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and literally gaped—embarrassing, but true—the whole time I was inside the Sistine Chapel. I was Such a Tourist. But the totally restored ceiling is beyond stunning. I stood there so long gazing up at it that my neck was sore for days afterwards (totally worth it). But I couldn’t help it. It had taken Michelangelo four years to paint it, so he worked on that ceiling for as long as I’d been in college. I just couldn’t imagine working on one project that long. And painting something that huge—it’s twelve thousand square feet!
    There’s something sacred about that space though—and I’m not religious. But seriously, if I believed in God, I would have thought She had a hand in its creation.
    Then I walked over to St. Peter’s Basilica. The cathedral was intense—almost too much to look at, too much to take in. It’s overwhelming in its size and elaborate décor, and the place is HUGE—like it was built for a race of giants. Not only were people dwarfed by the size of the statues and the height of the ceiling and dome, but also by the fact that every surface is adorned in some way. It’s visually loud.
    There was one peaceful spot I found—in front of the Pietà , Michelangelo’s sculpture of Mary with Jesus laying across her lap. I don’t know what it was about that sculpture, but once I saw it, I couldn’t move. It was gentle, heartbreaking, and full of…love. You’d think it would have a sadness to it, but it doesn’t. It just radiates love. Everything fell away around me as I took it in. I’d never seen anything like it.
    Afterwards I sat in the middle of St. Peter’s Square amidst the pigeons and tourists. It felt so strange to be totally on my own. Good strange, but strange nonetheless. So much of the last two years of my life had been spent with Blaine, and even though his absence now made me feel like I could finally breathe, I also felt like I was nowhere, had no anchor in the world. You know, you get so used to depending on other people—not necessarily to make decisions, though Blaine had done that all the time, but just for companionship. To tether you, give you the sense that you belong.
    I didn’t belong anywhere in that moment. Not at home, not in the busy plaza. No one knew me. No one knew where I was. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life or how I was going to face my family when I got home.
    Actually, I felt like I didn’t have a home any longer. I was done with college, wasn’t moving in with a new husband, and couldn’t even begin to fathom living at home—that just wasn’t an option.
    I had no place, and I suddenly, desperately wanted to find one.

five

    “W here are you from, love? You look American.”
    This, obviously, was not the place for me either. The guy teetered on his bar stool, and I was pretty much in constant peril of him falling on me. Which was decidedly NOT attractive. And this guy was drop-dead gorgeous—dark blond hair falling into clear green eyes, a face of drool-worthy hard angles, muscles cut as if out of marble, and a panty-dropping British accent. But no matter how cute he was, being hit on by a drunk guy was only ever annoying.
    “Yes,” I said. “I’m from the States.” And I turned away cursing myself for coming to the restaurant alone. It was attached to the hostel, and seemed like a good place to get dinner. But at the moment I was wishing I’d opted for the walk to the little café I’d seen earlier.
    “Another pint for me,” the guy said to the bartender, then leaned into me and put his arm along the back of my stool, pressing his chest against my shoulder. I leaned away. “And what about you, love? Let me buy you a drink.”
    “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m fine.”
    “Oh, come now. What’s a lovely girl like you drinking?” He reached up to brush the hair away from my neck and I almost fell right off my stool in an effort to evade his touch.
    “Water. And I’m fine, really.” I grabbed the hand that was