Rachel Does Rome

Copyright © 2014 Nicola Doherty

The right of Nicola Doherty to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted
by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published as an Ebook in 2015 by HEADLINE REVIEW

An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be
reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission
in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance
with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

Cover illustration © Adrian Valencia

eISBN 978 1 4722 1878 0

HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

About the Author

Praise

Also by Nicola Doherty

About the Book

Rachel Does Rome

Nicola Doherty Character Map

Don’t miss
The Girls Take Manhattan

Catch all of the
Girls on Tour

Nicola Doherty grew up in Monkstown, Co. Dublin, and worked in book publishing before
leaving to pursue a freelance and writing career. Her first novel
The Out of Office Girl
was shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists’ Association Awards in the Romantic Comedy
category. Nicola lives in Highbury, North London with her husband and no cats (yet).

To find out more about Nicola go to
www.nicoladoherty.co.uk
. Follow her on Twitter
@nicoladoherty_
and visit her on Facebook at
NicolaDohertyBooks
.

‘A hugely enjoyable story’
Daily Mail

‘A modern-day
Roman Holiday
: smart, funny and totally unputdownable’ Gemma Burgess

‘A great beach read’
Star

‘A fun, quick read that will have you laughing out loud’
Bella

‘Fabulously enjoyable’
Bookseller

‘A gorgeous debut, reminiscent of early Jilly Cooper’
Irish Examiner

‘The classic beach read for die-hard romantics everywhere’
Irish World

‘Escapism at its very best’
Books Ireland

‘Immediately joins the ranks of Bagshawe and Kinsella . . . a fantastic debut novel’
Keep Calm and Read a Book

‘A hugely enjoyable read from start to finish’ Chick Lit Chloe

‘One of those rare amazing-all-round books . . . I was totally won over by this stunning
weekend read’ Pretty Little Memoirs

‘It’ll definitely melt your heart . . . the perfect light-hearted read with a little
added twist, a happy ending and some great laughs thrown in’ Rosie Reads Romance

‘Funny, sharp and an absolute delight’ I Heart Chicklit

‘I was thinking about it for days . . . an addictive story’ Into the Bookcase

‘A smart, funny and romantic debut novel’ Novelicious

‘Just the right amount of humour alongside loveable and believable characters . . .
fun, fabulous and hilarious’ Book Addict Shaun

The Out of Office Girl

If I Could Turn Back Time

Girls On Tour eBook series:

Poppy Does Paris

Lily Does LA

Maggie Does Meribel

Rachel Does Rome

The fourth instalment in this hilarious, romantic and unputdownable five-part series.

What do you do when your boyfriend of two months cancels Valentine’s Day?

If you’re Rachel, you book a last-minute trip to Rome. Together with her friends Lily
and Maggie, she’s planning a relaxing weekend of culture and cappuccinos to take her
mind off men altogether. But when she bumps into a figure from her past, Rachel finds
herself on a Roman Holiday that features Vespa rides, hot tubs and some very unexpected
consequences . . .

Girls on Tour
is an irresistible series of interlinked stories about four friends, ordinary girls
who have extraordinary fun in faraway places. Expect the unexpected, the utterly hilarious
and unforgettable, on this rollercoaster ride of love, laughs, surprises and sparks.
You have a VIP pass to join each girl's adventure, so pack your bags and buckle your
seatbelts, because just about anything is possible . . .

I
never would have thought it was possible to be this happy in February.

Normally I dread this time of year. Everyone’s broke and grumpy from detoxing, Christmas
is a distant memory, and the weather is bleakety bleak. Plus, it contains Valentine’s
Day, which hasn’t always been my favourite occasion. But this year, I’m actually looking
forward to it. It’s a Friday night in early February, and Oliver and I are having
dinner in a little Italian restaurant near his flat in Queen’s Park. Outside it’s
dark, sleety and miserable; inside, it’s candlelit, warm and rosy – which is just
how I feel.

‘Now,’ Oliver says, pouring me a glass of red wine. ‘Aren’t you glad we’re not queuing
in the cold with a load of bearded wankers?’

‘I suppose,’ I reply, laughing. I had suggested trying a new gin bar in Dalston this
evening, but Oliver was too knackered. As an orthopaedic surgeon, he works as hard
as I do in my law firm. Anyway, it’s not as if we never do anything exciting. Our
fourth date was a weekend away, skiing in the French Alps over New Year. My older
sisters both thought I was crazy; from their reactions you would have thought I was
hopping off to Vegas to marry him. But five weeks later, we’re still going strong.

As I catch sight of myself in the mirror opposite, I realise I even look different.
I’m still tall with the classic Irish combination of long black hair (that I secretly
dye because it’s been going grey for years), blue eyes and paper-white skin. But right
now I’m actually glowing, and it’s not only from the red wine. We’ve just finished
a lively argument about the age of consent – the kind of nerdy debate we both enjoy
– when Oliver picks up a folded card from the table.

‘Book now for Valentine’s Day. Fifty-five pounds for three courses including a complimentary
glass of Prosecco’. He shakes his head. ‘Can you imagine? Paying three times the normal
price to sit in a restaurant full of whispering couples. No thanks.’ He pauses, looking
at me doubtfully. ‘You think so too, don’t you?’ he asks.

‘Totally,’ I say, truthfully.

Oliver looks relieved. ‘Oh good. You think the whole Valentine’s thing is naff as
well?’

I’m about to say ‘Sure’. But I’m not completely sure. I’m just as allergic to the
whole pink-napkin, single-carnation thing as Oliver seems to be. But that doesn’t
mean that I don’t want us to do
something
.

So I say, ‘I totally agree with you on the naff front. I definitely wouldn’t want
a roomful of teddies and heart-shaped chocolate boxes. But I think it’s nice to do
something. A little token acknowledgment.’

Oliver smiles, and nods. ‘That sounds exactly right.’

I return to my ravioli, happy that we’re on the same page. I don’t have to worry that
he’s going to deliver a singing telegram to my work. But we will be doing something.
Maybe he’ll make dinner at his place; maybe we’ll go to see a late-night showing of
a classic film, or have a drink in a nice bar. The main thing is, we’ll be together.

So I’m disappointed when, a few days later, the plan changes. It’s around nine p.m.
and I’m coming home from work in a taxi; one of the ‘perks’ we get when working late.
This is often my only chance to make personal phone calls so I’ve got into the habit
of calling people, especially Oliver, at this time. The Addison Lee drivers are now
totally clued up on all the doings of my social circle. We’ve had a quick chat and
I’m about to suggest a double bill of black-and-white films at the Curzon as our Valentine’s
Day celebration, when Oliver says, ‘I’m afraid I have to go to Bristol on the weekend
of the thirteenth and fourteenth.’

‘Oh. Really?’

‘Yeah. I’ve been asked to give a paper at a conference.’ He pauses and continues,
‘I know it’s Valentine’s weekend . . . I hope you don’t mind.’

I do mind, because we said we’d do something. But I also know that writing papers
and going to conferences is a really important part of Oliver’s job; he has to get
his name out there if he wants to become a consultant. One of the things I love about
him is that he never complains about me working late, or on weekends; he gets it.
So I’m going to be a good sport too.

‘That’s fine. Maybe we could meet on the Friday instead?’

‘Well, I’m actually going down on the Friday.’

‘OK, fair enough,’ I say quickly, not wanting to be whiny or unreasonable. I was
really looking forward to doing something with him. But it can’t be helped. And Oliver
immediately asks when he can see me again, so I don’t feel
too
neglected.

The irony is that in the beginning, I was barely interested in Oliver at all, and
only went out with him in a spirit of experiment. If I’m being honest, I thought he
was a bit geeky. He did not fit in with the picture of a perfect boyfriend that I’d
had before – sharp, successful, sophisticated and gorgeous. Or, as my friend Zoë used
to describe my ideal man, ‘a cruel millionaire’. Like my ex, Jay: urgh.

But then . . . it was like looking at one of those pictures of a vase that suddenly
become two faces in profile. One night I realised that even though he
was
very tall and awkward, and his ears do stick out, I found him unbearably sexy. And
fun, and passionate about the same sorts of things as me – politics, current affairs,
things happening in the world today. And with endearing random traits like an encyclopaedic
knowledge of early noughties R’n’B. I’ll never forget seeing him dance around his
kitchen singing and stripping off (well, his jumper) to the sound of ‘Hot in Herre’
by Nelly.