Four months later …

So fate had other ideas for me. And don’t judge me, but somehow going back to the place it all began felt kind of poetic in some really messed-up way. I’m not talking Rome, of course, no-no-no. I’m talking about sitting at a desk, with an irritating-as-all-hell neck scarf and a stiff, ill-fitting jacket that made working on the keyboard really tricky.

After taking my still-wounded soul bursting through the doors of Jan and John Buzzo’s travel agency, unleashing my tirade of the complete and utter shambles of my Italian adventure (minus the hot, sordid details of Marcello), I took great pleasure in telling them that their ‘no regrets’ philosophy had left me with nothing but regrets! I thought that was a rather killer line; I know because I had practised it over and over again on the car ride over to their office.

That was three months ago, and I never imagined that I would have received not only a written apology and a phone call, but a job offer. Jan was planning to retire Mr Buzzo to the golf course and fill his well-indented seat with someone who actually had a clue. The thought of another year of binge-watching Netflix at Mum and Dad’s was all the inspiration I needed: I was only too happy to accept Jan’s offer. The next thing I knew, I had my own headset and was booking other people’s dream holidays.

I had found my calling!

As much as I liked a challenge, and it was definitely a challenge. I actually enjoyed the job, especially on the odd occasion when I knew what I was talking about; that is, giving recommendations for Rome. Whether it be a little lunch place with a view of the Pantheon, or the famous gelato they simply had to try, or, if they were up for it, the power hour at Rome’s hottest nightclub. It kind of made it fun, too, that Louis was shooting his next TV series at Hotel Luce del Sole, the worst hotel he had ever seen, which made for great television. I was now in a position to recommend the hotel to travellers and feel confident about it. The location was excellent, the staff were A plus, and now it was entirely bedbug free!

And I never failed to recommend Bellissimo Tours. I had Googled Maria often enough to know that her business was booming, with no joint venture with Marcello in sight; he didn’t need it. Since Louis had tweeted his ‘discovery’ of the Roman artist Marcello Bambozzi, my former flame’s career took off. I tried desperately not to Google him, which was tough with a computer at my fingertips most days of the week, but last I heard he had his own gallery opening, showcasing his art. I’m not going to lie: I cried. Cried like a newborn baby, I was so happy for him; it was exactly what he deserved.

It all seemed like a distant memory now. Despite the rather disastrous parting of ways with my fellow travellers, I still kept in touch with the Gold Coast besties, who often sent me updates of all things Jodie and Bookworm Gary – engaged, buying a puppy, heading back to Rome! I guess they threw their coins in the fountain successfully. I tried not to let the bitterness eat away at me. At least Nate would send me the odd humorous YouTube clip to take the edge off, and Johnny liked my status updates on Facebook. In some weird way we were all still connected; we probably always would be. I certainly wasn’t expecting an invite to Jodie and Gary’s wedding, and she was never going to make it onto my Christmas card list, but hey, I was a-okay with that.

I glanced at the clock, my head shaking at my calculations: another two-hour lunch for Jan. I didn’t mind, though, as it offered me a reprieve from her constant chattering.

I sighed, checking over the details for the Berrymans’ annual trip to Bali, then pressed print in a fury of clicks until a symbol flashed up on my screen.

‘Oh, great!’

I swivelled in my chair, making the long trek to the ancient printer, doing my usual pull tray, slam, bang, jiggle routine that usually brought the old beast to life. I was so focused on my task that I didn’t see the thread of my bracelet get caught in the door, snapping the accessory off my wrist.

‘Oh, shit.’ I slammed the top of the printer in frustration, my vision instantly blurring as I pulled the green, white and red strip from the door in despair. It was the bracelet Marcello bought me in Rome from a dodgy vendor, promising good luck if it broke. I closed the door, staring at it, my heart aching as I held the limp strand.

‘Yeah, well, I need all the bloody luck I can get.’

And just as if the universe was listening to me, the machine began functioning again, shooting out sheets of perfectly printed paper. I burst out laughing, sniffing and wiping at my eyes.

‘It’s a miracle!’ I shouted to the sky, grabbing the papers and walking back to my desk. I head the telltale groan of the shopfront door, announcing Jan’s return.

About bloody time.

‘Hey, Jan, the printer’s on the fritz again. Do you want me to call Tony?’ I sat down in my chair, swivelling around to see the cause of her lack of reply, ready to repeat the question.

I glanced up, then froze. My grip clenched on the papers so tightly that I could feel them crinkling in my hands. I slowly stood, shaking my head in utter disbelief.

‘What are you doing here?’

There he stood, tall, tanned and eyes as dark as I remembered, standing next to a plastic pot plant, holding a very real rose. He slowly stepped forward, a twinkle in his eyes.

‘I need to book some tickets.’

‘What?’ I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t register what he was saying.

‘H-how did you know …’

‘Where to find you?’

I nodded, because that’s all I could manage.

‘Louis is a great man, and an interesting neighbour.’

The penny dropped. Claire and Louis at Hotel Luce del Sole. I should have known.

I could feel my legs shaking, watching him make his way around the desk, coming closer to me.

‘He could probably learn a recipe or two from Rosalia.’ I swallowed; why was it getting harder to breathe? It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. He smiled, and there was no escape, those bloody dimples were weapons of mass destruction. Standing before me, he handed me the rose.

‘This one is yours to keep this time … if you want it?’

I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes, my heart beating so fast I didn’t think I could take it.

The door opened, letting a blast of cool air into the office. Jan shrugged her coat off and looped it over the back of her chair.

‘Sorry I’m late, love, I had to zip to the bank and the lines were mental …’ Jan came up short. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, touching her neck and smiling. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

I tore my eyes from Marcello’s, desperately needing the reprieve, knowing it was the only chance I stood to think clearly.

‘It’s okay, Jan. I was just helping Mr Bambozzi with a booking.’

‘Oh, fab—where to?’ she asked, plunking herself back behind her desk, grabbing a nail file and listening intently as she filed her talons.

I turned back to Marcello’s solemn, serious gaze. He looked lost, hanging on for the very next moment, his eyes ticking across my face.

The heart was a ridiculous thing.

I lifted my hand, placing my fingers around the stem of the rose.

No thorns.

Bringing it close to me, I smelled its perfume, the memory making me smile as I lifted my eyes to look at him, really look at him. Stepping closer to Marcello, I spoke to him and only him, finally able to voice what I wanted—the only thing I ever truly wanted.

‘Two tickets to Rome!’