Page 10 of Sinful Promises

Our trip through that church was over way too quickly—or maybe it was because I missed most of it with my stupid randy thoughts—and before I could say ‘I’m a complete nutter who needs a brain transplant,’ we were back on the bus, sitting side by side again, and heading to yet another church.

I’d heard many stories about the church of Santa Maria della Concezione Dei Cappuccini, so I was prepared for what we were about to see.

We followed Matteo down a steep set of steps to a series of ‘rooms’ located beneath the church called the Capuchin Crypt and when we stopped in the first viewing area, my jaw dropped and all the tiny hairs on my neck prickled to attention.

I was so, so wrong.

Nothing could have prepared me for this.

The rooms were decorated with human bones. That I’d known, but it was the extent of the bones and how they were displayed that was both fascinating and downright creepy.

I reached for Roman’s hand. Not because I was scared. Just because . . . no reason.

Yay me.

He squeezed our palms together and pulled me closer. Like I needed an invitation. I’d rather inhale his delightful scent than the musky, chalky smells surrounding us any day.

Matteo waited for all of us to cram into the small cordoned-off area at the front of the first display before he spoke. “These crypts are said to be decorated with the skeletal remains of nearly four thousand Capuchin friars. When the monks arrived in 1631, they brought with them cartloads of deceased friars and didn’t know what to do with the bodies.”

I didn’t know whether to be impressed or mortified by their decision to use the bones as art by sticking them onto the walls in a macabre decoration. One room had a pair of mummified arms crossing each other in a display that was reputed to be the first ever coat of arms. Even more creepy were the robed and hooded skeletons with shriveled skin still clinging to their bones.

I’d seen a dead body once. It was a guy who had died at one of Mother’s so-called parties. Everyone had thought he was just sleeping on the mattress that he’d dragged out to be near the fire the night before. I’d seen him several times during the next day and had wondered why nobody had thought to wake him or move him out of the blazing sunshine. But come afternoon, when the flies had started buzzing around his open mouth, they finally figured out he was dead.

It was an image I did not need right now. Not with all these bones in front of me.

Roman stood at my side staring wide-eyed at the hundreds of skulls, seemingly fascinated by the display. He leaned toward me. “This’s messed up.”

If he continued to lean in and whisper in my ear like that, smelling incredible like he did, then I was very likely to jump his bones, and that would be messed up.

We stepped from one crypt to the next. Each one was decorated in different human bones . . . jawbones . . . pelvises . . . arm and leg bones. But it was the Crypt of Skulls that had my eyes bulging.

Not Roman though.

If Roman found it creepy, then he wasn’t showing any signs to that effect. Maybe he’d seen heaps of dead bodies, given that he’d said they buried nearly two people every month in his tiny hometown.

I couldn’t wait to get out of there, and it was a relief when we were finally back on the bus again. This time though, we were headed back to our departure point. I glanced at my watch and was surprised at the time. I felt like I’d been on this tour all day—it was only three o’clock in the afternoon.

Roman raised his eyes from my watch to me and nudged his shoulder to mine. “What are we going to do next?”

“Oh.” I hadn’t really thought about next. “What would you like to do?”

He shrugged. “You’re the tour guide. What do you suggest?”

I grinned up at him. Was this a test?

Challenge accepted. Bring it on.

I’d taken many of my tourists on the express tour of the Colosseum over the years, but because of our limited time on account of there being so many other amazing places to see in Rome, I had never seen all of the Colosseum or the surrounding Roman Forum ruins.

This was my chance, and I knew for a fact that Roman had never been to Italy’s most iconic ancient attraction either. “How about a private tour of the Colosseum?”

His eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”

We said goodbye to our group and Roman and I both gave Matteo a ten Euro tip and made promises to leave a review on TripAdvisor for him. It was a request I’d made many times over for my tours. Although if anyone did leave a review, I wouldn’t know. The internet and I were not friends.

I glanced at my watch. “We’ll have to hustle,” I said. “The colosseum closes in two hours.”

“Shit. Come on then.” He grabbed my hand, and giggling, we wove through the never-ending Rome crowds toward the giant ancient landmark that could be seen from nearly every corner.