Chapter 27

Every trace of composure had vanished from the rugged, masculine face that usually maintained an easygoing grin regardless of the circumstances. The voice that always exuded calm was trembling visibly, and his tawny eyes shone with a glossy film of pure dread and sorrow.

Rhys stared deep into those eyes, his jaw tightening as he fell silent. He stopped trying to shake off Dante’s hand, his fingers resting loosely over Dante’s wrist. They stood locked in that silent, fragile impasse for several long seconds.

As Rhys’s body heat gradually began to bleed into his freezing skin, Dante’s rational mind slowly rebooted. It felt as though a blown fuse had finally been replaced, letting reality rush back in. He had never intended to humiliate himself by broadcasting such pathetic weakness, but his body had acted entirely on instinct.

Damn it, Dante. What the hell did you just do?

With the return of logic came a burning wave of mortification. While it was true that he dreaded being isolated, he hadn’t meant to beg like a terrified child. The situation didn’t even warrant this kind of drama; an outside observer would think he’d been marooned in the middle of a desert. Look around you, Dante Bellini. There are tourists everywhere. Since when are you incapable of being on your own? Pathetic.

Overwhelmed by intense self-loathing, he couldn’t bring himself to look Rhys in the eye. Dante abruptly dropped his arm, breaking the contact, and cast his gaze downward. Staring intently at the tips of Rhys’s white sneakers, he forced out a strained, awkward chuckle.

“…Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me. Just forget I said anything. Haha… I must have lost my mind for a split second. Strange.”

As he rambled aimlessly to fill the silence, his eyes focused on the scuffs on Rhys’s shoes; they were noticeably dirtier than they’d been at the terminal. Damn. Rhys loathes stains. Who scuffed them? Distracting himself with these completely irrelevant thoughts, Dante tried to take a step back, but Rhys suddenly gripped his wrist, refusing to let him retreat.

“The cab is probably idling nearby,” Dante stammered, trying to sever his own desperate urge to linger. “I should get in so it doesn’t leave. Thanks for ordering it. I really owe you one today, and I don’t even know how to begin paying you back—”

He twisted his wrist to break the hold, babbling a farewell he didn’t want to give, when a soft, heavy exhalation brushed his ear.

“Haa…”

Dante snapped his head up at the sound. When their gazes locked, Rhys let out another weary, defeated sigh. His unreadable blue eyes swept over Dante’s disheveled form before focusing on his face.

“You never once showed me this side of you while we were together,” Rhys murmured softly. “Why choose now, of all times…?”

A faint crease formed between his elegant brows. Rhys closed his eyes for a brief moment, ran a hand through his hair, and opened them again. The hostility had drained out, replaced by a gaze as soft as rippling water. He slowly released his grip on Dante’s wrist.

“Let’s go,” his quiet voice flowed. “I need to wash up. I’ll handle the front desk, and if early check-in is an option, we’ll take it.”

For a second, the words didn’t register. Dante stared back, sounding utterly dim-witted. “…Huh? Wait. You’re… staying with me?”

“It’s not ‘staying with you,’” Rhys clarified sharply. “Our schedules remain entirely separate. You’re on the sofa, or we request a rollaway bed. We are not sharing a bed.”

Setting down the absolute boundary, Rhys turned on his heel without waiting for a reply. Dante hurried to keep up as Rhys walked toward the rideshare vehicle idling at the mouth of the alley. Even as he jogged to catch up, his mind reeled in disbelief that they were actually going to the same destination. He had been convinced that exposing such a pathetic vulnerability would disgust Rhys, driving him away for good.

Because that display was entirely contrary to the Dante Bellini Rhys knew.

Throughout their relationship, Dante had meticulously curated the persona he presented. He had consistently strived to embody masculinity, strength, and the reliable nature of an older partner, burying any trait that conflicted with his self-defined image. This wasn’t a habit unique to his time with Rhys; all his past relationships had followed the exact same blueprint.

He utterly loathed giving voice to weakness. To him, revealing that hidden vulnerability made him feel like a needy child begging for validation and affection. The fragile core buried beneath his heavily built, athletic exterior felt like an embarrassing flaw.

He hated it so much that he genuinely believed crying in public would have been less humiliating. Crying was merely a physiological reaction to pain or injury; tears fell naturally, and showing them didn’t inherently mean you were demanding something from another person.

But begging someone not to abandon him the way he just had? It was horrifying.

Dante shuddered at his own conduct as he trailed a few paces behind Rhys. The moment Rhys opened the car door, the driver barked in broken English, demanding to know what had taken them so long. Rhys offered a clipped apology and requested that the trunk be popped. He shot a brief, meaningful glance toward the back of the car at Dante—who was still standing there in a daze—before climbing into the front passenger seat.

Dante approached the trunk as it popped open with a heavy mechanical clunk and hoisted his crippled suitcase inside. Slamming the lid shut, he paused right before sliding into the backseat, instinctively casting one last look over his shoulder. Under the crisp morning sky, the emerald waters of the Trevi Fountain shimmered with a dreamlike brilliance.

Watching the sunlight dance across the turquoise pool, a quiet question echoed in his mind.

When Rhys saw this fountain, did he remember our promise?

Dante was trailing after him in the desperate hope that he had, but recalling the sheer fury on Rhys’s face when he arrived made it seem highly improbable. Rhys wouldn’t have had the emotional bandwidth to dwell on a sentimental vow. The memory of Rhys practically vibrating with excitement as he insisted they had to toss coins together had been incredibly endearing; Dante had spent months counting down the days until they would stand here as one.

The taxi lurched forward impatiently the second Dante pulled the rear door shut. As the vehicle accelerated onto the main road—as if trying to make up for lost time—Dante stared at the back of Rhys’s head. Catching the faint profile of Rhys’s jaw in the side mirror, he noted the absolute absence of emotion.

Despite finally arriving at the landmark he had yearned to see for an entire year, Rhys wasn’t smiling.

It hit Dante then: he hadn’t just been looking forward to Rome; he had been desperate to see Rhys smile. Just as it had hit him the previous day that his reckless threats of breaking up had been a total farce—that he’d never possessed the actual strength to let Rhys go—he now recognized that his own devotion ran infinitely deeper and heavier than he’d ever consciously acknowledged.

I wish I had realized it sooner.

It was a bitter, belated revelation, but some truths only crystallized in the wake of loss. Now, there was only a single recourse left to him.

He had to hope that the two pennies currently resting on the floor of the Trevi Fountain would actually deliver a bit of magic. Because Dante Bellini was going to need all the luck he could get.

***