All I Believe (Firsts and Forever, #10)(45)
All in all, I was doing a pretty good job focusing on my vacation and not just obsessing about Luca constantly. That became a lot harder in the middle of the night, though, when sleep eluded me and thoughts of him wrapped themselves around me and held on tight. I got in the habit of slipping out of our suite around two a.m. each night and walking the half-mile or so to Trevi Fountain.
During the day, the popular attraction was choked with tourists, but at that time of night I usually had it to myself. The winged horses reminded me a lot of the fountain in Viladembursa, and maybe that was what kept drawing me. I’d stand there for an hour or so, taking comfort in the familiar and missing Luca with every part of me.
Before I’d head back to the hotel, I’d always pull a coin from my pocket and whisper to it, “Come back to me, Luca,” before throwing it in the water. You were supposed to wish you’d return to Rome one day when you threw a coin in the Trevi Fountain, but I asked instead for the thing I wanted more than anything.
On my fifth evening in Rome, Jessie was feeling a bit under the weather and had turned in early. Nana and Ollie had gone on a dinner cruise, so Diego Rivera and I were hanging out together in a quiet corner of the lobby. The tiny dog was dressed in a sky blue, bulky sweater that day (he had them in every color, and I’d learned they were hand-knit by Ollie). He let out a tremendous yawn before curling up on my lap and putting his head on his paws. I’d brought my law journals downstairs with me, but I couldn’t even sort of concentrate. I kept re-reading the same paragraph over and over, but instead of sinking in, it bounced off like a ball against a brick wall.
Eventually I gave up, tilting my head back and staring up at the high, ornate ceiling. The lobby was opulent, a rich composition of golds and reds and grand details including an enormous chandelier. It was such a beautiful setting that I’d been spending a lot of my free time there.
I was sitting near the front desk, and sat up when I heard an unfamiliar voice say in a weird mashup of Spanish and Italian, “I must speak to Nicolo Dombruso. What is his room, please?”
The desk clerk politely informed him that he couldn’t give out room numbers, and I called, “I’m Nico Dombruso.”
The stranger turned and looked around. He was a handsome guy of about thirty with thick, brown hair that grazed his shoulders, a tidy beard and tattooed forearms. His clothes were so rumpled that it looked like he’d slept in them. I gave him a little wave, and he rushed over and exclaimed, “Nico, what a lucky coincidence! I’m Ignacio Mondelvano.” He spoke in English with a thick accent that made me think of Antonio Banderas.
“The artist?” When he nodded, I scooped up the dog and quickly got to my feet as I stammered, “I have one of your paintings!”
Ignacio flashed me a perfect smile as he shook my hand. “Yes, I know.”
“You do?”
“Do you have some time? I’d like you to come with me.”
“Really?”
“We should hurry. My car’s parked illegally in front of the hotel. Bring Diego Rivera, he likes the convertible.”
The dog was wagging his tail and wiggling in my arms, and tried to lick his hand when Ignacio scratched his ears. “Ollie must have sent you,” I guessed. “Are he and Nana alright?”
“I’m sure they’re fine wherever they are, but this has nothing to do with them. I’ll explain everything, but we should go before my car is towed.”
“Yeah, okay.” I tossed the law journals on a table and forgot all about them as we headed to the door.
The convertible in question turned out to be an ancient, faded, red Fiat Spider. Diego Rivera jumped into what there was of a backseat and stood on his hind legs, trying to peer over the edge of the car. Ignacio and I got in, too. He smiled and waved at the hotel’s parking attendant, who was giving him an exasperated look, then started the engine and shot forward. It was surprising that the old Fiat had that much power (or any at all).
I grasped somewhat frantically for my seatbelt as Ignacio said, shouting a little over the rush of air, “You need to be more careful, Nicolo. I could be anybody, and you just let me abduct you. Next time, ask for identification or something.”
“Noted, although people aren’t exactly lining up to kidnap me.”
“Still. You should think about your safety.”
He threw the car into fourth gear in order to run a light that was about to turn red, and I braced myself and told him, “Maybe driving a bit slower would be an idea if you’re concerned about my safety.”
“Driving in Roman traffic is like swimming in a shark tank,” he countered, flinging the car into a roundabout at full speed. “You only survive if you show no fear.”
“I really don’t think sharks care if you show fear. They just eat you anyway.” I reached behind me and scooped up the dog, who was tottering around the backseat, and added, “Also, feel free to tell me where we’re going and why. Not that this whole suspense thing isn’t exciting.”
“Someone wants to see you. He couldn’t come get you himself, so I volunteered.”
“You don’t mean Luca Caruso, do you? I didn’t think you knew each other.”
“Luca is a very new friend, but I quite like him, so I’m happy to intervene in his love life.”
“Why couldn’t he come get me?”