Hearts at the Holy See

by Hearts at the Holy See [Passport to Romance] (retail)

  Leo stumbled.

  Giovanni grinned.

  He turned to share a private look with Amalie, but she hadn’t noticed the exchange.

  “I can tell you something. I found it when I was researching the Vatican.” Amalie tucked a stray strand of hair back under her hat.

  Giovanni wanted to pull the whole thing over her face. Leo and Casey had managed to flirt again, and Amalie had to interrupt with more research.

  “It’s not on display now, but it was a while ago. At the Vatican Museum, no less. A typewriter.”

  “Really?”

  Leo poked Casey. “Is that ordinary enough for you?”

  “Not really. Why would the Vatican display a typewriter?”

  “Because one of the popes used it,” Amalie said. “It was a humble little one. They had a picture of him typing on it. And they had pictures of reporters sitting on a roof somewhere, each one with a typewriter propped in front of him or her, waiting to see the white smoke.”

  “White smoke?”

  Amalie sighed. “Signaling the conclave had elected a new pope.”

  “Why would they sit up there?”

  “Better view, of course.”

  “With typewriters?”

  “This was before the age of cell phones and the Internet.” She shrugged. “Look, you asked for an example, and I gave you one. Do you want more info on it?”

  “No.” Casey blinked, looking horrified. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  Amalie shook her head, and they headed to Saint Peter’s Square and from there out into the bigger, secular world of Rome.

  Twice, Giovanni managed to brush his arm against Amalie’s.

  Both times she smiled at him and then turned away, biting her lip.

  He understood how unsure she felt. After all, didn’t he feel nearly the same way? Wasn’t the start of a possible relationship one of the most nerve racking? But at her reaction, a tiny flame of hope lit inside, and his heart expanded.

  She tucked her arm through Casey’s.

  All four headed for the next shop opening.

  For half a moment, he and Amalie shared a glance. They’d come a fraction of a step closer. He had to believe that. If he kept praying, maybe his dreams would come true.

  ****

  God was good. He had her best interests at the center of His heart.

  So why did Amalie feel as if she were once again falling apart?

  She spun around, pretending to search for some picture or other that she’d missed, so she could wipe her cheek.

  It’s just the atmosphere. It’s being in Vatican City, seeing history piled up like this, a long history of God’s love that makes me want to cry. It’s not the man. It’s not my heart getting involved all over again. Broken again.

  Even though she pretended to stare at a reproduction of Caravaggio’s portrait of Saint Francis, she watched Giovanni as covertly as she could. When he turned, answering something Leo said, she edged toward the gift shop door. As soon as she’d made it outside, she glanced around.

  The basilica had become familiar, almost like visiting her own church at home. But she couldn’t head there. It meant a long trek, crossing streets and Saint Peter’s Square, and as much as she wanted time away from Giovanni’s mysteries, she didn’t want to desert her group completely.

  And she had no desire to visit another restaurant—she was still full up from the last meal they’d eaten. Either that, or her appetite had fled when her heart got involved in mooning over Giovanni. But she could wander through some of the other shops Rome offered. Casey, for one, would never suspect her of going into some secular place, not when she could choose something Vatican related.

  A display of books in a window caught her eye. The store probably wouldn’t have much in English, but then, she wasn’t looking to buy a book. Not then. She wanted a bit of silence, and bookstores tended to be quieter than others. At least, in California, they were.

  She crossed the street, sidled through the door, and breathed in the scent of paper and coffee. Just like the basilica, it felt like home. She could think here.

  Maybe even make up her mind.

  But as she wound her way through the aisles, she realized that, while she might have gotten away from Vatican-inspired souvenirs, she hadn’t gotten away from its essence. She had to amend her plan.

  Pray first and then see if she could make up her mind.

  She left the store, made sure none of the others had noticed her escape as yet, and headed farther into Rome.

  ****

  As attuned as he was to Amalie, Giovanni felt her slip away. He wanted so badly to follow after her, but something told him he should let her go. The Holy Spirit? He wasn’t sure, but he obeyed the impulse. He also obeyed the impulse to not let on to Casey or Leo that Amalie had escaped. Let them figure it out on their own, and give her time to hide if that was what she wanted.

  Hide from what? From him? Giovanni didn’t want to know.

  Talk about mixed messages. She’d give him longing looks, ones that an old-time movie actress would kill to learn, and then, a second later, she’d tell him he was a good sport. Worse, tell everyone else he was. Or fade out of his sight.

  As Giovanni turned from watching Amalie disappear, Casey gripped Leo’s arm. “Where’s Amalie? Where did she go?” Her eyes flared, and her words shook.

  “Casey, listen to me.” Giovanni patted her arm and turned her so she had to look at him. “No one kidnapped her. She’s fine. I saw her head across the street. She’ll meet up with us when she’s ready.”

  “But why would she ditch us?”

  Leo held out his hands. “You’re her cousin. You ought to know her better than we do.”

  Casey took a shuddering breath. “She likes to be alone sometimes. But why would she want to do that here?”

  “Maybe she didn’t go very far,” Giovanni said in his most reassuring tone.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “What are you talking about?” Leo moved between them, his shoulder brushing Giovanni’s and maybe putting more pressure into moving Giovanni away from Casey than he needed to.

  “I don’t know.” As Casey stared at him, her breathing slowed, and her voice lost much of its trembling. “I have this bad feeling. And I’m not being silly.” This she shot at Giovanni with a toss of her brilliant hair.

  “I never suggested you were.” But he stepped away, half to escape her obvious annoyance, half to let Leo do what Leo was so good at.

  If only he could figure out what he was good at, what Amalie needed. He’d have it made, then, wouldn’t he?

  “The thing is—do you remember what I said about her being engaged a couple years ago? That guy just destroyed her. And she had no business getting involved with him in the first place. He was bad news all over the place, but she didn’t want to listen.”

  “Most people are like that,” Leo said. “They don’t want to take someone else’s advice. They think they know better.”

  “Yeah, I know some people like that.” Giovanni hoped they’d listen, but neither seemed to hear him.

  He glanced from Leo to Casey. Did they even hear what they were saying to each other? Didn’t they hear how everything they’d said could come right home and talk to them about their own situation?

  Casey shook her head. “Not this time. And even though they broke up more than a year ago, she wasn’t over it. Over him, maybe, because he was a real jerk. But it was like the guy broke her, you know?”

  Giovanni slanted a glance at her. “Broke her spirit?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Poor kid,” Leo said. “Look, maybe we could all split up and go look for her.”

  Casey considered it for a moment. “But Giovanni said she’s not far away?”

  “She headed into a book store then came out. Just wandering, you know? Look, I’ll go make sure she’s all right, and we’ll all meet up in a bit. OK?”

  Even though Casey gave him a sort of pleading don’t-leave-me-w
ith-Leo look, Giovanni ignored it and headed toward the street. As far as he could tell, Amalie wasn’t there. He passed one of the many outdoor shrines dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. He crossed himself, and committed Amalie into the Mother’s care.

  If she’d gotten herself lost in Rome, he might not be able to find her. And Giovanni didn’t have her cell phone number. Maybe now wasn’t the time to go back and ask Casey for it—not after her rant about the jerk who’d hurt Amalie. He just hoped it wouldn’t be long until he got the chance to ask Amalie for himself.

  Somehow, his heart lightened. If Amalie’s confidence still felt shattered after this other guy—that might be why she’d pushed him away with all her talk of good sports. Maybe he could work his way past those barriers and get her to look at him the way she should.

  Giovanni let himself go, just for a minute, dreaming about the next time he’d see her. She wouldn’t know what happened to her. She’d be charmed. She’d fall in love.

  Or not. God knew.

  Oh, but did Giovanni have hope.

  Then reality inserted itself in the form of Casey’s anxiety.

  Giovanni glanced around. Amalie liked quiet places. Here in Rome, that might be a bit hard to find. But there were pockets of peace all over the city. Of course, Amalie wouldn’t know where they were, but she might stumble upon one. One, in fact, that he knew of, fairly close by, just a few buildings down the street.

  Following his instinct, Giovanni headed toward a tiny grotto filled with sunshine.

  Within a few minutes, he spotted Amalie, hunched at the edge of the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Aside from the small walkway that meandered up to and around the splash of water, the area bulged with plants—and just as he remembered, it was a Marian garden. The sun had drifted far enough to the west that deep fingers of cool stretched over the fountain, a good thing, since she’d forgotten to put on her hat. The scent of spring drifted through the courtyard, warm yet with drifts of cooling breeze. She’d picked a great place to rest between a huge overgrowth of rosemary and a crowd of marigold.

  He slid next to her, bumping her to let her know he was there.

  “For someone who melts in sunlight, you’d think you’d remember your hat more often.”

  “It’s in here.” She patted her bag and then turned. Despite sitting in the shade, her cheeks were bright with color. “So. You guys noticed I’d gone AWOL?”

  He nodded. “Casey kind of freaked out. Everything OK?”

  “Yeah.” She tipped her head. “Oh, you mean with Casey.”

  He nodded.

  She bent her head. Then, with a quick look at him from under her luscious lashes, she said, “She’s pretty protective.”

  “Of you.”

  “Yeah. See, I had a bad breakup a while ago.”

  After a moment of struggling with whether or not to admit it, Giovanni caved. “She told us.”

  Rather than being offended, Amalie grinned. “She still thinks I’m about to fall apart.”

  “Even though you’re not?”

  “Exactly.” But she bent her head again, and he couldn’t see her eyes. Was she hiding some smidgeon of truth from him? Of course, she had every right to hide any number of things.

  Giovanni leaned back and dunked his hand in the water of the fountain. He so wanted her to discover a reason to confide every aspect of her life with him. “Which means she has nothing to worry about?”

  Her smile answered. Then she shrugged and raised a delicately waved hand. “Well, then.”

  “That doesn’t explain why she thought you’d been kidnapped.”

  At that, Amalie blushed. “Only because some guy was staring at me, remember? And then she thought she saw him. She thinks he’s following me. My guess is, if he’s following anyone, it’s Casey.”

  “You don’t honestly believe a man couldn’t see you just because Casey’s around, do you?”

  The color in her cheeks had faded as they talked, but now it flamed again. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m not.” He held out his dry hand, and when she didn’t take it, he wrapped his fingers around hers. “I’m not talking about the guy who followed you anymore.”

  “OK.” She shrugged, tugged her hand and, when he wouldn’t let go, she seemed to relax into the slight embrace.

  “Why’d you come out here, anyway?” He snapped his damp fingers, forgetting they would make no sound. “I know. It was all those bones yesterday. They’re still getting to you.”

  Her laugh was a gurgle of pure joy. “I’m over that. Though it was pretty creepy, wasn’t it?”

  “Depends on your perspective.”

  “I suppose an architect has a different view of the types of material used?”

  “Uh, no, I wasn’t thinking about that.” Her expression made him grin. “I was thinking of theirs. All for the glory of God, you know? They gave every bit of themselves to God.”

  She shivered and then nodded.

  He looked around the courtyard. A group meandered past the courtyard entrance. A few birds flapped overhead and then settled into the branches that shaded the fountain. “You never answered my question.”

  Her fingers tightened on his. “I had some thinking to do, and I do it better when it’s quiet. When I can pray.”

  On impulse, he drew her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

  Time slowed, and she turned to face him. “Giovanni, I—are you sure?”

  “Never more so.”

  After a moment, during which he’d started to believe she would finally give in to their attraction, she stiffened. “See, I’m not. I’m sorry, but I’m just not sure.”

  He sighed. “Not yet?”

  She leaned close, letting her cheek rest against his hand, putting her hair close to him. “I’m scared, Giovanni.”

  His heart swelled. Here was the secret he wanted to know. The first secret, anyway. “Because we just met.”

  “That, too. But mostly…”

  He waited, watching the emotion build to crying pitch in her face.

  “Mostly, because I don’t know how long you mean it for.”

  “How long?” Surprise made him back slightly away, as if a few inches could give him a clearer focus.

  “You’re only here for a few weeks. Same for me. And then we won’t be—” She shrugged, but her eyes filled in her silence.

  “And then we both go back to California. We live a few hours apart. I’m not looking to forget you when I fly home, Amalie. I know I never could.”

  She smiled, ducked her head; then she looked up, her face transformed. “Oh, Giovanni.”

  “So he found you.” Casey’s voice tore between them, and suddenly, Giovanni found himself alone on one side of the fountain, watching Amalie fly to her cousin.

  But he didn’t care that Casey had interrupted them yet again. Because this time, he’d gotten what he wanted—he’d gotten a look, a few words—more than hope. A promise. An answer to his promise.

  He stood, ready to hug the world, to shout his joy to the city, and had to reign himself in. Because no matter how confident he felt, he’d be a fool to let Amalie see.

  Casey grabbed Amalie’s hands. “We’re not home, you know. You need to be careful. You can’t trust Italians.”

  “Excuse me?” Giovanni had to chuckle at the look on Casey’s face. “For your information, I’m Italian.” As if an afterthought, he added, “And so is Leo.”

  “It’s true,” Leo ambled behind Casey, hands in his pockets, and an odd expression on his face, one Giovanni couldn’t read.

  “I meant strangers. And maybe that guy wasn’t even Italian, I couldn’t tell. But you have to be careful.”

  “I was. And Giovanni found me before anything terrible happened, so it’s all good.”

  Giovanni could watch Amalie’s dimples deepen and her smile flit across her face for hours. Someday, he’d get the chance. He hoped.

  Funny, once Casey stopped obsessing over Amalie’s supposed danger, she wor
e almost the same expression Amalie did now. Maybe, he reflected, even more of a glow.

  Giovanni glanced at his cousin. He might have been looking in a mirror, not because they looked so much alike—though they did—but because he saw the same befuddled, love-struck glaze he was sure had gotten itself plastered across his own.

  They’ve made up, he told himself. And then he turned back to Amalie. At the moment, he couldn’t really waste much time worrying or even rejoicing over his cousin’s love life. He had his own to celebrate.

  8

  The next morning, Amelie had to ask Casey, “What’s on the schedule today?” She couldn’t believe how lost she’d gotten, lost as to where she was or where she was going. The only thing that mattered anymore was Giovanni. She’d dressed, eaten her breakfast, and now waited for her cousin to tell her it was time to go, all without knowing what she was doing. Or why. Except that it would somehow lead her to Giovanni.

  Just as if telling him how he scared her meant she had a reason now to trust him.

  And none of that should be true. Not for a young woman who’d traveled—for the first time in her life—outside of her own country, to another, to search out what God had planned for her.

  Unless Giovanni was the plan. Her heart jumped at the thought. For the first time, she let herself believe that might be true.

  “The gardens. Finally.” Casey flipped through their tickets and pulled out the necessary ones, tucking the rest in the folder she kept in her suitcase.

  “Oh. That’s nice.”

  “Nice?” Casey stopped in the middle of sorting through the clothes tangled at the bottom of the closet, turned and peered into Amalie’s face, her own forehead puckered with worry. “You OK?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re acting as though something’s wrong.”

  “Oh. Maybe I’m tired.” Tired of vacillating all over her emotions, maybe. Tired of being sure one minute, and dithering the next. Tired of suspecting she’d been leading Giovanni on. Never, never in her life had she considered herself a player.

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Amalie took a deep breath.

  Casey rushed on. “We could tell the guys we’re running late. Meet them in half an hour or something.”