“I tolerate your ego. Ilovethe size of your big eggplant.”
I pull her into me and whisper, “I’m going to do filthy things to that dirty mouth of yours tonight.”
To hell with waiting. I cup Katie’s face in my hands and pour everything I’m feeling into this kiss—all the love, the gratitude, the pure joy of having this incredible woman in my life. Her lips are soft and eager against mine, and the little sigh she makes hits me like Italian sunshine.
Our passengers break into applause. “Now that’samore!” Howie calls out. “Though you might want to save some of that fire for after the tour, Romeo.”
“Get it, baby girl!” Aunt Deb shouts.
Neither of us cares that we’ve got an audience of seniors who will absolutely turn this into today’s main discussion topic. Sorry, Juliet’s balcony—you’ve been demoted to second most-romantic sight in Verona.
My hands slide to Katie’s waist, memorizing this moment. Sometimes I hold her this tight because I still can’t believe she’s real.
I’ll admit, sometimes that fear still lingers. The fear that this—us—is too good to last. That one day I’ll wake up and this beautiful, maddening woman will be gone, leaving me with nothing but memories and the faint scent of strawberries.
But not today.
Today I’m just a man who found his home in a woman who carries emergency highlighters in her purse. Before Katie, I thought I was living. I wasn’t. I was existing, floating through life with no purpose beyond the next tour, the next fling, the next distraction. Now? Every day with her is an adventure.
When we finally come up for air, we’re both panting like we’ve climbed the stairs to the Colosseum. Twice. Her lipstick is smeared, her hair’s a mess, and Cristo, she’s never been more breathtaking.
“Well,” she says, her voice husky, “that was unexpected.”
I grin, running my thumb along her cheek. “Unexpected? I’ve been planning that kiss for at least thirty seconds.”
“Thirty whole seconds? Impressive. What’s next, color-coded schedules?”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
Her hands slide up to my chest, her smile softening. “Matteo,” she says, “I love you so much it actually hurts my brain.”
“Good,” I say, stroking her cheek. “I’m so hopelessly, completely, wildly in love with you.”
Her grin turns wicked. “Phew. Because after that tattoo, you’re officially stuck with me. I don’t know anyone else named Matteo.”
I laugh, leaning down to brush another kiss across her lips.
“All right, you horny teenagers!” Chester bellows. “Save some action for Juliet’s statue. Those bronze boobies aren’t going to fondle themselves.”
We step off the bus together, her hand warm in mine as Verona welcomes us like an old friend. Life with Katie isn’t predictable—it’s a constant surprise of sticky notes and stolen kisses, a mix of highlighted itineraries and spontaneous adventures. But watching her try to organize my chaos while creating her own? That’s the kind of perfect I never knew existed.
***
