I laughed. “No, I think I do.” He laughed, too.
We washed each other, rinsed off, and Rome pulled me out of the shower and to the tub. At some point the faucet had shut off, probably from the automated screen he used to turn it on. He climbed in first and then asked for us to sit together on the same side instead of opposites. I nestled blissfully against him as we stared out to the majesty of the calm Rhode Island bay set beforeus, the moon an accent mark to a tableau of stars.
Rome had his arms around my waist. The back of my head rested in the nook of his neck and shoulder. The tub was long enough for me to mostly lay flat, but Rome had his knees bent, his feet braced against the far end.
We stayed silent. The only sound filling the space was the occasional splash of water if one of us moved. Through my cheek, I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Unspoken words bubbled between us, as if the quietude of this moment had its own declarations to make. I felt it—I knew Rome could feel it, too. I wondered if he could hear the words beating within me, begging to be spoken as we shared a moment of utter bliss.
I’m in love with you, Rome, I thought so intensely I worried he could absorb it through the contact of our skin.
Tomorrow, I knew suddenly. I’d tell him tomorrow. A day with his family, of good food and drink, followed by a night of lovemaking. Yes. I would tell him tomorrow.
As if Rome could read my mind, he turned and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes. Opened my heart.
He’s the one.
I had never been so certain of anything in my life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex
WETOUREDROME’Shometown, but not in the way he had wanted. Just as daybreak hit, I stood at the foot of the bed and unceremoniously dropped a pair of sneakers, shorts, and a t-shirt atop his legs. He stirred sleepily, grumbled something, then propped himself up on his elbows.
“Get dressed. We’re going for a run.”
As it turned out, Rome didn’t grow up in the splendor of the neighborhood in which they currently lived. His childhood home sat about three miles inland. I let my body slide into the rote routine of a morning run (my favorite time) while Rome dutifully stuck by my side. Oh, sure, he did cardio aplenty, but there was something categorically different in long-distance running than say sprinting, rowing, or drills at practice. The beautiful man didn’t complain once, though.
Rome and his two older sisters grew up in a white Cape Cod house with blue shutters. He pointed to one of the dormers and indicated that was his room and then boasted that he didn’t have to share it, unlike his sisters. Breathlessly, he prattled on about choice memories of the home as we continued to run by. The town had woken up by then as people emptied from their houses to go about their day.
We came to a complete stop when we ran by the community baseball diamond, a plot of land just big enough to be the proper size with two-tiered-bleacher seating behind the fenced backstop.
Rome stuck his hands on his hips. His chest rose and fell in great heaves. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face. “This is where it happened,” Rome said between breaths.
“Where what happened?”
“It was late spring, and we were playing a quick pickup game since the high school never let us use the diamond off-hours. My parents showed up and at first I was worried. Then this big black SUV pulled in behind them and three guys in suits got out.” His vision went to a thousand yards. I wished I could see the memory that he played for himself. “Right there on the field is where I signed my contract to join the Wolverines. Outta high school and right into the minors. The start of it all.” He pointed toward home plate. “Right there. My buddies werescreaming.”
My hand went to press against his lower back but I stopped myself. We stood beside a busy avenue. Rome would surely be recognized. He did a double take of my hesitation, then put his hand directly on my face. Wiped a lick of sweat from my upper lip.
“I’m really starting not to care anymore,” he said gently.
“Hey, it’s Romo!” a pipsqueak of a voice shouted. We both turned to see a child with an oversized backpack kick it into high gear and sprint his little legs toward us. His mother called after him but laughed when the child had zero interest in paying attention to her.
One quick high-five and a selfie later, the two were on their way and we were pushing through the final leg of our run. Back at the house, we showered separately so we could prep the kitchen. Rome had made plans for his parents to come over for breakfast. In the early afternoon, we’d head over to theirplace for the family barbecue. Rome insisted I meet his parents privately first. I wore a pair of navy-blue chinos that fit just right and a white v-neck t-shirt. I must have fixed my hair a hundred times before they arrived.
Rome came up behind me during my last quick check of myself. “You look great. Trust me, you’ll be fine,” he said as he wrapped his hands around my waist and pressed a kiss into the crook of my neck. I squirmed a little, which made him hold on tighter. He rubbed the stubble of his chin against my skin and I tried to fidget out of his arms but he refused to let me go. He squeezed my side and I leaped in place, screamed out a shrill of laughter.
And then we were kissing. Getting lost in each other. Enjoying the moment until the doorbell cut through the silence.
Rome stood back and cleared his throat. We both adjusted ourselves. “Ready?” he asked as he walked to the front door.
I stood a few steps from it and let out a long puff of air. “Ready.”
Donatella Moretti—Rome said to call her “Donna”—was the first to walk through the door. Tall, fit, long dark hair brushed to fullness with a set of purple reading glasses pushing back her bangs. Her skin was as dark as her son’s and her lips were painted the color of good wine. She kissed Rome’s cheeks hastily, then took two quick strides and did the same to me. She held me by the shoulders as a warm smile spread across her face, then she looked over her shoulder at Rome.
“Hai ragione. Lui èmoltobello,” she said. Her voice was a rich alto.
I hadn’t grown my vocabulary much since meeting Rome, but I did pick out the word “bello,” and I could only assume she called me handsome.
