solely to us tonight. There’s a group of drunk kids—maybe study abroad students, though thankfully not ours. Colt and I watch as they toss at least five Euros each into the fountain while trying to get the perfect picture. I’m sure the Roman charities that receive all the money thrown in are more than grateful for drunk people.
Besides the very generous college students, there’s a couple nestled back on the stadium-style cement benches facing the fountain, the woman straddling the man as they push the boundaries of Italy’s public decency laws. Colton snorts, placing a hand on the small of my back to lead me to the far side, away from the mayhem and potential sex show.
He slips a coin into my hand with a small smile before turning his back to the fountain, using his right hand to toss the coin over his left shoulder in a practiced move.
I twist to face away from the fountain, following the same precise movements. There are specific rules for this ritual. It doesn’t matter that my logical brain knows it isn’t real when Rome’s on the line, so I relish the plunk as my coin sinks below the surface.
I sit on the curved edge of the fountain and let my fingers play through the pool. “This is the most Roman thing ever, isn’t it?”
He tilts his head as he takes a seat beside me. “I can see that. It’s a bit ostentatious, but Rome’s always been about big displays. Wealth, art, power. It’s carved in the lines of its sights.”
“True, but I didn’t mean the fountain. I meant the legend. There are wishing fountains all over the world.” My hand createsripples across the surface. “People stop and toss in coins, praying for their deepest wish to come true. To find love. To get that promotion. To get pregnant. All their dreams, poured out into these tiny scraps of metal. But not here. Here, you throw in a coin to guarantee you come back one day. Because if you’re in Rome, what else could you wish for other than the joy of seeing it again?”
“No other wish could compete,” he says.
I glance over to find him watching me, that same soft smile on his lips and a gleam in his eye that makes me wonder if thereissomething else he’d wish for. Heat rushes through my veins, and I have to look away. I glance over his shoulder, my eyes catching on the most awkward conversation piece possible.
The Fountain of Love.
The drinking fountain has two spouts with the same fresh drinking water that’s available all over the city. Those streams cross before landing in a large basin. Legend says any couple who drinks from the fountain at the same time will have a life full of love and faithfulness.
“Have you ever drunk from it?” Colton asks quietly, almost reverently.
Both of us keep our eyes glued to the fountain. “Nuh-uh. You?”
He clears his throat. “Never had someone I wanted to drink with.”
I think I hear an unspokenuntil youat the end of that sentence, and I can’t say if the rush I feel is joy or terror.
Things feel different after the confrontation with my dad. I’ve never had someone stand up for me like that. No one in my family has been willing to cross him. No oneeverchooses me.
Until him.
“Colt, do you?—”
A splash keeps me from finishing the sentence. I twirl around to find one of the college students resurfacing, sputtering whilehis friends howl. A sharp whistle sounds from the roof of one of the buildings on the piazza where a police officer is stationed to watch the fountain. Another officer rushes down the steps to the water’s edge.
I try to rein in my laughter at the sight of the large man trying to catch the student, who flops around like a slippery fish near the fountain’s edge as he tries to avoid being caught.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
Colton places a hand on my arm to stop me. “Were you going to say something?”
His deep green eyes are so earnest, so hopeful, that it’s suddenly blindingly obvious. This means something to him beyond our friendship and a really great sex life. The answer to the question I was going to ask—if he thought we could be more than a summer hookup—is a resounding yes. It’s equal parts tempting and terrifying.
I gulp and send another glance back at the students. Was that a sign? Maybe I’m not ready for something real with him and would destroy our friendship by asking for more. Maybe I’m too broken—too insecure underneath all the noise and bluster—to maintain a healthy relationship. Colton doesn’t deserve someone half in.
Or maybe I’m just a coward.
