All I Want Series Boxset, Books 1-3: All I Want for Christmas, All I Want for Valentine's, All I Want for Spring (34 page)

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Holly said, drinking it in. She loved this part: an undiscovered city. It was all out there waiting for them, their own chapter of Rome ready to be written. “Why are foreign cities always so much more romantic?”

“It’s the law. Plus, normally you’re not living there, which adds to the allure.” Tori’s stomach rumbled. “I’m starving — shall we do a speedy unpack of the essentials and then head out for some food?”

Holly nodded. “Yep — and let’s get some nibbles and fizz to have on the balcony later. I want to make the most of this view.”

Tori raised an eyebrow in Holly’s direction.

“Not like that!” Holly replied, a blush creeping its way onto her cheeks. “Unless of course you want it to be like that,” she added.

“Some might say you’ve got a balcony fetish,” Tori said, turning her head to her girlfriend.

Images of taking Tori on their balcony in London flashed into Holly’s mind. She grinned.

“Guilty as charged,” Holly replied.

CHAPTER 4

Friday

“How does this coffee machine work?” Tori was frowning at the tiny metal coffee pot on the counter in front of her, just as she had been doing for the past two minutes. No matter how long she stared at it, unscrewed it and then screwed it back together, Tori was pretty sure the coffee pot wasn’t going to submit, damn it. Why did the Italians favour these tiny contraptions, anyway?

Holly popped her head in from the balcony. “Have you not worked it out yet?” There was a lightness in her tone. “I thought you said you could be butch the other night?” She walked into the kitchen and stood next to Tori, her 6-foot-2 frame towering over her as usual. It’d drawn some stares when they’d been out yesterday, with one guy nearly driving his Vespa into a parked car as he gawped at Holly.

“I can if I want to,” Tori said, shifting her shoulders back and pushing out her ample chest. “Coffee pots just aren’t my forté. I’m too used to pod machines or cafetiéres.” She lifted up the pot and held it up to Holly. “What the hell do you call this, anyway?”

“A moka pot,” Holly replied, taking it from her grasp.

“A what pot?”

“Moka.” 

While Tori was speaking, Holly was already undoing the base. She then filled it with water and added coffee to the filter, before screwing the top back on firmly. Then she lit the stove with a match, turned the gas to a suitable flame and stood back.

“Voila!” she said.

“That’s French,” Tori grumbled, grabbing some mugs from the shelf and not looking at Holly. “I can’t believe you knew that all along and yet you watched me struggle.”

“I was testing your problem-solving powers. You’re always telling me you’re the fixer at work.” Holly folded her arms across her chest, leaning back against the counter.

“I am!” Tori replied, pouting. “I’m just not very good in the kitchen, you know that.”

Holly wrapped her arms around Tori, pulling her close before resting her hands on Tori’s stomach. “I know,” she said, nibbling Tori’s right ear from behind. It was one of Tori’s many weak spots, and Tori’s stomach lurched as if she was on a rollercoaster ride. Only she wasn’t, and Holly was the opposite of a rollercoaster. Rather, Holly was calm and assured: she was Tori’s rock. Tori had always been able to count on Holly, and that was even true this morning with something as simple as coffee. Her ineptitude made her blush, but Tori also loved being saved, and Holly was a faithful saviour.

She brought Holly’s hand up to her mouth and kissed it. “So I know we chatted a bit about Cara yesterday.” Tori paused. “You think we should meet her later?”

Holly tightened her grip on Tori’s hand and her body stiffened. She shrugged, even though that wasn’t the air she was giving off.

“We could do.”

Tori turned her head, then spun round so she was facing Holly, her hands resting on either side of her waist. She didn’t want to railroad Holly like she normally did. This was a holiday for both of them, after all.

“You sure? You don’t sound very keen.”

Holly shrugged again, her gaze bouncing all around the kitchen, avoiding Tori.

“I’m happy to go if you want to,” Holly said. “Besides, it’d be good to go to a gay bar. When in Rome and all that.”

Tori wasn’t convinced, but she let it slide. Whatever Holly was hesitant about, she’d get it out of her later. For now, she really needed some coffee to start her day.

“That’s settled then,” Tori said, before reaching up and kissing Holly on the lips. “She seemed genuine on the plane, don’t you think? Very chatty.”

“Maybe that’s how she lures you in,” Holly replied. “She could be an axe murderer who preys on lesbians in planes.”

Tori let out a gentle laugh. “I don’t think axe murderers are normally that pretty, are they?”

“You think she’s pretty?” Holly gave Tori a mock pout.

Tori shot Holly a grin. “Not as pretty as you.”

The Moka pot whistling signalled the end of their conversation. Holly placed another kiss on Tori’s lips, before gently pushing her away.

“Why don’t you take the croissants and jam onto the balcony and I will magic the coffee to the table.”

“You’re my hero, did I tell you that already?”

“Once or twice,” Holly replied. “And just remember how lovely I am,
even though
you think other women are pretty.”

“Imprinted onto my brain,” Tori replied.

***

They’d been here less than a day, but already it was apparent that Rome oozed history from every stone and tile, its streets soaked in what had gone before. The shops were housed in buildings so old they whispered their stories as you walked by, and at the end of every other street they stumbled onto a piazza. If there was one thing Rome was fond of, it was a piazza.

They walked through the impressive Piazza del Popolo, then headed left and over the river. At 10am, the morning air still had a slight chill about it, which Holly was grateful for because the Vatican dictated no shorts or bare shoulders, so they were both dressed in jeans and shirts. If it’d been any hotter and she’d had to adhere to their dictate, she’d have been cursing the church by now. Religion and Holly weren’t great friends at the best of times.

The roads on the other side of the river were wider with more trees and cars, but still cobbled, with the early morning sunshine dappling the colourful exteriors of the surrounding buildings. When they started tripping over street stalls and tourists, Holly knew they were close to their destination. And then she spotted high brick walls the colour of bronzed pastry looming ahead, marking out the boundaries of Vatican City.

“Crikey, it looks like a prison,” Holly said.

“A very rich prison,” Tori replied, crossing the main road as traffic fumes filled her lungs, holding onto Holly’s arm as she did. Holly had a bad habit of jumping in front of traffic, and Tori was well versed in saving her.

They joined the thick line of tourists waiting to enter the sacred city.

“What’s in here again?” Holly asked in a whisper.

Tori held up the guide book to show Holly the page. “There’s St Peter’s Square and Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, museum, parks, palaces and the Pope. Although I don’t think we get to meet him personally.” She paused. “It’s like Disneyland for Catholics, basically. Although we’re mainly queueing to see the Sistine Chapel and St Peter’s Square.” 

“I wouldn’t go to Disneyland, so why are we coming here again?” Holly asked, chewing her fingernail.

“Because you can’t come to Rome without coming to the Vatican,” Tori said, as if that was the most obvious statement in the world. She rolled her eyes at Holly, before shaking her head.

Holly dropped it: she didn’t want an argument, not when the queue stretched further than she could see.

The fact that neither of them was remotely religious didn’t seem to deter Tori one iota. 

***

After a couple of hours touring the Vatican museum and grounds, Holly added fractious to her list of complaints, which so far included hungry, tired, dehydrated and tourist-phobic. The Vatican wasn’t doing it for her: it was too crowded and too busy, built to trap tourists.

Holly favoured the less structured approach of sightseeing: simply walking around and stumbling over places. But she’d bitten her tongue because Tori wanted to see the Sistine Chapel, and Holly wanted this trip to go without a hitch. But if another bushy-tailed tourist jostled and bumped her to get a picture next to a statue, Holly was going to scream. What she wanted most was fresh air, sunlight and space.

To make matters worse, Tori had turned into one of those jolly faux-religious tourists, snapping shots of herself in the sacred halls and getting giddy about papal history. Her fervour as they approached the Sistine Chapel was building — Tori simply couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. As she’d explained to Holly over terrible coffee in the sweaty basement café, she remembered studying the Sistine Chapel in school, recalled the vivid Michelangelo frescos on the ceiling.

“We’re nearly there,” Tori told Holly, breathy excitement lacing her words. “I’ve wanted to see this for years!” She grabbed Holly’s arm and squeezed to emphasise the point. “Are you excited?”

“Beside myself,” Holly replied.

Tori scrunched up her forehead in reply. “Just try to enjoy it, for me,” she said, with a sigh.

“I’m sure it’s going to be great,” Holly replied. She hadn’t meant for that sentence to come out wreathed in sarcasm, but somehow it had. She winced.

To see it up close and personal would be a dream come true for Tori, so Holly just had to be a good girlfriend and style out the next little while until they could escape.

She could do this.
Holly wasn’t going to let this go wrong, just like every other romantic trip abroad she’d had. This one had ‘success’ stamped on it — Holly was going to make sure of that.

There was a queue to get in, of course. After all, if this was Catholic Disneyland, the Sistine Chapel was the equivalent of the biggest and baddest ride: the Space Mountain of the Vatican. And after half an hour of getting her feet trodden on and hearing her stomach growl, Holly’s mood hadn’t improved much. In fact, it had plummeted lower than she thought possible. And to top it all, she
really
needed the loo.

Tori, however, was still buoyant. “Is it one of the wonders of the world?” she asked as they edged towards the entrance, her sapphire blue eyes alight with anticipation. “If it isn’t, it should be.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” Holly replied, trying but not succeeding in keeping the edge from her tone.

“What’s wrong?” Tori asked, frowning. “We’re nearly here, you know I’ve been looking forward to seeing this, but you can’t be happy for me for a couple of minutes?” Her face spelt ‘disappointment’.

That was the last thing Holly wanted to see, so she gave Tori a grin to show willing. “I
am
happy for you. I’m just tired, hungry, and I need the loo.” Holly paused, turning up her grin to the max it would go. It was still only at 50 per cent of her normal capacity. Her bladder was really pressing now too, and she swished her hips one way, and then the other, as if she were trying out new dance moves.

Tori gave her a look. “What are you doing now?” she asked.

“I told you, I need the loo,” Holly snapped.

Tori raised an eyebrow very slowly. “Why didn’t you go earlier when I did? Honestly, this is the main reason for coming to the Vatican.” She paused, looking Holly in the eye. “Do you want to go now and I’ll keep your place?”

But Holly shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine — mind over matter. And I’m sure once I’m in there, the sheer beauty of the place will take away any need I have to pee. I’ll be overcome with peace and tranquillity.”

Tori narrowed her eyes. “If you’re going to take the piss, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.” She turned to face front, her shoulders slumping.

Holly tried to rescue the situation by reaching out and stroking Tori’s back.

Tori didn’t respond initially, but didn’t shake her off either.

Eventually, she turned her head. “This is the
one thing
I really want to do today.” Tori held up her index finger in front of Holly’s face. “One thing. Try not to ruin it for me.”

Holly was about to reply, but then they were at the front of the queue, being ushered in. Holly took a deep breath and prepared to be the perfect girlfriend and Sistine Chapel supporter for the next few minutes. She wanted to be there for Tori, to share her excitement, but the Vatican tour had ground her down. She reached into her reserves and dredged up the final handful of enthusiasm she had, mixing it with sincerity. If she could hit the right balance and say the right thing, maybe Tori wouldn’t be quite so mad with her.

Seeing it in person, Holly was disappointed to find the Sistine Chapel far smaller than she’d imagined. A bit like the time she’d met Gary Barlow in a bar with greying stubble on his chin, and he’d only come up to her shoulder. Still, at least Gary Barlow didn’t have thousands of people trying to gawp at him all at the same time.

Tall, sharp-featured security guards policed the space, sizing people up and down, stopping them taking photos of the interior. It was a job set up for failure, and Holly pitied them. The sheer volume of tourists and cameras meant pictures were going to be taken no matter what they did.

She tilted her head upwards and tried to take in the majesty, but it was difficult with tourists packing the space around her and guards snatching phones out of hands like it was a new sport. The atmosphere in the chapel was claustrophobic and anything but relaxed: enforced silence in an enclosed, airless space saw to that.

Perhaps her analogy of the Vatican being like a prison wasn’t that far off the mark.

“It’s a bit like they want you to appreciate it, but only on their terms,” Holly said to Tori. “They could learn a lot from Disney about customer serv—”