Monday

By 9:45 in the morning, after a very long sleep, I’ve found my way to the famous Campo de’ Fiori, a large, open square surrounded by typical flat-fronted Roman buildings of varying sizes and colours ranging from lemon yellow to dark red. Shuttered windows dot their façades, creating an even, pleasing patchwork that ties them all together into an idyllic vista.

I’ll admit that on my way through the winding streets that led me here, I wanted to stop about eighteen times in various little hole-in-the-wall shops that displayed the most gorgeous linen sweaters, pants that might just make my ass look fabulous and perfect Italian leather purses. Both the designer in me and my girly-girl side are intrigued, but I have weeks here yet, so I make a note to return and explore when I have a bit of time.

The streets lead into the campo like spokes of a bicycle wheel; there have to be about twenty of them coming at it from all directions. I could see getting lost for hours, weary feet treading on the uneven cobblestones. I can’t think of a better way to spend a morning. The expression All Roads Lead to Rome has begun to make more sense to me than ever, although a more accurate version might be All roads in Rome lead to another part of Rome, and good luck ever finding your way out. This city was not designed for ease of navigation, but that’s one of the things I love about it.

When I arrive at the square, I spot Bruno immediately. He’s a dark, brooding, hooded statue of a man standing towards one end of the campo. I wander over, mesmerized by his mystery. His handsome face is mostly in shadow, thanks to the hood that makes him look like a monk. But as I read the template that describes him, I learn that he was a philosopher and mathematician who was burned by the catholic church for heresy.

A naughty man after my own heart.

When I’ve finished examining him, I perch on the steps at his feet to stare out at the people wandering by. Mostly tourists, I think, though the odd Italian saunters past me. You can tell the locals by the fact that they pay attention to each other rather than to their surroundings. In my limited experience, it’s impossible for a tourist to walk through the city without risk of death, because their eyes are constantly drawn upwards. There’s so much to stare at here, so much beauty, that it’s impossible to ignore. The city is breathtaking, mysterious, open and closed at once, its stories told on the very stones that make up its buildings’ foundations.

“Lucy.”

The feminine voice pulls me out of my reverie and I jump to my feet, trying to figure out where it came from. I spin around until I come face to face with a redhead who’s got a big smile on her lips, a leather bag slung over one shoulder. She’s wearing a pale linen jumpsuit tied at the waist, and looks like she just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.

“Katherine!” I say, wanting to throw my arms around her. She feels so much like an old friend by now, and it’s damn good to see a face other than Dylan’s.

She steps forward and kisses me on each cheek before saying, “Let’s grab a coffee, shall we?”

I nod and she guides me over to a café, slipping elegantly into a chair at one of the tables that are protected from the sun by large umbrellas covered in advertisements for Cinzano and various other alcoholic beverages.

“I trust you’re doing well?” she asks before I can say anything.

“Yes, very well,” I reply. “Well, fairly well.”

“That’s the same answer you gave me yesterday. You’d mentioned that you ran into a man you know—tell me, how’s that working out?”

I look away and sigh heavily. “It’s a little crazy,” I reply, not knowing what else to tell her.

The waiter steps over, and Katherine order us two cappuccinos, looking my way to make sure I approve. I do.

“Crazy can be fun,” she says.

I pull my gaze back to her face to see that she’s smiling, this sly little expression in her eyes, like she understands but she’s enjoying this just a little too much.

“Not this kind of crazy. I guess I haven’t told you that I used to be in love with him.” Immediately I clam up, realizing that it was probably a bad idea to offer so much information out loud.

“I see,” she replies. “And how do you feel about him now?”

She asks a lot of questions, but something in them manages not to feel intrusive. I’m not sure how she manages it.

“Conflicted,” I laugh. “I was a kid then; it was a long time ago. But I think we’ve both changed. And I get the distinct impression that he’d like to go on a date with me.”

“But you don’t want to because you’re afraid the old feelings would crop up.”

“Yes, something like that.”

“You’re afraid that you’ll walk away feeling foolish and he’ll walk away clean as a whistle.”

“Bingo.”

The waiter lays our drinks in front of us. I’m now wishing I’d asked for a margarita.

“But you said he’s not a scoundrel?” Katherine asks, leaning her elbows on the table and placing her chin in her hands.

“No. Not a scoundrel. But that doesn’t mean I can bring myself to trust him.”

“All right,” Katherine says, leaning back as though to take in all the information I’ve given her over the last day.

“There’s one more complication,” I throw her. “There’s another man, one I just met. I think he lives in the building next door.”

“Ah,” says, Katherine, pulling her hands into her lap. “Giancarlo.”

“You know him?”

“He took the note from me yesterday. I met him, yes.”

“Well, he asked me out.”

Katherine’s smiling again, entertained by my dilemma. There’s something really sexy about her. I mean, I’m not into women, but I could see how men must fall all over her. I half expect her to tell me that Giancarlo asked her out, too. “He’s a very handsome man,” she says, “and he knows it.”

“Yes, I think he does. So tell me, would you advise against a date with him?”

“Oh, hell no,” she tells me. “You should absolutely go out with him. Good lord, if that man asked me out I’d strip naked and straddle his face before even bothering to say yes.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be straddling any part of him, but it would certainly take my mind off Dylan for a few hours.” I take a sip of my cappuccino, which is freaking amazing. “Wait a minute,” I say, dabbing my mouth with the small napkin that was tucked under my saucer. “How did you become my relationship advice go-to woman? I feel like we’ve only talked about me and my stupid girl problems since I arrived.”

“It’s my own fault,” she laughs. “I love hearing about this sort of thing. Besides, I don’t have a love interest in Rome these days, so I appreciate the chance to live vicariously. Anyhow, I advise you to open yourself up to any and all opportunities. You only live once and all that.”

“So you’re advising me to go full-slut.”

Katherine laughs again. “Such an ugly word. Let’s say that you’d be a woman in charge of her own destiny. Live a little. Enjoy the world around you.”

“I don’t think I can be open to too many experiences or my brain will explode. Either that or my heart will melt.”

Giancarlo = explosive brain.

Dylan = melting heart.

“That sounds lovely, actually,” she replies. “Whatever you choose to do, even if it’s neither man, I’m sure it’ll be right for you.” She lets out a soft, contented sigh as her eyes scan the campo. “I once had a romantic adventure in this city, years ago now. I’ll never forget it.”

“What happened?” I ask, grateful to get a chance to hear about someone else’s entanglements.

Katherine looks at me. “We met, we became addicted to one another. Then there was a lot of sex. And then more sex. Then we went our separate ways,” she says. “As it had to be.”

“Did you love him?”

She looks away again, her eyes staring into the distance at the statue of Bruno. “Actually, yes,” she says. “I did. Very much. But we had different ideas of what the future should hold. And things turned out for the best for us both, I think. He has a family now, and I have my independence.” She turns back to me, her expression serious. “It’s okay to love someone and to hurt, you know. The heart isn’t meant to be shut off like a faucet with a limited supply. It’s meant to bend and suffer and then rejuvenate. Our hearts recharge, Lucy. That’s the beauty of being human.”

She’s so smart, and so right. But I know how I am. I know how long it takes my poor stupid heart to recover from damage: forever and a day. It’s still working on healing from the wound it suffered seven freaking years ago.

“Tell me something, Katherine, why did you start the travel agency?” I ask, curious about what makes her tick.

She doesn’t need to contemplate the answer for a second. “For women like you and me. Women who grew up with pressure on them to end up with a permanent partner, who think they’ve failed if they don’t have that life. Women who are waiting for the right man to come along to make them whole. I want women to be able to walk the streets of Rome alone, without feeling like a part of them is missing. Hell, if you want to fuck a gorgeous man, I say by all means fuck him. But don’t tell yourself that he’s the thing that will fix you. The only one who can make you whole is you. And once you’re whole, guess what? Then you can work on the next step. It’s far easier to give yourself to another person when you’re complete than as a broken entity.”

I stare at her, my mind kind of blown. She’s just laid out everything that I’ve spent years trying to figure out. She’s right, of course; I’ve spent my entire adult existence thinking that someday, someone would come around and fix the cracks in my shell.

But I’m realizing that I need to repair myself. I need to accept who I am, how I am.

In the meantime, I think that maybe it’s time for me to go on a date.