(SASHA)
Snoring beauty awakes a few hours later, complaining of a dry throat and a stiff neck.
"Go shower," I say, stroking my fingers through his hair on the pillow where he's still lying, "and then we'll go out for dinner."
He stretches, yawns, and shuffles off to the bathroom. I've unpacked and I've answered all the emails from Miles, saving my replies to draft as well—still no word from La Contessa, according to him—so I amuse myself with television until Tyler is dressed and ready to go.
There's an elevator, but we take the stairs instead, and then we're out on the streets of Rome, two anonymous lovers in a city where no one is trying to kill either of us.
Not immediately, anyway.
"Where do you want to go?" I ask Tyler, slinging an arm across his shoulders.
"There's a restaurant area a few streets away," he says, gesturing. "We could walk over there and find a place."
"Perfect."
