Page 103 of Italy Can Bite Me

His shoots me a look that says he’s reconsidering his life choices, specifically the one where he agreed to work for me. His five fingers now wave frantically.

“What’s that?” I shout, cupping my ear. “You want to practice your synchronized swimming routine?”

His eyes bulge out of their sockets. If this were a cartoon, steam would be shooting from his ears. He jabs his finger toward the picnic spot, and his face transitions from red to purple.

“Are you trying to tell me the bus is on fire again?”

That does it. He takes an involuntary gasp of sulfur-laden air and immediately doubles over.

“Merda!”GAG…“Puzza!”RETCH…“Fanculo!” He dry heaves, then straightens up just enough to spot my shit-eating grin.

The look of pure betrayal he shoots me could wither the richest man’s vineyard. I start laughing hysterically.Damn, I wish Katie was here to see this.

“Sì, sì, old friend. Time to set up lunch.” I wipe tears from my cheeks. “Your commitment to avoiding the fumes is impressive. Even better than that time in Rome with the broken sewage pipe.”

“Idiota,” he mutters, but the corner of his mouth twitches—the Lorenzo equivalent of rolling on the floor laughing. He shuffles back toward his beloved bus, occasionally stopping to cough.

I call out to the group. “Keep marinating in Mother Nature’s hot tub! I’m setting up lunch on that hill. When you’re ready, the changing rooms are to your right. Take your time!”

The hill gives a breathtaking view of the springs, like nature’s own balcony seats. Wildflowers dot the grass in bursts of purple and yellow, dancing in the light breeze. The view stretches out forever—rolling Tuscan hills painted in shades of green and gold. The best part? Not a whiff of stinky sulfur, making it the perfect picnic spot.

I spread out the blankets that Caterina packed this morning. Despite her advanced pregnancy, she insisted on helping to prepare the picnic—fresh bread, an assortment of cheeses, cured meats, and twenty bottles of La Dolce Vita wine. Before I met Katie, I’d have told myself this is as good as it gets.

I slide my phone out of my pocket and begin typing.

Me:How’s the party planning, bella?

Her response comes fast—she’s been waiting.

Katie:Everything here is incredible, but it feels wrong without you.

Katie:God that sounds clingy after only four hours.

Me:Keep talking that way and I might leave these seniors stranded.

Me:Worth it to get my hands on you sooner.

Katie:Already hid a blanket in the wine cellar.

Katie:The red dress might make an appearance tonight…

Cristo Santo. My cock instantly twitches to the memory of that dress, of her curves wrapped in silk that begged to be peeled away.

Me:You’re testing my self-control, bellissima.

Katie:Maybe I like making you lose control.

I can’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of having her all to myself after this tour ends. My mind races with possibilities—places to take her, things to show her, ways to make her fall more in love with Italy.With me.

What about after that?I shove the thought down. We’ll figure it out. She cares for me, I care for her. That’s enough for now.

My phone buzzes again and my heart leaps, hoping for another teasing message from Katie.

But an unknown number flashes across the screen.

“Pronto,” I answer cheerfully.

“Signor Monti? This is Luigi Vincetti from Banca di Roma.”

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