Turning my gaze from the statue to Carson, I’m struck with a sight even more picturesque than the historic structures surrounding us. He has my film camera strapped around his neck and he’s wearing black Ray-Ban clubmaster sunglasses. I’m mesmerized watching the sinew of his forearms work as he rolls the sleeves of his long-sleeve white linen shirt. The top few buttons remain undone, and the peek of his gold chain against his tanned chest is enough to make me spontaneously combust. He completes the look with a pair of tan linen shorts and crisp white fashion sneakers.
He looks like he walked straight off the pages of a menswear magazine.
Lowering his shades so his blue eyes can stare into mine, he softly chuckles. “You should probably quit being so obvious about your ogling if you don’t want to give me a big head, Austin.”
Shaking my head, I start to walk toward the cathedral.
I halt my steps when Carson calls out, “Stop!” Turning around, I see he has lifted his sunglasses on top of his head and has my camera poised in his hands, pointing straight at me.
“Can I take a photo of you in front of the cathedral?” he asks.
“Oh, I don’t really know how to be in front of the camera. I’m used to being behind it,” I stammer, feeling awkward.
“Just look at me and smile, Dream Girl,” he instructs.
And as soon as the term of endearment leaves his lips, a smile spreads across my face and warmth floods my chest. I hear the click and shutter of the camera, knowing he probably captured me looking like a lustful fool.
“Perfezione,” he says, his accent scarily good.
Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I ask, “Did you take some sort of crash course on how to speak Italian?”
“Nah, I’ve got a Rosetta Stone membership. I’ve been doing Italian lessons since Christmas when Griff got the tickets. I try to do a lesson on the way to each away game on the plane rides,” he explains, placing his sunglasses back over his eyes.
“Tell me something else,” I urge.
“Mi sto innamorando di una bellissima donna,” he recites.
Before I can ask what that means, a couple standing next to us claps and cheers at us.
“Bacio, bacio!” they exclaim.
Carson’s face lights up with an electrifying smile. “Should we give the people what they want?” he asks me as he hands the camera to the couple and asks them something I can’t understand.
Confused, and clearly unsure of what I’m getting myself into, I shrug my shoulders in response.
“Come here,” he requests, holding his hand out for me.
The moment I place my hand in his, he tightens his grasp on mine and spins me into his arms before dipping me so low I’d think he was going to drop me if it wasn’t for his firm hold on my back and across my waist.
“Woah,” I mutter breathlessly.
Carson leans in, his lips an inch from mine, and it’s as if time stands still in this moment. He gazes longingly into my eyes as my ragged exhales hang between us. My heart lurches in my chest as he closes his eyes, angling his head to press the lightest whisper of a kiss against my cheek.
When he pulls me up, he has to steady my hips to keep me from swaying.
“Are you good, Austin?” he questions.
I nod in confirmation, because what the hell are words right now?
Clasping my hand in his, he thanks the couple as they hand my camera back to him. “Come on,” he nods toward the cathedral. “I hear the view from the rooftop is to die for.”
As we make our way up to the rooftop of the Duomo di Milano, Carson shares more facts about the breathtaking cathedral. He stops us along the way to capture photos of some of the sculptures and architecture.
“Hopefully at least some of these turn out okay so you can use them for inspiration while you’re writing.”
“That’s a good idea, I didn’t think of that. Thanks,” I mutter, still feeling off-kilter from earlier. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. And I can’t help but wish he would’ve.
When we get to the rooftop, I gasp at the panoramic view before us.
