Aventine Hill

"I can't see anything James. Like, nothing. It's literally black."

"Pull your eye back a bit babe- you're probably too close." came the careful reply, launched up and over the white brick that separated them.

Max still couldn't see a thing. What a bust. And this was worth getting up at 4.30am for? Okay, so it wasn't like she was asleep anyway, what with the sun spilling through the thin hostel curtains, creeping under her sleep mask, and forcing her bleary eyes to rouse themselves.

Even so, if she was going to be awake and outside at such a ridiculous hour, she deserved a sunrise at least. Pinks and reds and golds and oranges, all jumbled and mixed and splashed across the sky. James had promised her the walk would be worth it, and here she was, staring into the inky blackness of some ancient keyhole on a random hill in the middle of nowhere.

Okay, so that was last bit was a little unfair.

Rome wasn't exactly nowhere.

Something about its age set it apart from the others. It felt like things had actually happened here, back when people wore sandals and togas and olive wreaths. Or was that Greece?

Either way, any city where you could step on flagstones that were literally thousands of years old was pretty sick. And it's not like all the ancient stuff was left on the outskirts, there to crumble and collapse over the eons. It was everywhere you looked, like the new Rome had been built in between the cracks of the old city, creeping up in beautiful contrast. Where else could you get The Coliseum?

The Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, and on and on.

Oh, not forgetting approximately a bazillion temples too. Dotted around every other corner, monuments to an age long past, where people prayed to deities they couldn't see, and worshipped based on things like the harvest, the weather, or war.

"James, come back over. I actually can't see a thing through here, and I'd rather not get arrested for trespassing on an empty stomach."

"I'll just be a bit longer babe. Oh yeah- about that. Catch!" came the whisper, as loud as he dared.

Max stepped back and looked up, barely able to get her hands onto the falling sandwich that had appeared from the sky above her.

Food from the gods, indeed.

"At least you've got a good throw" she mumbled, examining the carefully-wrapped parcel. Cold slices of pancetta, a few sundried tomatoes, a handful of rocket, and a dollop of cream, all held in place by two crusty, yet airy slices.

Italy could do bread, that was for certain.

She unwrapped it in the warming breeze, leaning against the still-cold white wall, feeling old carvings jut into her back.

Taking a munch, she exhaled in approval. "Not bad, lover-boy."

Max inhaled her meal from the gods, in between cautious looks to the left and right of her. Still no sign of anyone stirring. Even the heartiest tourist wouldn't be up this early. Not that it would be long though. Soon, influencers would descend upon this spot in droves by the time the sun was fully up, and all semblance of peace would be driven forth by selfie sticks, flowing dresses, and artful poses.

Which begged the question: why were they here?

James knew she hated early mornings. While he was happy to roam European cities a full hour before places opened for breakfast, chased around the block by the slow and steady whirr of the cleaning machines, she would more likely be found still slumbering past nine, if she could block out the morning noise. And in Rome, that was a big if.

He had said that this would be "a cool way to finish their trip", in his classic under-stated way. Max was almost surprised that he hadn't booked them in for an audience with the Pope himself. Almost.

I guess a glimpse on the balcony was as good as they'd get. The Holy Father had spoken in three languages, just none that they understood. Still, one didn't go to Rome and not see the Vatican.

They had done what thousands before them had: waited in line for tickets in the August midday sun, bought their cheap headphones, followed their guide's flag, and spent three and a half hours wandering around one of the most storied places in human history.

They had gawked at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel (no photos please, and no talking), seen so many painting and sculptures in the Vatican Museum that they couldn't believe there could be more (only to realise that they were only halfway done) and strolled around the Basilica, feeling awed and inspired and insignificant (they were standing above the bones of every Pope, ever), like little ants to a golden flower.

Max was losing patience, and looked again. Still nothing.

"I swear, if there actually are monks living in there, they'll hear you scrabbling about, and apart from putting you on full blast in Italian, you'll get booted out!" she hissed, trying not to sound completely ungrateful. There was usually a method to his madness.

Case in point- James had realised that they could just book tickets online halfway through their wait, and they had promptly hopped under the barrier and to the front of the other line for the Roman Forum.

"Let's hope they are still snoring then" he said, and she heard him laughing to himself. "Just one more minute."

She rolled her eyes.

"I swear..."

Max didn't finish the thought however, as she was promptly startled by the second falling object of the morning: an orange that had bounced off the wall, and down at her feet, clearly from the overhanging tree above her, whose boughs extended beyond the garden like tired limbs, stretched out and weary with late-summer burdens.

Oranges. Never her favourite fruit, yet she would happily eat if offered. Probably not off the ground though.

"This had better be worth it James, cos I'm about thirty seconds away from climbing this wall myself."

He laughed again, and she knew he was picturing it. He wasn't in any danger of her vaulting over Robin Hood-style. That was his realm: athletic, lean, and always up for a climb.

"Okay, okay. Ready. Try another peek."

She bent down, pressing her cheek to the cold metal, and closing her left eye to help focus.

This time, there was no black obscuring. James had clearly covered up the keyhole from the other side before, and now he had removed it.

She couldn't help but gasp. A vibrant green hedge lined her vision on both sides, and the path inside the walls led straight as far as she could see, all the way to a glorious view of St. Peter's Basilica, the cream-white building framed perfectly by the hedge, which had been cut to lead her eyes down to the most important church in Christendom.

Max had to admit- it was a truly spectacular view. The boy had done his research, that's for sure. There wasn't a soul around, and the dawning colours were beginning to dance on the Basilica.

He had outdone himself this time.

"Okay mister, that's pretty darn special. Come see it from my end!"

But James didn't come back over the wall, or indeed through the door. Instead, she watched through the keyhole as he walked into view from her left, and knelt on one knee, waiting.

"The door's open by the way," he said with a smile.

She pulled away from the keyhole, a giddy grin plastered across her face. In a flash she was through the gate, racing up to him, shoes trampling across gravel, heedless of snoring monks.

The next minute blurred- words, a question, more laughter, a hug and a hundred kisses.

James took her by the hand and gestured to his handiwork from earlier. With the rising sun nearly up, he had spread a blanket from his backpack on the nearly-dry grass, and adorned it with all the silly little things one could hope for. Flowers (how in the world he had fitted those into the backpack, she had no idea), chocolates, something bubbly, a vintage disposable camera, and a pair of oranges.

"Freshly-plucked", he said, pointing to the abundance of fruit in the trees above their heads.

"Because I'm not sweet enough?" she said, lying down and reaching for one.

James merely arched his eyebrows.

An hour later, they walked out of the Garden, hand-in-hand, taking in the growing line that had formed at the keyhole, as others poured through the open gate.

"What did you see?"

The question was eager and breathless, from someone who could barely wait for their turn to squint and stare.

Max squeezed his hand, her fingers brushing the cool band that now nestled between them, and smiled as they walked by.

Near the open gate, a second orange globe had joined the first, having detached from its branch to venture over the wall. The two fruit lay in the dust: slightly bruised, unlikely to be eaten, yet whole.

"Everything."