Care to Command

10 Italian

Chapter 10

***

"Alright, we got about 7 hours. Is there anything in particular you want to do?" Lucas asks, standing outside our hotel.

"Um...not really," I shrug impassively, "I'm not very familiar with New York."

"Alright, how about we go to the Chelsea Market, they have some nice restaura-"

"I want to take a picture on the Met steps."

"Huh?"

"Like Blair Waldorf. Ooh! We can do a little video where I say," I narrow my eyes with a breathy voice, "'you know you love me, xoxo, Gossip Girl."

"Next." He deadpans.

"And I want to see the Brooklyn Bridge."

"Do you know how long of a walk that is?"

"Ugh," I scoff, hands on my hips, "why do you ask if you're going to say no?"

"You're right, I shouldn't ask. I should just put you on a leash and take you wherever I want."

I know he expects me to get angry, but that would just mean he's winning. "Like your little pet?" I smirk.

He blinks at that, taken back, then chuckles under his breath when I raise a smug eyebrow.

~

"You know, I think this is the first time you're actually being useful." I say to Lucas, who's done taking the 100th picture of me on the Met steps.

He rolls his eyes, handing me my phone so I can check if it's up to my standards. "Wow, no seriously, you're really good at this."

"Thanks." He gives me a dry smile. "It's not like it's my job or anything."

I suppress my amusement and get on my feet, wiping the dust off my skirt. "Good boy. We can go now." I slip past him, giggling at his murderous glare.

~

"This is taking too long!" I whine, on the verge of tears. "Brooklyn Bridge is a stupid, overcrowded, and overrated journey to hell."

In the last forty minutes, countless tourists, with questionable appetites and negligent deodorant habits have breathed down my neck, the sun has scorched my skull, and the end is nowhere near.

"I told you." Lucas says for the 10th time. "If you'd let me lead, you would've been having fun right now."

"Please, you'd probably take us to some misogynistic bar, with overpriced whiskey and stinky cigars."

"Fine, then continue to suffer."

"You know..." I drawl. "I heard that Chelsea Market has some really nice restaurants—"

"Nah, I'm good."

~

Ok, fine.

Lucas has impeccable taste.

I don't know how it's possible, but my jaw is on the floor, eyes out of their sockets, and heart pushed against my ribcage. "I want to get married here..." I whisper weakly.

A rooftop restaurant - no, it's not even a restaurant, it's a blooming greenhouse in an Italian countryside. Innumerable flowers adorn the ceiling, wrapping around benches and columns. Adirondack chairs and bird houses scatter in the mystical space, basking in sunlight and chatter.