Page 89 of Royally Matched
“Well, if it’s part of the festival,” Marco replies, his face alight.
The man pours wine into cups, and Marco passes them around to each of the women. “To your beautiful town,” he says as he holds his cup up.
“No. To love,” Erma replies, and I swear I see a twinkle in her eye.
“To love,” we echo before we take a sip. It’s a surprisingly fine wine, cooling and fresh, and it slips down my throat easily.
“Thank you so much for your help, ladies. You’ve been very welcoming,” Marco says.
“We appreciate visitors here in our little village. I hope you enjoy the festival,” Constance replies.
Marco offers me his arm. “Shall we, lover?”
“Don’t,” I warn, but it’s light-hearted. “Where should we go first? We will need toothpaste and brushes as well as a change of clothes and something to eat.”
“I have an idea. How about we simply wander around with no goal whatsoever.”
“Other than to find a toothbrush and a change of clothes and a hotel and?—”
“Let’s think about all of that later,” Marco interrupts. “For now, let’s simply enjoy this place.”
I open my mouth to protest but close it again. Perhaps Marco is right? Perhaps it would be better if we simply wandered around together, soaking up the atmosphere of this quaint mountainous village.
“What do you say?” he asks. “Forget anything we have to do and just do some things we want to do?”
It's so very Marco to not have a plan, to just wander around and enjoy the festivities. If it were left to me, my instinct would be to ensure that we had everything we needed before we did anything else. But there's something in the air here in this small mountainous village, and the idea of wandering around with no particular goal is altogether rather appealing.
I nod, my mind made-up. “Let’s do it your way.”
He grins. “I was hoping you’d see it that way.”
We wander through the festival. The air is filled with laughter and music, creating a festive atmosphere. Food trucks and market stalls line the cobblestone roads, offering local wines, cheeses, and freshly baked bread, the aroma of which makes my belly rumble. We wander from stall to stall until we reach one of the food trucks. They’re serving simple fare, and we order a couple of sandwiches filled with ham, cheese, and a local tomato sauce the proprietor insists we try.
He tells us the price, and I immediately open my purse.
“I’ve got this,” Marco tells me, handing over the cash.
“You don’t have to pay for me,” I reply.
“I know I don’t.”
We take our sandwiches and find a white wrought iron table and chairs beside a solo violinist playing classical music.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Marco says as he looks around.
Along with the string lights that must look stunning at night, multicolored bunting is suspended above our heads, and people’s balconies are adorned with bright flowers, some filled with people watching the festivities below.
“It’s a novel experience for me to be in a place like this without having to do something official and being followed around by security.”
“I forget. You probably don’t ever get to do this sort of thing.”
“I don’t. But so far, no one seems to have recognized me, although I did have a heart-stopping moment when one of the ladies told me I looked like, well, me.”
“You handled it well, Hadley.”
I laugh. “I quite like being Hadley. Not the teddy bear.”
“Well, if it helps, you don’t look anything like a teddy bear.”