“Speaking of, how are the parents?” she asked.

“Speaking of, they’re good. Retirement suits them perfectly. I have to call soon, though; I can tell they’re getting antsy. There’s only so long I can dodge an actual conversation, although you should see the detail in some of my mom’s emails. She said they’ve seen Daniel’s parents at the club several times since I split, but there hasn’t been an actual Daniel sighting. Which is surprising, since he practically lived there.”

That was true, he was always way more into the scene than I was, even growing up and going with my family.

“I’m sure his mother’s head exploded when your mother told them where you are.”

“That’s why she wants to talk. To find out some details to lob back at her when Bitsy starts throwing her perfectly manicured shade.”

Time to change the subject. I pulled my travel guide from my tote. “Speaking of the Spanish Steps, I’ve decided to venture there today.”

“Look at you, Lewis and Clark-ing all over Rome. I’m so proud.” She wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Try the bus, it’s super easy.”

* * *

FAMOUS LAST WORDS.

It’s super easy didn’t include telling me about the metal box next to the driver that looked like a pay phone but without a receiver. Or that the driver didn’t accept cash. Or that you had to buy your tickets before getting on the bus. After several near misses, however, and a delightful exchange where an old lady smelling like a rosemary bush told me exactly where to get off, and not in a nice “I’ll give you actual directions” way, I finally figured it out. And after all that, it was like a five-minute ride! Ah well.

Once off the bus, however, it was surprisingly easy to find on foot. I just followed the well-placed signs that directed pedestrians to various landmarks.

I reached the Spanish Steps just as the sun was beginning to set behind them. They were filled with people eating, painting, and talking. I took a seat and pulled out my phone to take some pictures.

Then I had an idea. Turning the camera around on myself, I snapped a quick photo and sent it to Marcello before I could second-guess myself. It was a pretty good picture—the sun lit up my hair in all its wild curls, and I knew he’d love it. I looked happy and more relaxed than I’d been in ages.

His response dinged back immediately. “Belissima.”

WHEN MONDAY ROLLED AROUND, I offered to take Daisy out for lunch.

“So, where are we going for lunch? You’re buying, so I’m thinking expensive. Daniel can afford it.”

“And he hasn’t shut off the Amex yet. Out of guilt, I’m sure,” I agreed. “I saw a spot on the way over here; they had these enormous seafood towers in the window. One would be enough for both of us.”

“Then we should totally get two,” she pronounced, sticking her tongue out at me when I rolled my eyes.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking up a sticky note that had a to-do list scribbled on it. She glanced over and smiled. “I was going to bring it up at lunch. I have to go to Amsterdam.”

“Good lord, I am jealous of your life,” I admitted, and jotted down, find a sexy Dutchman to play hide the stroopwafel with.

She snorted. “That’s a pretty good idea, but they’re sticky.”

“Sticky isn’t bad. It could be really, really good.”

“God you’re obnoxiously happy when you’ve got a crush.”

Her phone rang and she answered, “Ciao. Si. Sure, sure, come on down. A presto.” As she hung up, she said, “Sorry, this’ll just take a minute. Maria’s on her way down; she’s all worked up about something.”

“A problem?” Something I could help with?

“Possibly. We’re working on a villa in Grottaferrata, and the owner has already made it clear he wants no delays. Zero.”

“Can’t you just hire someone else?”

“You’d think, right? But since everything here is historical, everyone who’s qualified to do that kind of work is always booked up.”

“Everyone is booked up!” came a voice from the doorway. “Joe is tied up at the Lateran job, and Constance is already running back and forth between the little convent in Naples and the house in the Mont Sacro. Philippa is working at Palazzo Doria. And Franco! If I could count how many wives, mothers, and girlfriends that sciupafemmine has had while doing a restoration job for us, I’d run out of hairs on my head! And he’s booked anyway. I’ve got him working on a tapestry at a monastery at Santa Lucia, so he’s ready to burst!”

She suddenly realized there was someone else in the room. “Sorry, so sorry, he’s a wonderful restoration artist, but honestly, he can’t keep his paintbrush out of everyone’s palette.”

“I’ve got an almost-ex-husband who has the same problem.” I laughed. I laughed? Huh.

“So, until I can track down a replacement for him, or find someone to run the department while I take on the project myself, then your villa and your frescoes will have to wait,” she told Daisy. Ask me. Ask me. Ask me.

Daisy shook her head. “Waiting isn’t really an option right now.” Ask me. Ask me. Ask me.

“Well, it’s the only option we have. I’m not using one of the interns on a project of that magnitude. Those frescoes are eighteenth century, very delicate and—”

“Have you stabilized the plaster yet?” I chimed in.

“Stabilized?” Maria shared a glance with Daisy, who was silent, listening.