“I’m sorry, Georgie. Really and truly sorry. I thought, well, I thought it was up to me to protect you. I didn’t realize I was shutting you out. I just . . . I didn’t want you to know about the horrible stuff I get involved in. Could I . . . could I maybe come in so that we can talk about this with some, well, privacy?”

I nod and walk over to press the intercom buzzer. I push it several times, but I can’t hear David opening the door.

“It’s open,” I call, walking back to the window, but David isn’t on the street anymore. I lean out of the window to see where he’s got to, and to my amazement I find that he’s climbing up the wall. He is shinnying up the very same drainpipe that floored Mike.

“David, what are you doing?” I call excitedly. “You’re insane!”

“Not insane, Georgie, but perhaps a bit stupid,” David replies, grabbing onto the wall for a better grip. “I thought I was doing the right thing keeping the truth from you. I didn’t want you to worry, and if I’m absolutely honest, I probably didn’t know you really cared about it. But Georgie, the last thing I wanted was to lie to you. I just didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.

Plus, I knew you had feelings for Mike and I thought you might think I was making the whole thing up.” He swings his legs onto the top of the first-floor window.

“And you’re right. I mean, about me,” he says thoughtfully, pausing to change his grip. “I’ve been thinking that I need to make some changes in my life.”

“Changes? You don’t need to change,” I say gently. “You’re pretty much perfect as you are.

Just, you know, tell me stuff. Don’t keep secrets from me. David, be careful won’t you . . .”

I’m half hanging out of the window now, terrified that he’s going to fall.

“No, I do need to change,” says David through gritted teeth—his head is now level with my windowsill. I hurriedly move my planters into the flat. “I don’t want to spend so much time at the office anymore. Jane has booked me on a course in ‘delegation’ and I’m going to really try.”

I grin. I can just imagine Jane telling David exactly what she thinks of his delegation skills.

“You see,” David says, pulling himself into my sitting room, “I haven’t had a holiday for a very long time. Rome made me realize what I’m missing—what we’re missing. And if I’m going to take a long holiday, well, I need to be able to delegate. To trust the people working for me.”

“Except Vanessa,” I point out, as David’s feet touch the floor.

“Yes, except Vanessa.” He’s standing in front of me now, sweat glistening on his forehead, brick dust staining his city coat. Noting my shocked expression, he shrugs and grins. “Jane also said I should try a romantic gesture. The florists were shut, so I thought climbing up to your window might do the trick . . . it’s all about balance, you know . . .”

I raise my eyebrows at him. I have a sneaky suspicion he might have seen Mike attempt, and fail, to climb up to my window and was determined to outdo him. But that’s absolutely fine by me.

“Anyway,” David continues, “the point is that I need to get to a place where I can take a few weeks off without worrying that everything’s going to fall apart.”

He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Honeymoons can’t be short, can they? You would want to go away for at least two weeks, wouldn’t you? If you . . . I mean, were you to do me that honor . . .”

He trails off and looks at me beseechingly. Is David . . . did he just . . . is this what I think it is? I don’t want to say anything, in case I misheard. In case he was joking or something.

“Two weeks is generally considered about right,” I manage. The corners of David’s mouth start to edge upward.

“You mean, you might think about it? Even though I can be an arrogant prick sometimes?”

I grin. “David, you’re not arrogant. Just misguided. And a bit too protective sometimes.”

“All valid criticisms,” David admits with a smile. “Now, what about you? Am I allowed to tell you what your faults are yet, or are we still focusing on me?”

“Definitely still focusing on you,” I say firmly. “Probably will be for quite a while yet.”

“I see. I suspected as much,” murmurs David, kissing my neck. “Your hair is beautiful, by the way. It suits you short.”

“I didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“You look like a sassy chick,” he says appraisingly. “Far too gorgeous for a boring accountant like me.”

“There you go again,” I say crossly, pulling away. “Don’t say that when you know very well that you’re not a boring accountant. You climb up drainpipes, dance like Fred Astaire, and bust organized crime rings. That is definitely not boring, and I think you are obviously notjust an accountant.”

“Okay,” grins David. “But maybe I should spice things up just a little bit. You know, become a little less dependable, keep you on your toes?”

I punch him in the arm. “I wouldn’t say you’re exactly dependable at the moment, actually.”

David looks up, hurt. “I thought we’d been through all that?” he says quietly. “It’s been a really difficult time, Georgie, but I really think that you—”

“The curtain rail,” I interrupt, and see relief sweep across his face. “David, that curtain rail has been leaning against the kitchen wall ever since we bought it. Now, if you were really dependable, I’d have curtains up over there instead of two large windows through which my neighbors can see everything.”

“Everything?” asks David with a cheeky smile, and he starts to undo my robe. “Well, I think the least we can do is give them something really good to look at . . .”

“David!” I yelp, looking at him in horror. “You can’t be serious! There is no way I’m going to let my neighbors see—”

But before I can finish my sentence, David leans down and hoists me over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t dream of letting them see you naked, my darling,” he says. “I meantthis .” With a deft movement, he bends down again, picks up my copy ofRoman Holiday and throws it out of the window. I hear it land with a thud below and wonder what my neighbors will make of the smashed vase, broken bottle, and used video tomorrow morning.

David puts me down on the bed and throws my robe on the floor before turning back and kissing me. As his hands move expertly around my body, he whispers in my ear, “I think we’ve had enough ofRoman Holiday , don’t you?”

Pulling off his trousers, I agree with a smile. Now that we’ve had our own Roman Holiday, I’m determined to spend less time watching TV and more time going out and experiencing things firsthand. Less time dreaming and more time doing. It’s going to be great. And anyway, I can always buy the DVD. . . .

When in Rome . . .is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Ballantine Book

Published by The Random House Publishing Group

Copyright © 2004 by Gemma Townley

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

www.ballantinebooks.com

Library of Congress Control Number is available from the publisher upon request.

e-ISBN 0-345-47212-8

v1.0

DEDICATION

To Maddy—for always leading the way,

and letting me come, too

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

About the Author

Copyright

WHEN in ROME . . .

GEMMA TOWNLEY

BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK

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