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I offer Fortune of Rome? as a companion piece to Fortune of Paris.
Fortune of Rome
The moment Jacob starts on about the statue and its history while I focus on the birds crapping on said statue and the clouds that will soon be crapping on us, so to speak, I lose it. At least I do in my head.
This is our freaking honeymoon, but instead it has become “Jacob plays tour guide because Jacob knows freaking everything,” although I’m positive he’s made up a lot.
For three years I was certain Jacob was The One. For three years we saw each other once or twice a week while we studied for our PhDs. Now I’ve been with him for a week and I’m about to lose my mind. He never stops talking. How can I live with him forever?
I sit on the side of the fountain and lower my face to my palms.
I look up into startling blue eyes.
“You’re American?” the man asks with a Scandinavian accent.
I touch the charm, a map of Virginia, smile and again ask: “How?”
He grins. “I attended the University of Virginia.”
Several feet away Jacob gesticulates, his words a pleasure to his ears.