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Veronique will never admit it, but there were multiple times during their flight when she wanted to snatch Peter’s laptop out of his hand and drop it out of the window, and watch it spin madly in the air before disappearing into the clouds.
Why did he even bring it in the first place? Whatever deals and contracts he had in his inbox could wait until after the vacation he promised them was over; he could miss a photo shoot or two, he could hold off on those documentary interviews. He didn’t see her whipping out her laptop or tablet to get to work, did he? No, and she had her ass chewed out by her boss for daring to request time off! She could argue with Peter until she was blue in the face, but she could imagine how that conversation would go: Peter would argue that they would have more money waiting for them at home, that this was a big contract that he couldn’t miss for the sake of his business, that technically they weren’t on vacation until they landed. She already didn’t want to hear it; not enough ibuprofen in her carry-on for that part.
She’ll let Peter get his workaholism out of his system and resolve the last-minute deals, so that when the plane does land, he’ll have to log out and be all theirs for the vacation. Plus, it was too hard to stay mad at him, with that cute little smile he gave her while he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Veronique smiled back, before turning back to the window and shifting their sleeping son curled up against her chest. Resting her chin in Peter Jr’s soft coils, Veronique watched the clouds drift below.
--
“Didn’t he say he’d be here?” Veronique asked.
Peter pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages, absentmindedly combing his fingers through the sleepy PJ’s coils as the child clung to his leg and yawned. He looked up at the sign above them. “’Gate B4′,” he shrugged. ”Eleven-thirty.”
Veronique didn’t expect military punctuality from everyone (truth be told, their little family is hardly the most punctual, either), and twenty-odd minutes of tardiness was nothing to blow a gasket over. It would have been easier to dismiss all of this if a woman’s patience wasn’t worn thin by almost four hours of driving with a fussy and crying child, rushing to get the rental car checked in, and connected and delayed flights. Even now, she could still smell the piss of PJ wetting himself in the car ride, and the acidic, bitter lemon cleaner of Peter trying to scrub the spot clean. How did that silly little saying of Peter’s go? If Romulus found Veronique testy, well he can just call her balls.
...Yeah, that joke did not lift her mood as it usually would have, not as much as a nice, warm bed with soft blankets and plush pillows would, or --
Veronique’s stomach grumbled, protesting even louder as she pressed a hand against it to silence it.
-- a banquet of Italy’s finest cuisine, with a decades-old bottle of fine wine to melt her travel exhaustion from her sore back and weary bones. A nice wine with something sweet, heavy with sugar and cream to sit in her stomach and help her relax and make this long stretch of a nightmare worth it.
Almost like a response, PJ’s tummy grumbled too, a low, short wambling since, thankfully, most of his hunger was staved off during the flight. Still, the boy said in a tiny whine, “‘M hungry...”
“Aw, okay, little man!” Peter shoved his phone into his pocket and lifted PJ up, sitting him on his arm and slipping the little turtle backpack on the opposite shoulder. “Would you like to have apple slices or yogurt sticks?”
“He needs neither, Pete,” Veronique spoke up.
Peter turned to her, narrowing his eyes as a frown cut across his face. He lifted his chin so his son could tuck his head into his neck. “Why the heck not?”
Veronique closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers into her temple. Why must he always make her the bad guy to their kid? And why when they were supposed to be on vacation? “Because he already had two bags of those sugary peanuts you bought and we’re supposed to have brunch. He doesn’t need his appetite ruined!”
Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I hardly think one more little snack will do so much damage.”
“Alright.” Veronique planted her hands on her hips. “You want to deal with PJ getting a stomachache? You want to get him to eat a proper breakfast when he’s too full from all the snacks you keep shoving at him? You want to chase him around while he’s on a sugar high? Be my guest.” Of course, it was a punch to her own gut having to argue this while her son whimpered and shoved his thumb into his pouting mouth.
“... Sugar doesn’t cause hyperactivity,” came Peter’s weak argument. He sighed and kissed the top of PJ’s head. “Sorry kiddo, looks like we’ll have to wait. It won’t be long though, okay?”
“’Mkay,” PJ murmured into Peter’s shirt.
“Just a few more minutes,” Veronique added, so PJ would know with his limited child’s understanding that his mother wasn’t trying to starve him. Not that he seemed to care that much either way; she gently rubbed up and down his back and watched his eyelids grow heavier and his breaths even. “We should have rented a hotel room,” she said moments later.
"Ronnie, Romulus’s good on his word! I’m sure he’ll be here in just a few.” Peter started to gently bounce the child in his arm. “Besides, didn’t you say that you wanted an authentic Italian life experience? No touristy crap because you ‘deal with enough of it with your boss’?”
“I formally state that I regret my initial decision.”
They let a few more minutes pass, in which PJ started to snore softly against Peter’s chest, when Peter finally said, “Yeah, he’s going to be late.” Veronique wanted to gripe He’s already late! but bit into her inner cheek instead as Peter suggested, “Let’s sit down and charge our phones. If he’s not here in ten minutes, we can...”
He stopped, craning his neck up further. Veronique watched as his eyes narrowed. “What is it?” she asked.
“I think that’s him...” Peter trailed off. He blinked, and a smile split his face as recognition and relief lit in his eyes. He shifted PJ more securely in his arm. “It is!”
Veronique followed his gaze down the terminal. She was at the point of her exhaustion where her irritation was too great to feel relief as she also spotted the older man rushing to them, but she forced on a grin, anyway, as she saw the bright and fancy-looking gift bag swinging in his hand.
“Ciao! Whoo, sorry I’m so late!” Romulus pulled his shades off and tucked them into the glossy brown bush of his hair, the thin metal bars pinning back the newly graying roots of his temples. “I was so busy this week getting everything set up, I forgot to get something for the little child and the traffic was total hell -- I had an old lady appearing out of nowhere and I nearly ran her over -- and oooh, there he is! Guarda questo bel ragazzino!” Romulus hunched to peek at the little face, gently pinching the chubby cheek and cooing as PJ blinked awake once more and stared at his host in bleary confusion. “Those gorgeous honey eyes just like your mother’s! You’re such a cherub! Right out of a painting!
“Here’s a little something for you!” Romulus practically sang as he reached into the bag. Veronique had thought it would be a simple gift, something tacky or boring. A teddy bear wearing a tee shirt with the Italian flag on it, or a football bought from a clearance aisle. A bunch of candy that will be a pain to try to confiscate from PJ (and hide from Peter. And force herself to not scarf down late in the night). She was surprised to watch a black scabbard with silver filigree appear from the bag. She would have preferred any of the other gifts, even the candy, when Romulus gripped the hilt and the metal scraped as he pulled, the blade glinting in the light.
PJ lifted his head and widened his eyes. “Whoa!”
Peter gasped. “Oh, cool!”
Veronique stiffened. “What the heck is that?!” she asked.
Completely missing the horror-stricken tone, Romulus replied, “It’s a short sword!” He stepped back and slowly waved it about, reveling in the awe of the child and his father as he executed all the forms coming back to him from his youth. “I would have gotten him a dagger, but I had a feeling that this would have been perfect for him.”
“I...” Veronique exchanged glances with Peter and looked toward the older man again. She shook her head. “We would prefer not letting our child have a weapon.”
Romulus looked at them then, eyebrow cocked as his gaze jumped between the couple. He straightened up and slid the sword back into its scabbard with a deep click. “No need to worry about it, it’s just for decoration!” Veronique had a feeling that he was lying, but he stored the sword back into its bag and turned. He waved them on. “Come, come! I bet you’re hungry! We have a large brunch waiting for you! We better hurry before traffic gets even worse, because my lady will tear me a new one. I'm guessing you'll need showered, too? The trip here must have been hell. And do you guys need a nap? If so, it’ll have to be a quick one before we set out on a tour because there is so much to show you all! Vene’s finally got one of his personal pieces in the museum and...”
Peter leaned close to Veronique, looking around the terminal as the trio followed Romulus and let him ramble on. “How did he get a weapon in here?” he whispered with a sense of awe that further grated on Veronique’s nerves.
--
Before traffic gets even worse, Romulus had said. Veronique didn’t even want to imagine what traffic worse than this would look like. She couldn’t imagine it, as she and Peter were draped themselves over their son and choked down screams while the car cut and sped and careened down the street; she could feel Peter tethering to his fort and strengthening his body to protect PJ, while Veronique cursed their lack of foresight of bringing a booster seat. This was their third time nearly crashing into a scooter but Romulus was cool as a cucumber, hair whipping in the wind and shades reflecting the busy road ahead of them as the rider honked and spat out what must have been curses.
“Uh, is there anyway you can slow down?!” Peter shouted over the music blasting from the radio.
Romulus shook his head. He stopped belting along to shout back, “Tolls will get more expensive if we get to the bridge too late. Plus...”
Stop looking at your phone! Veronique wanted to shout as Romulus did exactly that. Even the slightest glimpse at the screen would have stopped her heart clean. “...Carmen is already getting on my ass about being late. Oops, didn’t mean to curse in front of the little one. Anyways, Carmen is a nice woman. Really lovely. I rarely date humans long term, but this one is special, you know? I think you guys will really love her, especially the tyke there. She is crazy about kids...”
Blessedly, the car pulled up to the quaint villa, Veronique's limbs turning to jelly at the beacon of safety. A chipped and faded yellow paint covered the stucco walls, giving it a deceptively rustic appearance. The group climbed out of the car, with Romulus sitting the giggling PJ on his shoulders and helping Peter carry the luggage up the paved path. Veronique floated behind with her and PJ’s carry-on bags, letting the adrenaline of protecting her child from vehicular manslaughter drain from her bones, absentmindedly taking in the estate up to the entrance, the burbling miniature stone fountain, the trimmed rosebushes dotted with blush pink blooms under the windows. She sighed in relief, breathing in the floral perfumed air that felt so open and free.
If it weren’t for the fact that the woman who opened the door had graying roots in her fashionably frizzy bun or crow’s feet beneath her winged eyeliner, Veronique would have easily mistaken the woman for someone in her mid-thirties, which would not surprise her at all to find that Romulus was still chasing young skirts well into his thousands. Well, maybe “chasing young skirts” was too crass a phrase to describe the warmth between Romulus and Carmen, the way she gently pressed into him and stood on her toes for a kiss, playfully shoving his sunglasses up on his forehead, and giggling when Romulus set one of the suitcases aside to wrap an arm around her hips and hoist her up higher.
“Alright, alright, put me down!” Carmen slapped Romulus’s chest. She glanced towards her guests behind him, finding the two politely averting their gazes, and snickered. “You’re grossing out the children.”
“Yes, dear,” Romulus said, setting her back down on her feet.
Quickly straightening her blouse and skirt, Carmen reached a hand out, taking Peter’s hand and Veronique’s. Even the way she shook them felt like being welcomed home, a gentle squeeze and steady shake, with palms soft like tulip petals and dark eyes shapely and serene. It was no wonder Veronique caught Peter blushing; she could feel heat rising on her own cheeks.
“It’s so nice to meet you!” Carmen said. She reached up to pinch PJ’s cheek. “Such a lovely little family! The food is almost ready. In the meantime, go ahead and settle in. I know you must all be tired! Honey, can you come to the kitchen when you show them to their rooms?”
“I was supposed to be retired, you know!” Romulus called out to Carmen as the woman started back down the hall without waiting for an answer. Romulus snorted and lifted PJ off his shoulders to hand to his mother. Picking up the suitcase, Romulus rolled his neck, then shook his head with a good-natured smirk. “Follow me. It’s just down this way.”
The older man made their trek through the home into a tour, swelling with pride at the vases and paintings along the walls, the cat tree in a far corner occupied by three fat tabbies lazing in the afternoon sun, the graduation photos of Carmen’s twin boys that Romulus went on about extensively as if they were his own children, the potted plants he and Carmen grew from little seeds. He’s really made a home, Veronique thought with saccharine awe, eyes wandering up to the man that she had heard so much of as a legendary bed-hopper as he guided them up the stairs.
They stopped at one of the doors at the far end of the hallway. “Sorry if the room is a little cramped, we had put an extra bed in here for the little guy because we thought that you would want him in here with you,” Romulus explained. “But if you two would like a little privacy, we can move him to another guest room. Free of charge, of course!”
Then the door swung open, and Peter and Veronique exchanged glances that asked each other How is this cramped? Like some of the villa they had already seen, this room had an understated opulence, like billionaire cryptocurrency creators showing up in puppy paw print pajamas. The room was big enough for a king-sized bed and a twin-sized one, and both had blinding white bedding so plush that a person could sink in them. The carpet seemed thick enough to drown out noise. Antique lamps and bedside tables that must have came from Romulus’s personal collection, and ropes of light wrapped around the low wooden beams.
“And here’s the bathroom,” Romulus said once he sat the luggage next to the bed and led them to a sliding white door, pushing it open and gesturing to the expansive space with a freestanding ceramic bathtub and brass faucet. Pointing to the dark wooden floating shelves next to the vanity, Romulus added, “There are the soaps and oils and such if you need them. And since they’re made by Carmen’s nephew, I am obligated to suggest you visit his shop while you’re here. Get some stuff as souvenirs or something.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me~!” He clapped his hands and grinned, turning back to the bedroom door. “I’m needed in the kitchen. Warden’s orders.”
--
It was hell trying to get PJ to take a bath, this young child who went from sweetest little cherub with sleepy innocence to a devil creature that screeched and bit and splashed and kicked as if being boiled in holy water, absolutely refusing bath time without his toy fish and boats.
“I can’t believe you forgot his bath toys!” Veronique grumbled as she held one side of PJ down in the tub while avoiding getting hit in the face with a tiny but mighty half-Sealand fist. She tried to scrub a soapy sponge on him.
“You’re the one who usually pack his toys!” Peter shouted back, wrestling PJ’s other side down so he could start scrubbing the child as well.
“Like I pack his clothes and his books and his tea and his-- Eek!” Foam flew up to Veronique’s face, nearly getting into her eye. “Would it kill you to pack his stuff for once?!”
“You complain that I forget something every time!”
“RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” PJ threw his head back and hollered.
They had been on the road and on the plane for too long for this. Their stomachs were too empty and their caffeine intake too low. They promised PJ he could hold the sword for a few minutes after his nap if he would just let them bathe him. He did so, though not without mumbling about missing his bath toys and not wanting to take a bath at all. They finally put their son down for a nap, the child falling asleep quicker than they expected with his arms and legs tucked underneath him. Veronique draped the knitted throw blanket she found in the closet over the little curled body and sighed as she turned back to the bathroom.
As Peter gave the bathtub a quick scrub, Veronique stood behind him with her arms folded over herself. “Either one of us will have to ask to use Carmen’s bathroom--” This, she frowned at, finding the idea of using the private bath too invasive, “--or wait until after brunch. There’s no way we’ll both be able to do it on time.”
“Hm, I don’t think so...” While rinsing the ceramic tub, Peter hummed thoughtfully, trailing in and out. “I mean, it’s certainly big... and we could save some time...”
It was hard for Veronique to put up a resistant mood when Peter turned to her and reached for her, taking one of her hands in his gentle fingers and tilting his head while giving her that charming smile that made her want to kick his ankle and pull him closer. He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Go pick out an oil and bubble bath that you like,” he said as he nodded to the shelf. “Let’s relax for a bit, yeah?”
Veronique drifted to the shelf and picked out a packet of oil beads and a small bottle of bubble bath, both her favorite scent of tropical fruit. She carried it back to the bathtub, handing it to Peter whom had already started filling it with steaming water. With the proper mixture, the basin began to fill with a rich, cream-white foam. They peeled their damp and wrinkled clothes off each other, letting them fall into a discard pile around their feet. Peter had offered to wash and condition her hair while they held each other in a slow sway, and though it sounded nice, she said no. There was going to be too much drying and moisturizing treatment she’ll have to do afterwards, which would still take too much time even if Peter had helped. Instead, they climbed into the bathwater, and Peter pulled her to him until she was sitting against his chest.
They didn’t have much time for this, but Veronique laid her head back against Peter and took a deep breath as Peter ran his soapy hands along her arms and legs. “Now it feels like a vacation,” she sighed. If it weren’t for the meal they were promised, she could stay up there like this. She knew that both she and Peter had to make a concerted effort to enjoy their trip, and that included exploring everything Rome had to offer as their gracious host, but Veronique toyed with the idea of convincing Romulus to hold off on the tour for tomorrow, or a few hours, so they could sit like this. Just the two of them in their own tropical bubble, feeling like newlyweds all over again.
“And we’re just getting started, too,” Peter replied. He pressed his lips to her temple, trailing down to her cheek and just below her jaw. “I’m sorry it’s been so rough getting here.”
Veronique reached back to pat a palmful of foam onto Peter’s cheek. “Yeah, like we’re the first one to have a shitty road trip. Just don’t let it happen ag--” Her joke stopped short, a smirk creeping up to her lips as his hands crept up. “...Peter?”
“Hm?” Peter hummed against her neck.
“Are you seriously trying to cop a feel now?” As if his cupped palms weren’t already pressing against her chest.
“Well... Yeah,” he said, as if it was supposed to be the most obvious course to take. “I’m your pet pervert, remember?”
“How could I forget?” After her long-suffering sigh, she craned her head back to kiss her husband and laughed.
They knew they wouldn’t have enough alone time together with the day they had planned, but the bath still felt too short. But it couldn’t be helped, not when both their stomachs let out muffled growls underwater and blocked the possibility of Veronique letting Peter jill her off. Not that the idea was totally off the table; Veronique rubbed her thumb in circles on the back of Peter’s hand, reminding him that they could finish where they left off if he behaved while the family went back downstairs. She did wonder if she should have Peter change into something more stylish, first: he looked good in anything (or made the oddest clothing look like he was setting a new hot trend) but it was odd to see him pick yet another tee shirt and shorts instead of something like designer jeans and a long-sleeve turtleneck. Comfortable and practical over competitively stylish? Was Peter finally going to unwind? Dare she hoped that Peter was going to spend quality time with his little family?
They followed the mouthwatering cloud of food down the hall, coming closer to voices and laughter and clinking dishes as they neared the doorway. They found the couple going around the table to set plates and bowls and shiny silverware around platters and mounds of food that drew a tiny gasp from Veronique. From the buttery layered crusts of the torte to the splashes of color on pastries laden with fruit and chocolate drizzle, to the yellow clouds of heavenly fluffy eggs floating in red sauce dotted with parsley, Veronique felt ready to float to the ceiling from this extravagance.
And as if this was an everyday thing, Carmen grinned and stood taller, gesturing to the table. “Don’t just stand there, dig in before it gets cold!”
Peter sat PJ on the stack of thick books they had placed on the chair and tied a napkin around his neck. He was going to take a seat next to him and help him eat when Carmen waved him away and took the spot, assuring the couple between coos, “Don’t worry, I’ll feed him! Dine with your wife! Relax!”
Romulus sat across from her, shaking his head and smiling at his guests’ perplexed glances. “I told you she’s crazy about kids, didn’t I?” he said with a shrug.
That was all the reason Veronique needed to let Carmen have at it. They piled their plates and bowls, Veronique going a little slower because, sure, this much food required stuffing the face with wild abandon, but where would she even begin? She craved sweets like she’ll die without eating the fruit tarts with a heaping pile of white cream, but the buttery brioche with the decadent and savory sauce called out to her as well! As forks and spoons began to scrape on plates around her, she shrugged and picked up her fork; might as well start with something neutral like eggs. Can’t go wrong there. She picked off a piece and shoved it into her mouth, and she already felt like home.
--
She felt the buttons on her skirt ready to pop, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Veronique still felt like she was carrying the essence of home in her as she gently placed a hand on what Peter had officially called her “food baby”. Her other hand was enclosed in Peter’s as the two stood close, her head resting on Peter’s shoulder as they listened to Romulus wax poetry about their current artistic display. Admittedly, Veneziano’s paintings weren’t all that great; at most, he grasped a basic understanding of foundation, and his colors would have been impressive if they hadn’t felt like he was compensating for his lackluster composition. The saturation of the pieces were very one-tone, and it was surprising that for all the centuries Veneziano had to improve his craft, this was what he came up. But Veronique would say none of this to the man whose face glowed with awe and brilliant adoration for his joy, and why should she? She’s on vacation.
Veronique looked away from the painting to smile up at Peter, rubbing her thumb against his, mind drifting to the second day of their honeymoon they had spent in her country. He had long since chopped his hair back to that simple style she was familiar with when they grew up, and he’s developed bags under his eyes from the late nights with a crying baby that became long mornings with a restless toddler, but he was just as angelic in this moment as back then on her white beach, promising her the world while proclaiming that she was his entire universe, making her forget that they were representations of an impoverished and colonized island and an abandoned weapon with tarnished histories. Then and now, they were simply Veronique and Peter.
“Daddyyyyy!”
Veronique and Peter looked toward their son, who charged at them from the interactive display he was playing with. “Pottyyyyy!”
“Hold it in!” Peter ran towards PJ and scooped him up, holding him at arm’s length as he rushed to the bathroom. “Hold it in hold it in hold it in hold it in!”
There goes the romance, Veronique thought as she tried to stifle her giggles. She came closer to Romulus who watched Peter disappear into the crowd and raised an eyebrow at her. “Should I wait until he gets back?”
“No, it’s fine. It’ll be a while, anyways.” There was a whole system, in fact: if PJ’s bladder hadn’t burst before Peter got him to the bathroom, there’s praying that it won’t burst while unfastening the pants, and that none of it would splash on PJ’s clothes, and making sure that all he had to do was pee, and if anything would get soiled, there’s handwashing the clothes and drying it under the hand dryer. Veronique settled next to Romulus and listened to the man pick up where he left off seamlessly while waiting.
They moved on to another work of art, then another. Another and another, until Veronique realized that more than enough time had passed for Peter to perform cleanup duty when bathroom duty went awry. She checked her phone, finding no messages. “Where are they?”
“Maybe they got lost,” Romulus shrugged.
Veronique shook her head. “He would have at least asked where we were,” she said. She looked up and around, feeling her neck crawling with suspicion. “Can you take me to the bathroom, Romulus. I think I need to check on them.”
“Sure,” Romulus replied. He led them through the crowd of art appreciators and tired tourists with their own screaming children, of teenagers on field trips goofing off and playfighting while their chaperones tried to tame them and get them to listen to the guide--
There they were! Coming close to the restrooms, Veronique found Peter standing outside the door, ignoring PJ (blessedly without a large wet spot in the front of his shorts) yanking on his arm, his shoulders slightly hunched and hand held to his ear--
“Are. You. Kidding. Me?” Veronique breathed through grinding teeth as she spotted the octopus-shaped case of Peter’s phone pressed to his ear.
Romulus watched the woman next to him bristle out of the corner of his eye. “Er,” he mumbled hesitantly as he tried to assess the situation. “I guess he... Oh.” And there she went, predatory fury brimming from her tiny frame.
She stalked closer, watching Peter become more animated, hearing his low voice, “...in Dublin, too?! Great! What’s our cut, then?” Peter shot his arm in the air and threw his head back, scaring the nearby patrons with a loud, “YES YES YES!”
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
Peter gasped and spun halfway around, pulling PJ closer to him. “Er...” Peter bit his bottom lip and put the phone to his ear, noting the fists curled at his wife’s sides and the flush of her tensed face. “Hold on, I’ll have to call you back.”
“Like hell, you will!” Veronique surprised herself by keeping her voice hushed. Not that it did any good; patrons still gave the group a wide berth. “You promised me you wouldn’t work while we’re here! Did you really use our kid to sneak off and do this behind my back?!”
“I didn’t ‘use PJ’, what kind of nonsense is that?” Peter huffed. “They just happened to call and... Ugh, let’s not do this now.”
“No! No, you do not get to say that! You promised me, and you couldn’t even wait a whole day! You couldn’t tell them that you’re spending time with your family? God, it feels like your stupid contracts and bookings are more important than us!”
Peter closed his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling with the breath he took. “...Ronnie, please don’t throw your tantrum here...”
“Oooooh...” Veronique heard Romulus groan. She gaped at Peter, every part of her frozen with tension. Peter stared back, eyes widening as well as he realized his mistake; even PJ had stopped yanking on Peter’s arm in his own fit, choosing instead to duck behind Peter’s leg.
“...Alright.” Veronique took a deep breath and stepped back. She opened her eyes again and shrugged. “I won’t throw one of my tantrums. In fact, we don’t have to be here at all!” She turned sharply and gently tapped Romulus’s arm as she passed. “We’re going home. Sorry for wasting your time.”
“Ronnie!” Peter picked up PJ and hurried after Veronique. “Ronnie, wait, I’m sorry! Ronnie!”
Romulus scratched the back of his neck and patted his pocket for his ket. “...So glad we could do this,” he mumbled as he followed after his guests.
--
One of the promises they had made to each other when their marriage was new with potential was that they would never go to bed angry. They had broken that promise many times since, but there came a time when it stopped feeling like there was no way to come back from the fight, when making up became easier. One would rolled in bed to turn to the other, pull their love closer, whispering sorries and promises to do better or talking it out even if there’s no solution. But Peter had turned over to find the bed empty next to him. The sheet was cold -- she had left a long time ago, waking up early just to avoid him. Putting on a tee shirt and slippers to make himself more decent, Peter crept down the stairs and to the kitchen, where Romulus watched the going ons from the threshold. He glanced over his shoulder and reached out to stop Peter.
“Mm, no, I wouldn’t go in there just yet if I were you,” Romulus warned him.
Peter sighed. “She’s still angry, huh?”
“So angry that I wouldn’t be around her with all those knives in there if I were you.”
Peter leaned in to peek around the threshold, to find Veronique... cooking. Or helping to cook, because as someone who’s not all that great of a cook, Veronique rarely did so if the recipe was too complicated beyond salt and vinegar. Yet she was stirring up a storm, whisk in the metal bowl whipping around that would have broken the wrist of any lesser being. She glanced up, her lips curling as their gazes met, and pointedly cut her gaze back to her work as Carmen frowned at her over her shoulder from the oven.
Peter stepped back and crossed his arms. “I hate when she makes a big deal over nothing.”
“I mean...” Romulus shoved a hand in his pocket and shrugged. “Was whatever you were talking about on the phone that important?”
“Of course, it is!” Peter threw his hands in the air. “I’ve been chasing that distribution deal for months with dead ends, and she knows this but... Oh, you were being rhetorical.”
“Indeed I was.” Romulus grabbed Peter’s elbow and pulled him away from the kitchen doorway. “I never thought I’d see types like yours in this day and age, but I guess things never change.”
“Please don’t be vague with me, sir, I’m not in the mood.” Especially with no caffeine coursing through his blood to make this foul morning tolerable.
“I meant the overworking types.” Romulus moved his hand to Peter’s shoulder. “The workaholics who’re so focused on their goals to try to give their families the best life that they put their families aside and lose sight of what’s more important. I was the same, in a way, trying to expand my empire and give greatness to my grandsons. Now look at me: an old man with one grandson trying to make a career out of pedestrian art, and another whose ego crumbles every day because he can’t get out of his brother’s shadow.”
Peter blinked. “Jesus Christ, Romulus.”
“I love my boys, though,” Romulus was quick to say. “But I should have been more involved in their lives when they were younger. I don’t want you to make that same mistake, so listen: you need to make it up to Veronique. Talk with her. Maybe spend the day with her, just the two of you, so you can treat her right and have a do-over."
Peter crossed his arms and looked away in thought. “Right... Wait, what about PJ?”
“You should leave him with us. Take away the stress of watching a kid while you’re wooing your lady. Carmen’s going to try to get Veronique to agree to a date.”
“...Why do I have a feeling that this is an excuse so you guys can have PJ all to yourself?”
Romulus half-smiled. “Like I said, Carmen loves kids.” He patted Peter’s shoulder and pointed. “Make sure you wear something suave. None of that touristy tee shirt nonsense.”
--
Veronique should have said no. She knew that trying to get flights back home on the second day was a little dramatic, but she could find no reason why they should stay. It seemed pointless. It was pointless! She was already drained from both helping in the kitchen and the second round of bathing PJ without his bath toys. Her eye still stung from the soap he slapped in her eye. But she sat in the taxi next to Peter, hands folded on lap, face turned to the window and breakfast sitting heavy in her stomach.
“Here.”
Veronique looked down to find Peter holding out his phone. She looked up at him. “Why are you...?”
“Why do you think?” Peter tilted his head and grinned, and Veronique’s mind scolded Oh, no you don’t, don’t you act cute with me! “I want you to keep my phone so I won’t get distracted. I have it set on ‘Do Not Disturb’. It’s just going to be us two today.”
“...You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” Peter waved the phone at her.
Fighting a smile out of caution, Veronique took it and stored it in her purse.
--
Their first stop was one of Romulus’s recommendations: Ponte Sant’Angelo. Oh, Peter will be definitely begging for his phone back, Veronique thought once they arrived. There was no way that Peter’s attention span would last long enough. Rarely did bridges fascinate him, (or anyone, honestly) and with that itch for those damn contracts, he’d be attached to his phone in no time. So she waited as they took their slow stroll, hand in hand in a vain attempt as closeness, Veronique people watching as Peter’s mind probably wandered back to work.
“...Jesus Christ.”
Veronique looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“The angels...”
And then she noticed the awe glowing on his face, the wonder and humility as he gazed up at the imposing stone figures. “You... you like them?” He was actually enjoying himself?
Peter nodded. “Yeah, they’re amazing, aren’t they? They’re terrifying! I wonder if the artists gave them names.”
And as Peter pointed at the upcoming angel statute, Veronique couldn’t help but smile.
--
The orange gardens. With a deep breath, Veronique filled her chest with the perfume of citrus and flowers, and the sweetest of all: the lavender and sandalwood cologne from her beau as they walked arm-in-arm along the stone path. The sunlight cast through the branches painted them in deckled shadows, the leaves in the trees filling the air with a sensual whisper.
“This place is so beautiful, isn’t it?” Veronique asked as she ran a hand up and down Peter’s side.
“It is,” Peter agreed, holding her tighter. “Great place to clear the mind, too, even with all the people here. Too bad we can’t pick the oranges, though. I would love to take some home to PJ.”
“I thought the oranges here were too bitter to eat?”
“Nothing that a little sugar can’t fix. Besides, a fruit garden should have an option to pick fruit anyway. Like that apple orchard we went to, remember? For our...” He snapped his fingers. “You were in that daisy sun dress... It was after we had movie night... Oh! The twentieth date!”
Of course, she remembered. They took their bundle of apples under a tree, and Peter shined and sliced one in half for them to share. He shared a verse of his song he was working on at the time, before blushing as he admitted that he had written it about her. The single vinyl was still framed and stored safely in her chest in her Seychelles home. The kiss they shared after eating their apple was so crisp and summery sweet.
“Yeah,” Veronique said. “It was our twentieth date.”
They rested on a bench near a twinkling pond. With Veronique leaning on Peter’s shoulder, Peter gently stroked one of her twin braids down to the large knots at the end. They watched the fallen leaves dance in the pond’s surface.
“I’m glad we got to do this, Peter.”
“Yeah, me too,” Peter said, bending his head to kiss Veronique’s forehead. “Oh! Gelato cart!”
“What?” Veronique raised up and turned her head, finding the retro-looking cart tinkling just at the park’s edge.
“Yes, some authentic gelato! I’ll be right back!” Peter kissed her cheek and was already on his feet and on his way. “Anything caramel, right?” Peter called out.
“Ah...” Veronique blinked and shook her head, snorting. “Ah ha ha ha, yeah...! Or raspberry!”
Peter jogged to the cart while waving his arms in the air to stop the merchant. Veronique watched with an amused smile as Peter became animated while looking over the flavors, knowing that his mind was going into overdrive trying to decide which flavors to get for himself. She wondered what he could have possibly ordered to make him pull out such a huge wad of cash, until the merchant brought out a large paper bowl and seemed to scoop every last flavor he had. Petr returned, carrying that bowl like a little boy carrying a bouquet of flowers he picked from his neighbor’s garden, with two spoons sticking out of the mounds of frozen colorful delight.
“Peter, this is going to make us sick,” Veronique said when he settled back down next to her, not necessarily a protest.
“Maybe, but we deserve it.” Peter scooped a spoonful of caramel to hold out to Veronique. “Don’t you think?”
Veronique grinned wider, leaning in and taking the bite and letting it melt on her tongue.
--
They were going to have to go back to Romulus’s place soon, especially now that the ache of missing their little joy was starting to set in, but they wanted this to last. This bubble of theirs, this honeymoon delight. So they decided one final place before they called it a day: the Villa Borghese. From what they’ve learned, it was the nearest place that they can rent a boat since they wouldn’t be able to live their gondola fantasy without traveling hours out. But it was no less picturesque and dream-like.
The sun began to set, painting the world a soft and sleepy orange. No matter where Veronique turned her gaze, it always fell back to her husband, watching him roll the oars, the sunlight softening his features, his eyes meeting hers and that shy smile stretching along his lips like the first date they had all those years ago. They stopped the boat, letting it coast in the middle of the water, and Peter took Veronique’s hand to help her to his side. He scooted over to let her fit in next to him, and this close, they dropped any pretense of sightseeing to simply drink each other in. When Peter’s hand drew up to settle in the curve of Veronique’s waist, she felt her heartbeat kick up; she ran her hand up to Peter’s chest and, just as she knew, his was doing the same.
“...I love you, Ronnie,” Peter said, tilting Veronique’s chin up with his other hand.
“I love you, too,” Veronique murmured against his lips just before they met in a kiss. It was the type that Peter knew made Veronique heart ache no matter what mood she was in, the sweet, shy caress of the tip of his tongue along her upper lip, before convincing her to part further and let him in. The gentle rolls and slow pressing of his lips until she felt dizzy and breathless.
The kiss ended but Peter kept his face close to hers, his fingers cradling her chin. “Listen, Ronnie. I’m sorry for being an ass. And focusing on work and neglecting you and the kiddo. I’m going to do better by you two, okay?”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” Veronique kissed the tip of his nose and smiled. “'Cause that's all I really wanted... And, you know what? I’m sorry, too. I know you’ve been chasing that Dublin deal for months. I know you’re just trying to take care of us."
This time, Veronique coaxed Peter in for a kiss, deeper and slower and full of hitched breaths and the lingering taste of gelato. She was vaguely aware of her hand sliding back down his front, fingertips skimming past his belt buckle and lying with the lightest touch in his inner thighs. She panted against the corner of his mouth when they stopped, ever so slowly pressing her hand into his thigh. "I think this is the part where we shake on it, no?"
"Mm..." Peter's hand wandered down her side, finding her hip and teasing the hem of her skirt up. "Yeah, I think you're right."
They kept the affection polite, waiting out the other boat riders and strollers until the garden started to empty. In the sleepy evening violet, Peter rowed the bow to the temple on the tiny inlet. The two crept into the arch, Peter leading Veronique by the hand to a strip of shadow while Veronique glanced around. In the deeper cover of darkness, Peter pressed Veronique back against the wall. He crouched before her to trail kisses up her inner thigh; she leaned her head back against the stone wall, watching the moonlight sharpen the details of the statute that loomed above them, and thanked the appearing moon in the heavens she chose to wear a skirt while whimpering Peter's name in the first of many times.
--
"You look fine, honey," Peter tried to assure Veronique.
She wanted to believe Peter, but Veronique still tugged at her skirt and checked that her blouse was tucked in. Once their tryst had came to an incredible finish, the shame finally rained down on her at what they’ve done. At a monument. They had to rush afterwards, to get the boat to the rental company in time, to hail a taxi. They didn’t have time to properly clean up, and the most they could do was straighten their clothes and hair in the cab ride home, and purchase a cheap cup of granita to hold to Veronique’s cheeks to cool the red flush.
Her heart still raced as they walked up to the manor’s door. They walked inside and down the hall, finding Romulus and PJ in an enthralling fight with wooden swords in the den. Romulus glanced up. “Welcome back!” Romulus’s eyes darted back up to the couple, a sly smirk creeping on his face as he stopped PJ’s swing. “Ah,” he said, cupping his hands over a confused PJ’s ears. “Worked up an appetite, I see?”
“Uh.” Veronique folded into herself, tugging at her skirt again. “No!”
“Ha ha.” Peter nodded. “Yeah.”
Veronique gasped and swung a hand into Peter’s stomach. “Peter!”
“Young love,” Romulus sighed. He picked PJ up. “The wild abandon, the frenzied urge.” He carried PJ past them. “You two clean up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
They followed Romulus out and took the stairs up to their room, where the two scrubbed their faces and gave their teeth a quick brush. Once they had rinsed the foam out of their mouths, Peter tugged Veronique to him and cut off her yelp with a kiss. Past the minty fluoride, the abruptness melted into sweet and cozy. Peter pressed his forehead to Veronique’s.
“Thank you for being my whole universe.”
Veronique found enough breath to say, “Thank you for giving me the world.”
--
“Alright, you two, now lean in a little closer... A liiiittle closer...”
They couldn’t be bothered to make PJ sit still long enough to take the photo with his parents, not when a street performance had captured him with its flying colors and magical music and gravity-defying leaps. Carmen held the ooh-ing and aah-ing child, sticky with ice cream, as his parents posed from afar. With Peter’s tee shirt and frayed shorts and Veronique’s casual off-shoulder blouse and comfy skirt, their attire was far from the fanciest for a photo in front of the most beautiful and famous testament to human greatness, but that was okay. They weren’t marketing, this photo wasn’t for anyone but them, which made it perfect. Veronique laid her head on Peter’s shoulder once more. Peter pressed his lips to her hair, soft and familiar with tropical oils.
Romulus looked up from the phone to check the real thing. “Perfect,” he said as he tapped the shutter button.