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I tried to google how a priest went about defrocking, but to be honest, I came up with a lot of priest porn.
Apparently, I’m not the only weirdo who gets off on the idea of fucking a man in a clerical collar.
Despite my concern and the unease that’s simmering inside me at his lack of contact, my lips twitch at the thought as I rest my coffee cup on the table I’d set outside on the tiny balcony.
Leaning over the filigree balustrade, I stare at the street. My sense of smell is more powerful than ever, and the desire to writeLondon Burning’s nonexistent. My headache has turned pervasive in that it never goes away, and yesterday, I almost overdosed on ibuprofen.
It’s either time to return home and visit the hospital or start learning how to be a perfume manufacturer. Hell, this super sniffer has to be good for something.
Every day, I received pissed-off messages from my folks because I screen their calls.
If they knew where I was staying, they’d be on the next flight over to bring me home. The funny thing is, if they believed Diana existed, she’d probably tell them where I was—despite her promises to the contrary.
I feel their concern and appreciate it, but what am I supposed to do… Leave Savio behind?
I can’t.
Even Diana’s worried. We’re never in each other’s pocket, but barely three hours ever pass without a message from her checking in with me.
Accepting that this is the price of being loved, I peer over the distance, exasperation fading and shifting into awe of the sights I behold.
Ahead of me, there’s the Vatican and a part of Rome, the neighborhoods Borgo and Prati, which I probably wouldn’t have visited if it weren’t for my accommodation being here and having to use the metro.
Deeper in the distance are the more well-known parts of the city—the Spanish steps, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, and my favorite, the Forum.
Every day, I’ve taken to walking around the place, absorbing it, enjoying the marvels that are these beautiful pieces of history that still play such a massive role in today’s world. They’retimeless, endlessly existing, and I find comfort in that, drawing relief from them as I deal with the reality of life—no one lives forever.
But these edifices will.
Bells ring all around me from churches in the vicinity, the noise of a siren from a nearby ambulance pierces the chatter of the crowd down below, and for a moment, I’m lost to it all.
Then I realize my buzzer has sounded, and I jerk to attention.
Unromantic though it was, we exchanged telephone numbers before we left for Remo’s and I gave him the address where I was staying, but I hadn’t tried to call him, nor had he tried to call me.
No one else knows my address apart from the agency, so hoping it’s him, I push the intercom. “Buongiorno?”
A flood of Italian sounds, but it isn’t Savio. Heart sinking, I recognize that it’s a cleaner once she mentions the agency’s name. I let the woman in and hover by the door so I’m there when she knocks.
She shows me the message from the agency so I know to trust her, beams at me when I speak to her in Italian and tell her I’ll leave her to it before grabbing my computer and cell phone so I can stare at the screen in a coffee shop.
As I slip my bag over my shoulder, I wave to the lady, let her know I’ll be back in an hour, and head out.
When I make it to the top step of the landing, I freeze.
Lips trembling, I whisper, “Savio?”
He smiles at me, and my relief is so intense that my knees give out. Before I fall, he’s there to catch me.
Of course, he is.
With the memory of his outrage back in the hospital at the forefront of my mind, I don’t let him dawdle on a silly, little thing like keeping me from falling down the stairs. No, I throw myarms around his neck, not giving him a choice about whether or not he’ll ‘accept’ a hug from me.
He doesn’t need a choice though.
If anything, he embraces me more ferociously than my hold on him.
Only when he whispers, “Are you okay?” do I realize he’s keeping this clandestine.