The romantic tension he’d been nurturing all day finally snapped, replaced by the hysterical realization that they were two exhausted tourists in a damp basement, eating pig fat and drinking vinegar.
Arthur believed that three days in Rome could fix a decade of polite silence. He had planned everything: the sunset at Janiculum Hill, the private tour of the Pantheon, and a curated list of the city’s most pretentious wine bars. What he hadn’t planned on was Clara’s sudden, inexplicable obsession with finding the "authentic" Rome.
Creating a based on the "authentic vs. tourist" theme.
"I think this is it," Clara said, pointing to a chalkboard that simply read MAGNA .
Arthur took a bite. The black pepper hit him like a physical blow. "It’s... aggressive," he managed to say.
Expanding this into a with more focus on their backstory.
Clara smiled, her first real smile since they’d landed at Fiumicino. "Good. I think I saw a Vespa parked outside with a 'For Rent' sign and a very loose-looking kickstand."