He gave a slight bow of his head. “Understood. And you are right. Italian men are forward, but I have been a guide for over ten years and would never break the rules. You are safe with me, signora. I promise.”

I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t worried and that I enjoyed talking to him too, but he was already stepping back from the shadows and into the light.

“Buona sera. I will see you in the morning.”

He disappeared.

I groaned. Well done, Frannie. I managed to scare off our tour guide by insinuating that he wanted to seduce me, and all he was talking about was some damn pastries and cigarettes. Not dating was becoming a serious disadvantage. I didn’t know how to talk to men anymore. I was so focused on not getting involved with any men at work, I ended up cutting myself off from all of them. And now I didn’t even know how to be comfortable around a man who wasn’t an employee or a client.

Depressed, I trudged back inside and went up to my room. It was a good thing I had an entire month ahead of me to figure things out. To heal my relationship with Allegra and get closer to my mother. To stop feeling so much anxiety about what I couldn’t control. To live a happier, more stress-free life.

I wasn’t asking for much, right?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Allegra

The Vatican wasn’t what I expected.

I followed the crowd and partially listened to the tour guide trying to educate me on every aspect of St. Peter’s Basilica. I appreciated a good teacher just like any student, but I almost wished she’d remain silent so I could soak it all in. Everything felt . . . overwhelming. Like there was so much beauty and opulence and space and color, my senses went into overload. All of this seemed to contradict the hushed silence of the church, where people knelt praying at marble statues and held rosary beads with heads tilted up toward the sky, as if they knew someone was listening.

I tuned out the words droning in my ear and slowly pivoted to take it all in. Sure, I’ve seen pictures of Italy and its treasures, but experiencing the power in such a holy place made me feel strange things. I wasn’t religious; Mom had me baptized but, to my grandmother’s distress, had pulled me out of Sunday school before communion because of the church scandals that blew up about rampant sexual abuse. I remember watching Nonni fight in furious whispers with my mom, begging her to give me something to fall back on in a crazy world. Mom still refused, but I’d grown up with Nonni sneaking in Bible stories and teaching me how to say the Our Father and the Hail Mary. But I didn’t know much more than that.