The drive into Rome was fine until they got into the city limits. Rain, traffic, and the lack of a decent map left them praying they’d eventually come across a recognizable monument.

After fifteen white-knuckled minutes, they spotted the Colos seum. Shawn quickly pulled over, and from there they plotted their way to the top of the Spanish Steps and the Hotel Hassler.

The route they’d chosen took them along the Foro Romano to the wedding cake monument to Vittorio Emanuele II. From there they headed north on the busy Via del Corso.

“My, this looks different than it does in the sunshine,” Sana said, eyeing the pedestrians as they scurried about, huddled under their black umbrellas. “The dark clouds, the rain, and all the ruins make it seem sinister. Certainly not the Hollywood image as the city of love.”

After several more key turns they found themselves on Via Sistina and then in front of the hotel. The doorman immediately came to Shawn’s side.

“Are you checking in?” he asked graciously.

When Shawn indicated yes, the doorman waved to a colleague, who emerged with a second umbrella to shelter Sana while a porter gathered the luggage.

Once inside, they were whisked through check-in. Shawn was particularly pleased that the overnight package sent by his assistant from the Metropolitan Museum was waiting for him.

Shawn immediately began chatting up the attractive desk clerk.

“You’re not Italian, I don’t believe,” he said. “You have a most charming accent.”

“I’m Dutch.”

“Really,” Shawn said. “Amsterdam is one of my favorite cities.”

“I see you are from New York,” the receptionist said, cleverly diverting the conversation away from herself and to Shawn.

Oh, please! Sana thought. Impatiently, she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. She was afraid Shawn would launch into his life history. Thankfully, the well-trained receptionist expertly handled the situation by coming out from behind the counter to show them to their room, while maintaining a continuous flow of conversation describing the hotel’s amenities, including the restaurant and its spectacular view.

The room was on the third floor. Shawn went to the window, which looked out over the Spanish Steps. “Come out here and see this,” Shawn called to Sana, who’d gone into the bathroom to see if it was as posh as everything else.

“Pretty amazing, wouldn’t you say?” Shawn said as Sana joined him and both gazed out at the Spanish Steps. Despite the rain, tourists were taking pictures of themselves. “Even though we can’t quite see it, we’re facing the dome of Saint Peter’s. If it doesn’t clear by morning, we’ll have to come back someday when it’s not raining so you can appreciate it.”

Turning back inside, Sana unpacked and Shawn opened his package, dumping the contents on the desk. “Thank you, Claire!” he said, surveying the objects.