Delivery

The clouds always seem bigger in Italy. They have more weight and more texture and seem to pull you with their movement. Davidson watched as they rippled over Rome, turning the city into a patchwork of sun and shadow. He poured himself another glass from the bottle of 2003 Château Latour Grand Vin, and smiled at the silent disgust the waiter had shared as he brought a non-Italian wine for this strange American. He held the wine by the stem and remarked at how well the wine's red contrasted with the city's greens, blues, oranges, and yellows. 

The Rome Cavalieri sits pressed into the side of Monte Mario, and stands like a long slumbering giant overlooking his empire. From his perch on the balcony of the hotel, Davidson took a deep breath and looked at his watch. It should have happened by now. 

Deep in the city below, a man held a package in his satchel, and was running through the crowds of tourists in Piazza Navona. While they stopped to admire the Fountain of the Four Rivers - The Fontana dei Fiumi - his eyes were on the ground, deftly weaving in and out of footsteps and avoiding tripping on the scalloped cobblestones of the street. Reaching the northern end of the Piazza, he looked at his watch and let out a deep breath. He was late.

Kate sat on the wall of the Ponte Umberto I, and watched as the green waters of the Tiber moved beneath. She purposefully tried to look as un-American as possible whenever she traveled internationally - for business or pleasure. For the past few decades, citizens from Kate's home country had left a stain throughout the world, and she detested them for it. Americans were loud, self-centered, wore overstated clothing, and expected to be treated like McDonalds-consuming royalty wherever they went. When Kate was mistaken for someone from another country, she took it as a compliment.

She'd left her watch and camera back at the hotel, preferring instead to take pictures by memory. This spot on the River Tiber was the perfect place to take in the afternoon sun and feel a warm wind fly through her long blonde hair. She'd remember this moment always. She closed her eyes, felt her chest rise with a breath, and exhaled a long, slow breath. 

Davidson took out his phone and placed it on the table next to his glass of wine. He stared at it, waiting for it to ring. In his line of work, he preferred to be the man behind the scenes, he never opted for the dirty work. But with time ticking away, he wondered if he'd have to head into town and do this himself. 

The man with the suitcase wiped the sweat off his brow. His feet hurt from running on the uneven streets, and the swaying balance of the satchel had ignited his side. He'd made it to the bridge. He turned right to walk down the stairs toward the riverbank, but not before catching a stunning blonde sitting on the side of the bridge, busy being lost to the world. 

At the bottom of the stairs, the temperature was markedly cooler, as if the water sucked the heat from the air. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to locate his point man. With relief, he saw a distinctive man walking toward him. He was tall in a white suit wearing dark sunglasses and a brimmed hat, and he angrily pointed at his watch. 

"Are you Edward?" the man with the suitcase asked in elongated vowels typical of an Italian working through the English language.

"I am, and you're late," Edward said, his hand outstretched to receive the package. 

The man reached into his satchel and pulled out the package carefully rolled in protective wrap. He gingerly handed it to Edward. The man with the satchel was never told what was inside each package. This allowed for plausible deniability and made him more comfortable not knowing how dangerous or illegal his bag's contents were as he ran through the crowds of Rome. 

Edward carefully unwrapped the package and stared inside. The man with the suitcase craned his neck as he attempted to take a peek, but Edward closed it tightly. 

"Tell your boss you did well," said Edward, tipping his hat. “Thank you."

On the bridge, Kate felt a tap on her shoulder. "Excuse me," it was an American tourist putting on an exaggerated accent to "help" with translation. "Would you take a photo of my wife and me?" The tourist pointed to his camera. Kate smiled—her disguise had worked. 

"Of course," smiled Kate, in unadulterated American English. 

Finally, up the stairs and at street level, Edward spotted her. Her back was to him, and she was in a slight crouch - the unmistakable body position of someone taking a photo. He tossed the torn wrapping into a nearby trash can and double-checked the item in his hand. 

A few miles away, Davidson's phone began vibrating on the table. 

Walking toward her, Edward felt a pit form in his stomach. She hadn't seen him yet, and this was probably for the best. In matters like this, he preferred the element of surprise.

Kate returned the camera to the tourists, smiled, and returned to the river. Looking north, she made a mental note to Google where the source of the Tiber was located when she got back to the hotel. 

Edward took a deep breath and placed a hand on Kate's lower back.

"Don't jump," he said.

Still staring out over the river, Kate didn't turn to him, "If I had to wait any longer, I might have."

Edward took the item from around his back and placed it on the wall before her.

"What is this?"

"It's my excuse."

Kate tucked her long hair behind her ears, and for the first time turned toward Edward.

"How dangerous is this?"

"Extremely."

Kate took the lacquered wooden box off the wall and felt her pulse rise for the first time all day. A smile formed at the corner of her lips and peaked somewhere below her nose. Even before she opened it, she knew what it was. 

"I have delivered the package," the man with the suitcase said into the phone. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Edward talking with the blonde on the bridge. 

"Excellent. I've transferred funds to your account," said Davidson before hanging up the phone. 

Kate slowly opened the box and found her great-grandmother's engagement ring sitting squarely inside. The late afternoon sun worked its way through the prisms of the diamond and cast rainbows on the inside of the box. Finally, she turned back to Edward, who had already gotten on one knee. 

If it weren't for the pillowy clouds rolling through the sky, Davidson would have thought he was looking out over a painting. He followed the serpentine line of the Tiber down toward the outline of the Corte Suprema di Cassazione, which sat just on the other side of Kate and Edward's bridge. He raised a glass in their direction, took a long sip, and placed it back on the table.