A Week In Rome | AWI series |✔

» thursday

We found ourselves in front of Palazzo Brancaccio, a mansion not too far from the Colosseum, which had found a special place in my heart. It was a massive concrete building, but different from the museums and historic sites I'd seen. It was surrounded by women in elegant dresses and men gracing suits.

"Have you ever been to a wedding?" Max asked from beside me, staring at the grand building. I was still adorning the dress he'd bought me, and my stomach churned with excitement.

"Never."

He looked down at me, eyes full of mischief.

"Have you ever crashed a wedding?"

My eyes widened and a smile spread across my lips.

"Isn't that like... illegal?"

Max nodded. "As is sneaking into the Colosseum. And look, we're already dressed for the occasion."

He had a point; he was dressed flawlessly as always, and my dress was just formal enough for an event such as a wedding. Burying the concern and fear deep inside me, I laced my fingers in his.

"Mi fido di te." My pronunciation wasn't clean, and I felt nervous that I'd completely butchered the sentence. But something about the way that Max's grin grew and his eyes shined with appreciation told me that he had understood my words.

"I trust you," I had said.

I wanted to speak to Max in his own language for a change. He spoke to me in Italian and English, and other languages known only to the two of us through his eyes. The reaction it elicited was enough to make me smile contently.

He watched me in wonderment, and squeezed my hand in his, before our legs carried us to the entrance. We fell into line behind other guests, and I began to grow nervous.

"He's checking names off of a list. How are we going to get in?"

Max pursed his lips and then pulled me closer to his side, whispering into my ear.

"Just follow my lead."

His breath brushed against my ear, sending chills down my spine. I placed a hand on his arm, managing to plaster a smile across my lips once we reached the man in charge of letting people in. He seemed to be middle-aged, and extremely bored with his job.

"Name?" He asked, and that's when I noted his American accent. This wasn't an Italian wedding--it was an American one. So we were in my playing field.

I could tell that Max was taken aback. Whatever his plan was probably wouldn't work now. I squeezed his hand, and stepped closer to the man. It seemed that I needed to improvise for a change.

"Johnsons. Mister and misses." My fingers were crossed as his eyes scanned the list of guests. His bored gaze met mine and he shook his head.

"Nope, sorry. You're not on the list."

I cursed to myself. It was such a common name that I'd figured chances were it was on the list. Feigning shock, I let go of Max's hand and peered over the man's shoulder and onto the list. Above the paper were written the words "Jason & Ashley's Guest List."

"That's ridiculous!" I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. Max watched, trying to suppress a smirk. The people behind us were growing impatient. As if on queue, a man dressed in a tuxedo walked over with a concern look on his face. His outfit seemed the most expensive, and by the way that he had been greeting guests, he seemed to be important. The groom.

"Is there a problem here?" He asked the man with the guest list, his blue eyes glancing between the two of us and the indifferent man. Before he could speak, I threw my arms around the groom in an embrace, my heart racing with adrenaline.