I feel . . . slightly self conscious at the amount of baggage that I brought on the trip. With two large checked bags, a carry-on that I could barely get to zip, and my oversized purse, I take the cake on overpacking. But in my defense, my carry on includes my laptop, two cameras I brought to capture aesthetic photos and video content, as well as a few lenses.
When Carson saw me packing up my equipment, he said he hadn’t realized I liked photography. Growing up it was a hobby I was passionate about. I worked for our school newspaper as both a photographer and a journalist, as well as led the yearbook committee.
We’ve just grabbed our luggage and are at the rental car pickup. Both Griff and Carson chose to get luxury vehicles, so we’re waiting on the sidewalk for the valet to bring the cars around. When a sleek black Range Rover pulls up to the curb, I roll my eyes at Carson and begin to wheel my luggage toward the back of the vehicle just as Griff says, “That’s us.” He guides his and Kenna’s luggage to the rear of the vehicle.
“G, do you think we could fit some of our luggage in yours?” Carson asks.
Confusion knits my brow. I know I overpacked, but even if we got a standard size sedan, we can put some of the luggage in the back seat. My confusion wanes as another valet pulls up a gunmetal gray two-passenger convertible Ferrari.
“Carson—” I start but am cut off.
“Come on, Austin. Let me live out my fantasy of driving down the coast of Italy in the world’s sexiest sports car with the world’s most beautiful woman in the passenger seat.”
“How in the heck are we supposed to fit all of our luggage in there once Griff and Kenna go back to the states?”
He doesn’t even hesitate to answer. “I’ve arranged for a concierge service to transfer our luggage to each of the places we’re staying for us. We’ll each keep a carry on with us in the trunk while we’re driving to each location, but they’ll handle the rest.”
With my hand on my hip, I say, “That sounds very expensive.”
He shakes his head in disagreement. “I think you meant to say it sounds like I planned accordingly, and you can’t wait to explore Italy with such a well-traveled man.”
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and try not to let my own insecurities ruin this outrageously kind gesture of his. For almost the entire two weeks we were at his family’s cabin over the Fourth of July, Carson was meticulously planning this trip. He would ask for my input for things I wanted to do or places I wanted to see, but he wouldn’t let me lift a finger when it came to coordinating the logistics of our vacation. It’s the caretaker in him, and I know it’s the way he shows he cares, but I never want him to feel like I’m taking advantage of his generosity.
“I’m putting my foot down when it comes to the car. I’ve dreamed of driving a Ferrari Portofino M, but have never had the opportunity. This is my chance,” Carson explains.
“Alright, alright. Who am I to stand in the way of your fantasy?” I playfully tease.
Carson’s eyes seem to darken as he brushes his hand against the light scruff of his jaw. “Don’t tease me, Austin. You have no idea how many fantasies of mine you star in,” he rasps.
Leaving me there with my jaw hanging open, and a dumbstruck look on my face, Carson saunters over to the valet and hands him a tip as he grabs the keys.
Sitting against the hood of the Ferrari, he twirls the keys on his finger. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.” He punctates that statement with a flirtatious wink.
I’m so incredibly screwed when it comes to trying to resist his charms.
Especially so, because when we check into the hotel, we’re informed that the booking was only for two rooms. Not a big deal, considering Carson and I have lived together, so sharing a room shouldn’t be too much different, right? Wrong. Each of the two rooms only has one bed. One. Singular. Bed. Oh, but we can just get a cot, right? Wrong again. No cots are available at this lovely five-star establishment.
Kenna turns to me, worry etched across her face. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry Dakota. I didn’t realize I booked both rooms for only one bed. Do you want to have Griff and Carson room together and you and I can share a room?”
“Absolutely not,” Griff blurts at the same time as I say, “That is not happening.”
Kenna raises a brow at Griff, and he shrugs in response. “We’re on our honeymoon, Sunshine. Can you blame me for wanting to share a bed withmy wife?”
The possessive way he emphasizes her new title has Kenna melting in the palm of his hand.
Carson cuts in before Kenna can try to suggest any other arrangements, “Dakota and I shared a bed when we were at your bachelorette weekend.” He slings an arm over my shoulder, and peers down at me. “This won’t be any different, right?” he asks.
I clear my throat and will my jittery nerves to settle. “No, not at all,” I lie, because this will be completely different. We’re not at his parents’ lake cabin, we’re in one of the most romantic countries in the world on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation. And we were both drunk the night we accidentally fell asleep together. Now I’m going to be in my own head about whether I packed appropriate pajamas, if the smell of my shampoo is too strong, or if I hog too much of the bed. Clearly he likes to cuddle based on the position we woke up in that next morning. “Besides, they already took our luggage up to our rooms.”
Carson grabs the key from Kenna’s hand and, without another word, guides me toward the stairs, placing his hand on the small of my back.
His touch makes my nerves feel like they’re frayed at the ends and about to ignite, sending small shockwaves down my body—I feel my will slipping with each step we take toward our room.
Kenna and Griff are in their own little world, completely wrapped up in each other as we explore and walk across the stone-paved square in front of Duomo di Milano. I learned a new term today: piazza, the Italian word for an open square in a city. So technically, we’re exploring Piazza Duomo today.
The Duomo di Milano is a grandiose gothic cathedral in the heart of Milan. Stopping in the middle of thepiazza, I stare up at a statue of a man riding a horse.
“Oh, I looked this one up. This is the Statua di Vittorio Emanuele II; he was the first king of a united Italy,” Carson explains.
