Just then, the conductor came over. He asked to see her ticket.

Keira opened her purse and started searching for it, trying to recall whether she’d put it in the back zipper compartment or inside her wallet. As she looked, she realized her wallet wasn’t there.

“Oh no!” she cried. “I can’t find my wallet.”

She racked her brains, trying to remember when she’d last had it. She’d used it to buy a ticket, had put it back in her purse after paying, she was sure of it. Then she remembered the stranger who’d helped her make the purchase. He’d disappeared during the time she’d put her wallet back in her purse and crouched down to retrieve her ticket. Had he been watching to see where she put her wallet? Had he taken the opportunity to pickpocket her?

Had she been foolish to trust him? She’d let her guard down and it had backfired majorly.

The downright sneakiness of it all made Keira choke with emotion. It was worse, in a way, than having someone barge into her and steal because he’d pretended to be helping her. Although, she had also experienced someone barging into her. Either one of them could be the culprit.

So much for a victory. She’d felt so proud of herself for getting here on her own but now she felt like a silly little girl. Naive. Her tears began to fall.

“You have no ticket?” the conductor asked her. He looked completely unimpressed.

“It’s in here somewhere,” Keira replied. She’d used it to get through the barrier after all.

Finally she found it in the back zipped compartment of her purse. As the conductor stamped her ticket, looking completely unaffected by her tears, Keira noticed that the couple in the seats ahead of her were watching on with sympathy.

“You were pickpocketed?” the lady asked. “Naples can be very bad for that.”

Keira rubbed her tears from her cheeks and nodded glumly.

“Can we do anything to help?” the women asked. “Do you need some euros?”

Keira smiled, comforted, but shook her head. She still had her cell phone and that was the main thing. One call to Heather and she knew everything would be resolved. She just had to wait until an appropriate hour to call her. Even crazily efficient assistants had to sleep at some point, she reasoned.

“Are you sure?” the lady pressed. “I hate to see people in distress. I’d love to help if I can.”

Keira was about to turn down her kind offer once again when she realized that perhaps the couple sitting across from her might be able to help after all. They looked happy together and were clearly on some kind of outing to the coast. A romantic date? After a presumably long marriage?

“Actually, maybe you can help,” Keira said, grabbing her notebook and pen. “I’m a travel writer from a magazine based in New York. I’m doing a piece on Italy and romance. Can I ask you some questions? How about we start with what your secret to love is?”