Page 107 of The Roman Holiday Rule

Mark my words.

That’s nothing. A common phrase.

Just to prove it’s a coincidence, I look back through all Mom’s letters, and by the time I’m done reading them, my hands are shaking and I’m in stitches with incredulous laughter.

Markis in every single one.

It was his humorous honesty that hit the mark,not someone else’s poetry.

The mark of a good relationship is to speak your mind with sincerity and gentleness.

I wasn’t expecting to fall in love,but as you can probably tell from my letters,he marks every memory I have of Italy.

Even the sticky note on her painting said,Marked for Rome.

Now I’m sure. None of the envelope painting sightings were a coincidence. Mom’s envelopes and letters led me to Mark and showed me how to choose life over souvenirs, the future over the past, the serendipity over the plan.

Like Santino said, Italy isn’t a magical fairy tale. But the heart of Italy—a mother’s love—is as strong as magic. It’s miraculous.

Sixty

Lexi

SixMonthsLater

Security in the Rome airport,same as everywhere else, is strict and slow, but I know the drill.

Behind me, Mark lifts my carry-on to the conveyor belt and joins me in line. He stands with his hands on my shoulders, dropping a quick kiss on the top of my head before I walk through the scanner. We’re flying into Boston early for Katie and Noah’s wedding, since I’m the wedding planner. All of his family in Rome will make the trip in a few weeks, taking up half the plane.

I’ve loved every minute of living in Rome. I moved into Mariella’s second bedroom, Gia handled my work visa, Mark’s large, accepting family filled a gaping hole in my heart, and the collaboration with Julie long-distance has been smooth and fun with us taking turns visiting.

And then there’s Mark. I peek at him seated next to me in the gate area. He’s wearing his glasses for the flight, irresistible in his jeans and gray sweater, reading his latest sci-fi paperback. I have apencil in my bag waiting for whenever he falls asleep, and a list of cheesy rom-com movie quotes to sprinkle in his margins because I owe him payback for his first prank on me.

He reaches over and rubs my back absently, pausing only to turn a page. Those margins look nice and wide. He glances up at me, and for a second, something suspicious passes over his face. There’s nothing I love more than when he tries to tamp down that playful mischievousness.

“Didn’t you bring anything to read?”

I smile. “Don’t worry about my entertainment. I’m all set.”

He side-eyes me. “That sounds ominous. Should I be worried?” Then he tilts his head. “Or maybe excited?”

I giggle, and with a hand on the back of my neck, he pulls me in for a kiss. (I get a lot of those.)

These past several months in Rome, he has let me in fully, and we’re perfect for each other.

Old Lexi would be chomping at the bit, leaving hints, wondering what the plan for our future is. The New Lexi, who doesn’t have to control everything—okay, honestly? New Lexi is also chomping at the bit and wondering what the plan is. I want a life with Mark. I mean, think of all the prank possibilities if I were married to him. It blows my mind.

The flight crew opens the gate. We scan our passports and walk down the sky bridge toward the plane. I slip my passport and ticket into my back pocket and reach for the lira at my neck.

It’s not there. I gasp and step out of line.

“Mark. I forgot my necklace. We have to go back to security.” Unlike most silver or gold jewelry, the lira is a copper-nickel alloy. I know from multiple embarrassing experiences that it sets off some metal detectors at airports, so I always remove it before the scanner. “I must have left it in one of the bins. Mark, please, I can’t leave it.”

“I grabbed it. Don’t worry. It’s down in my bag. I’ll get it for you when we get settled on the plane.”

“You’re sure? The necklace with the old lira from my mom?” Henods, squeezing my shoulder, and I rest my head against his chest with a long exhale. “Thank you.”

Still, my heart is pounding all the way down the plane aisle to my seat. Mark and I get separated in the boarding chaos, but soon I glimpse his tall form working back to our seats, aisle and middle, with a woman already settled at the window seat. Déjà vu.