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Britain’s eyes hawked over the bright screen of her MacBook, looking over the template she created on the expensive publishing software she purchased a few months ago. When she initially made the purchase, she had no idea what the first step was to actually create templates for her brewing magazine, but after a few weeks in Italy with nothing to do, she found herself knee deep in figuring things out. She had excelled quickly and had already created a few empty template spreads for her magazine.

Nibbling on her bottom lip, she tilted her head to the side, trying to figure out which shape was out of place on the screen, a dilemma that was making it impossible for her to move on. As she began examining each centimeter of the spread, she heard a light knock at the door. With a defeated sigh, she lifted her head from the laptop screen. "Come in," she muttered with her arms folded across her chest.

The French doors of what Catarina, the estate manager, considered thestudy quarterswerepushed open, and a light smile formed on her lips at the sight of Priest. "What's up? You good in here? I heard you talking to yourself again," he asked with a raised brow. In his hand, he had a brown paper bag thatBritain assumed was filled with takeout since he never dabbled in the kitchen to cook anything.

She shifted her attention back over to the laptop, taking a quick glance at the template. She felt her frustration brewing within her again when she couldn't figure out the aspect of it that was off, but Priest quickly captured her attention. He sat the brown bag on the desk before her with an awaiting look etched on his face.

"I just heard you call yourselfmad stupidlike six times. I think this is the time for me to step in," he said as he took a seat on one of the chairs opposite her.

Sheepishly, she laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sorry, I just can’t figure this out," she admitted as she pointed to the laptop.

Priest chuckled, knowing how worked up his fiancée could get over any little thing. He wasn't about to interrupt her quite yet with lunch, but after hearing her frustratedly curse herself so many times, he decided to.

"Let me take a look," he requested as he reached into the bag to retrieve his food.

Britain let out a heavy sigh as she turned the laptop around so he could look. She watched as his dark eyes scanned the screen, trying his best to figure out what was off about it. She couldn't help but laugh as he too resorted to tilting his head to the side. "The boarder is off by a centimeter on the right," he finally stated as he shrugged lightly before returning his attention to his food.

Britain screwed up her face in disbelief as she flipped the laptop so she could see the screen. She eyed the boarder of the page, and sure enough, he was correct. "What? How did you find that so quick?"

Priest chuckled before he shrugged his broad shoulders. "My eyes are fresh; you've been staring at that screen all day. Giveyourself a break," he suggested, causing Britain to slyly roll her eyes.

"Let me just finish this," she told him, returning her finger to the mousepad of the laptop. Priest sighed as he reached his long arms over the desk, grabbing ahold of the laptop. Britain's bottom lip curled into a bratty pout as he confiscated the laptop from her.

"C'mon, Gioia. Eat," he ordered her.

A sigh drifted out of her before she reached into the brown paper bag, grabbing ahold of the food containers. A pleased smirk danced across his face as Britain decided to join him for lunch instead of keeping her eyes attached to her laptop.She reached across the desk, joining her hands with his as they bowed their heads in prayer over the meal. He led the prayer, and of course, he pettily thanked God for giving him the persistence to deter her from her computer screen. In laughter, the two ended the prayer with anamenbefore they began eating. "How's it going in here?" he asked her, glancing around the study quarters. He could tell Britain had taken over the space and made it her domain.

Usually, her best ideas came from the living room floor back in her New York apartment, but now, she was in a different space in an entirely different country. She was trying her best to get back into her creative space without missing home.

Britain shrugged as she too glanced around. The white walls were plastered with different templates and rough drafts she had printed out. She was a long way from actually having her first few pages finished, but progress was still being made. "It's going," she muttered. "But it's making me wish I hadn't let go of “Humans of New York” so abruptly."

"Things were moving fast for you at that point of time. You didn't necessarily abandon it. You got a promotion," Priest reasoned with her. "And at the end of the day, “Humans of NewYork” is still yours. You can do what you please with it. Let's just say you’re taking a sabbatical.”

Britain couldn't help but laugh at his reference to her screeching halt from “Humans of New York” as a sabbatical. "I like that," she nodded her head and agreed. "But should I call it “Humans of Italy” now that we live here?"

Priest leaned back in his seat, almost as if he was deep in thought. "Yeah, you definitely can't call it that. That sounds mad fucking boring.”

Britain gasped lightly before tossing a nearby napkin at him in laughter. "Priest!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugged. "“Humans of New York” is just fit for New York and its people. People out here in Italy are pretty conservative, so it might not sit well with them when you're writing about the racism, sexuality, and trauma you usually write about back in New York," he advised her. Priest was more familiar with Italy than she was, so he always tried to give her a heads up before she landed herself in a bad situation.

She huffed out a breath. Priest was right. “Humans of New York” wasn't necessarily the easiest pill to swallow when reading it, but that was what made it so unique. People in New York had far thicker skin than people anywhere else, so her work never left much of a bad taste in their mouths. Priest knew for a fact that wouldn't be happening in Italy, especially with her being considered a foreigner in their country.

"Is it bad that I still want to do it?" she groaned. She was a bit rebellious when it came to her work, simply because she liked pushing the envelope. Hearing how conservative Italy was only made her want to challenge the people even more. It would’ve been a fresh lane that she was making for herself. Whether they loved it or hated it, she knew she wouldn't have much competition since everyone wasn't as risqué as she was with her work.

Priest chuckled. "You wouldn't be you if you didn't want to."

"On a scale of bad to horrible, how awful do you think it would be if I sent a few stories out to some media outlets?" She raised her arched brows up at him.

Leaning back in his seat, Priest ran his hand down his face. "If we get kicked out of Italy—" he teased, causing Britain to immediately throw her head back in laughter.

"Quit being dramatic. It won't get that bad," she denied as she waved him off.

Priest agreed with her. "It won't. Go for it. This is your lane. Make your mark anywhere you go. I'm backing you 110 percent through whatever."

A smile graced her lips as her soft brown, feline-shaped orbs eyed him. "Thank you for being so supportive," she expressed her gratitude.

Priest nodded. "Always." He extended his fist to her, and she met it with a fist bump.