Max + Martha

Rome

It was our last night in Europe, and the feeling was bittersweet. Our first date was over, and reality was soon setting in. My mind immediately went through the things that were waiting for me back home—Regina's pending nuptials, work for the Gerund Benitez foundation, a few freelance accounting clients that needed updates and emails. All of that seemed to pale in comparison to where I was, what I was doing, and I wanted to push it aside.

One more night. We had one more night before reality came back. What if we came back home and Max decided he didn't want me anymore? What if I actually woke up, and I'd just been dreaming? That my best friend and I weren't in love, that I was still alone.

I shook my head vehemently. I was way past that now. I was here in Rome, for our last night out on the town, and I wasn't going to be said.

That didn't stop me from tearing up as the band in the basement restaurant we ate in started singing 'Arrivederci Roma'. Following the lead of the locals, Max and I raised our napkins in the air and spun them around, attempting to follow along the lyrics. The smile on his face was so wide and perfect, I legitimately wondered how I could have ever looked at him and not fall in love.

Sometime in the middle of the song, I put my napkin down and kissed him full on the lips, in public. People from the other tables started to whoop and cheer as Max dropped his napkin to catch me before fell over on my seat.

"Madonna mia," he said when we stopped kissing, making me laugh so hard that we had to stop the next round of wine.

After dinner, we walked out towards the river, using a grand bridge that was flanked on each side by statues of angels. The sky was a deep, dark blue as the city was thrown into a soft yellow glow. The Tiber river was still as the statues around it as Max and I walked, his arm around my shoulder and my arm around his waist. There were a lot of moments on our trip that I would remember, and despite my fears that this was going to end soon, that maybe Max and I would be different when we came back to Manila, I would remember this. A man with an electric guitar was playing La Vie en Rose again.

"They're playing our song," he announced, throwing his head back and singing before he tucked me into his arm.

The figure of of the Castel Saint'Angelo loomed high in front of us as we walked. For the castle of angels, the wall of rounded brick was almost restrictive. But as we approached, we spotted a garden in the side where a large screen was set up, and a projector was playing the Rocky Horror Picture show.

"I'm going to miss this place," I said wistfully.

"We can always come back," Max pointed out, and I rolled my eyes. How simple life would be if that were true. "We'll always have this feeling."

"Will we?" I asked warily.

"Well...yeah," he said. "The scenery may change, but it's going to be you and me. That's all we really need."

He was right.