Oh yeah, she was punishing me. I grabbed at my patience and tried to see her point. I’d have to make it up to her. “I’m sure we’ll find something you like.”

“I’ll point out a few good shops and then I shall leave you ladies to your shopping,” Enzo said.

We descended the stairs and I enjoyed the shifting view of the square as I passed each level. I’d almost reached the bottom when my heel began to slide along the slippery pavement, and I floundered to reach the railing in time to keep my balance.

I didn’t.

The awful moment happened in a rush. Suddenly, my entire foot caught air, and I fell back. My butt crashed to the ground, I knocked the back of my head, and yet unbelievably that wasn’t the end of it. I kept sliding, bumping down a few more steps in a wild, jerky ride, to spill into a collapsed heap at the first landing.

Ah shit.

My body ached from the fall, but my pride stung more. Cheeks burning red, I heard the concerned shouts and caught the pointed gestures toward me right before I tried to scramble to my knees, but I was off-balance and I fell back again. “I’m okay!” I shouted hoarsely to the crowd of onlookers, desperate to get to my feet.

Before I could try again, Enzo reached down and scooped me up in his arms like an old-fashioned lover coming to my rescue.

I was going to die of embarrassment.

Mom and Allegra gathered around me, frantically asking how badly I was hurt, but all I could see was the line of iPhones held up in front of me that had documented every second of my fall. “I’m not hurt at all!” I tried to twist out of his hold so I could convince everyone there was nothing to film here, but Enzo marched with determination through the crowd, cradling me against his chest like I was a bird with a broken wing.

This was so bad. Except the way he held me. For a few stunning seconds, I felt completely protected and safe. The warmth of his shirt, the strength of his lean arms, the delicious scent in my nostrils, all of the sensations swarmed around me until I wished I could shut my eyes and relish the experience.

He reached an empty café table and sat me gently down on the chair, kneeling at my feet. “Fran, where does it hurt?” he asked calmly. “May I feel your head?”

I nodded. People still peered from the edges of the crowd, probably trying to see if I needed an ambulance. Or maybe they just wanted to get a better pic for their Instagram story. Enzo’s fingers were firm but gentle as he probed my head, exploring the small, tender lump on the back.

“Oh my God, do you think she has a concussion?” my mother asked, grabbing at my hands like she needed to convince herself I was still alive. “Should we get her to a hospital?”