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So we went to bed in silence, and I couldn’t fall into a deep sleep. I was just skimming along its surface, and then I tumbled intoWhen in Rome.

Not evenWhen in Romethe book, butWhen in Romethe movie, bad dialogue and all.

I was Cecilia, and Connor was Connor, and we were in the first act, which meant I was reliving our beginning, those heady days in Rome where we were trying to solve the mystery of the bank robberies and the mystery of us.

But the story has changed. And it isn’tjustthe dialogue. Now there is a narrator, in voice-over, involved, too, making quippy/snarky remarks and casual asides, and breaking the fourth wall.58,59

It takes me a minute, but I figure out who the narrator is:me. Or, more specifically, it’s my inner voice telling me not to trust Connor, not to trust any of it, to look for the hidden meaning in everything he says and does.

To look over my shoulder.

To see what—who—is standing behind me, just out of view. The person who’s behind everything.

I can’t see them, but I can sense them.

I can feel their eyes on me.

And right when they’re about to come into view, I wake up, my heart hammering, the sheets around me hot and sweaty and the glow of the bedside clock too bright in this dark room.

I try to go back to sleep, to forget, but the whole night is like that—a carousel of memories and regrets—and when the dawn starts to break, I decide that, come what may, I need to talk it out with Oliver.

I shake him gently and say his name.

His eyes flutter open.

And then he smiles. Thank God, he smiles.

“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with his fists.

“Early.”

“Define ‘early.’”

I prop myself up on an elbow and look down at him. His hair is rumpled and his eyes are still filled with sleep and I love this man so much it scares me.

“I’m thinking about going for a swim.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Sure it does. You know what time I go swimming.”

“You’re an infuriating woman, you know that, right?”

I smile. “Part of my charm.”

He reaches up and kisses me. Our mouths are raw from sleeping, but I don’t care. It feels good to be close to him and erase the weird images the night brought.

He pulls away. “I thought you were going for a swim?”

“I could be persuaded to do something else.”

“What about Harper?”

“I can be quiet.”

“Can you, though?”

I rest my head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heart. “Yesterday was a lot.”