Drifting in and out of sleep, I find that the plane is quiet most of the ride, despite the stories I've been told of screaming toddlers and kids kicking the back of my seat.

Then again, that may be because Uncle Benny got me in the good section of the plane.

The book I've been cuddling with for most of the ride is placed on my lap neatly, which gives me a sense of relief. The last thing I want to do is crumble or tear the pages up.

Even the ride to Italy is relaxing, I can't even imagine how amazing it'll be once I actually get there.

Uncle Benny set this whole trip up for me, including the hotel, which I've only seen a few pictures of. Uncle Benny said it was one of the best one's in Rome, and I'm really relying on his judgment right now.

But I've always trusted Uncle Benny, so I don't see why I should stop now.

I stretch my legs out in front of me and lean back, closing my eyes again as I do my best to relax.

••••

"Ahh," I say in content as I stand from my seat, stretching and gathering my luggage that's been placed in a compartment above my seat.

I've finally reached Rome, and it's time to get off the plane at last. I was starting to feel suffocated in here.

Struggling to open the compartment to grab my carry ons, another hand reaches over and easily pulls it open. "Thank you-" Just as I'm about to finish my sentence, I catch sight of who's helping me. "Oh. It's you again."

He raises an eyebrow, "Was that supposed to offend me?"

"Depends. Are you offended?" I ask, shrugging a shoulder.

"Not one bit." He responds.

"Then no," I speak, walking alongside him as we move to exit the plane to grab the rest of the bags that couldn't go on the plane.

The man only has one suitcase, which I feel slightly annoyed at for no reason. I wish I could travel that lightly, it would make carrying my bags a lot easier.

As if reading my mind, he reaches a hand out and raises an eyebrow in what I assume is an offer to help.

"No, I'm fine." I say, ignoring the soreness in my arms already as we head to the main part of the airport.

He sighs, "No you're not, let me help you."

Before I can argue with him, he takes a suitcase and a duffel bag while rolling his eyes. The relief that floods my arms is the only thing keeping me from yanking my bags back.

I spot a man holding a sign with my name on it and I grin, shaking my head as I realize I didn't call for a ride. Uncle Benny really thought ahead. I'll have to call him later and thank him.

"Welp, there's my cab driver," I say, moving a bit to take my luggage, but he holds it from my reach effortlessly.

I raise an eyebrow, "Do you mind unhanding the luggage?" I ask.

"Yes, I do, actually. Let me carry it to your cab." He offers.

"Thanks, but I think I'm capable of doing so myself," I say dismissively, but he pulls it away when I reach for it again. I glare at him, but he doesn't seem to be affected.

"Who's your cab driver?" He asks, searching, but with him not knowing my name, it's a useless attempt.

"None of your business. Now gimme my stuff." I say stubbornly.

"Not until you point out your cab driver." He replies, seeming to lose his patience.

"Why must you insist on helping me? You seemed to hate me earlier." I snap.

His normally neutral face seems to harden into a mask of anger, causing me to shrink a bit.

"You're scolding me for helping you? Absolutely unbelievable." He says.

"Your help is not needed here." I grit out, my fear fading away as irritation seeps in, overpowering any scared thoughts I had before.

"I think it is. You can't seem to carry all this luggage on your own." He retorts back.

"Watch me." I hiss, attempting to grab my luggage, but he pulls it out of my reach again.

"Just show me where your cab driver is and this will be resolved much easier." He points out.

"Whatever," I mutter, stomping over to the man holding my name up.

He smiles politely, "You're Brimmy?"

I snort, "I'd like to think so."

He blinks at me but cracks a smile once he realizes it was just a joke.

"Then follow me please." He replies, just as polite as before.

I nod, glancing behind me to see if Mr. Toughguy is still following and hasn't taken off with my stuff.

Sure enough, he's still following, walking gracefully, as if he weren't carrying a million pounds of my stuff.

Once we reach the cab, Mr. Toughguy opens the trunk and manages to find enough space to put the majority of my stuff in. Looks like I'll be sharing the backseat with one of my duffel bags.

Without thanking him, I turn, climbing into the backseat, and looking out the window to watch him striding away confidently.

I roll my eyes, focusing them on the car. Beautiful leather interior, then I focus out the window again, with one thought in my head;

I'm in a different country.