Page 77 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“We should go,” I said. “Francesca’s waiting.”

We climbed back up into the light. I had to take a breath of fresh air to clear my head.

“Car’s waiting,” Cash said.

“Let’s walk,” I said.

He looked surprised. “It’s hot.”

“You’re the one that got dressed up to look at old stuff.”

“Fine, where are we walking to?”

“No idea. That’s the point.”

He sighed and then nodded. “All right.”

I didn’t have a map and I didn’t care. We turned down side streets and cut through alleys and followed the sound of music until we emerged into a sun-washed courtyard that felt like something out of a postcard. There was a fountain in the center where a group of young women sat on the stone steps with sunglasses and paperback books. Music poured out of a café on one side, something jazzy and warm. A restaurant had claimed half the courtyard with small tables and cheerful yellow umbrellas.

“Here,” I said immediately.

Cash raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

“It’s perfect. Let’s have lunch.”

We sat. A waiter appeared almost instantly, and Cash ordered us wine in flawless Italian that made my knees feel unstable. I pulled out my phone while he ordered and pretended to check my messages, but really I was watching him—the way he gestured when he spoke, the way the waiter lit up and became animated in response.

When the waiter left, Cash rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

I watched him do it. I couldn’t help it. His forearms were ridiculous. All muscle and tendon and golden skin. I wanted to lick him. Start at the wrist and go all the way up to his shoulder. Across his chest.

He raked his fingers through his hair.

I swallowed and squeezed my legs together. He was hard to look at. No, he was too easy to look at, which made it hard because I couldn’t just look. I fantasized.

My phone sat on the table and I had a sudden need to tell Melody.

Me: Okay, I think I get the whole Bancroft thing now.

The wine arrived. Cash poured for both of us. I took a long drink and tried to focus on anything other than the way his shirt fit across his shoulders or the small patch of skin visible at his throat.

“Thank you,” I said.

He looked up. “For what?”

“The tour. The VIP treatment. Letting me nerd out about dead Romans for an hour.”

“You were in your element.”

“I really was.” I smiled. “I’m going to be completely insufferable about this for the rest of my life.”

CHAPTER 27

CASH

The sun was setting, turning the courtyard into something out of a painting I would have paid obscene money for if I’d seen it in a gallery. It was wild to think people actually got to see this on the daily. They probably didn’t even see the beauty of it because they’d seen it a hundred times.

But Cleo and I couldn’t seem to leave. We’d been here for three hours.