Page 17 of The Roman Holiday Rule

“I wanted to make sure you’re coming.”

My stomach drops to think Katie could doubt that. “Of course. As soon as you pick the date, let me know. And remember my idea for the honeymoon.”

I’ve been teasing her about them spending it in Rome, saving money by using my second bedroom. It cracks me up she thinks I would actually want to host a couple on their honeymoon, even if I hope my family visits Rome more than anything.

Katie hedges, diplomatic and hesitant. “Don’t you think jet lag would be a problem?”

I chuckle. “Yes, Katie. Don’t do that.” I glance again at Lexington. Her glass is empty, and her phone is dark. “Listen, I have to go. Love you.”

We hang up, and I wheel around, but Lexington is brushing past me out of the sunroom, her skirt glittering and swishing with her long strides.

“Hey.” We can’t be done here—I have questions.

She pauses and gives me the most polite, aloof smile I’ve ever seen. “Excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

Before I can blink, she’s gone, just as the sun slips past the horizon and that stupid candle becomes the brightest thing in the room.

Ten

Lexi

I plow(in a gracious, feminine manner, obviously) through the guests, down the stairs, and onto the patio. I am second-in-command here, and I don’t have time to stand around waiting on other people’s phone calls. I instruct the volunteers to turn on the twinkle lights and the remote-controlled battery-operated lanterns around the property, and then I check that the place cards have been arranged on the two long dinner tables under a massive orange-and-white-striped tent. I happen to see Mark’s name on the second table near Ms. Accardi, sufficiently far from me.

One of her top students ever.Sure. Because the kind of guy who flirts in airports when he has a girl elsewhere is the kind who will brown-nose-charm a professor for his own means. He could have mentioned this Katie a bit sooner. I gave him the perfect opportunity, asking about his family when we were looking at his picture on the plane.

Someone calls my name, and I search the crowded patio area. Anna Leone, the famous Italian-American pop singer with waist-length, dark hair, rushes to me, dragging a young man behind her. “Lexi! We made it!”

We double-cheek kiss. It took me ages to convince her to perform for the festival—I had her agent print up statistics of her popularity in Rome and everything. I can’t blow her off now that she’s here. “Thank you so much for coming. How was your flight?”

“Rerouted because of a storm, so we had two days in London.”

“Welcome to international travel,” the guy with her says, his voice wry and hinting of experience. “Always leave a few buffer days in the schedule.”

He’s preaching to the choir.

Anna introduces the man as her friend Joseph, and we chat for a minute until a hand curls around my elbow and a rough voice says, “I’m sorry. I need Ms. Walker for a few minutes.”

“You don’t—”

Before I can finish my objection, Anna winks at me and they wave Mark and me off.

Fine.I have things to say to Mark if he wants to force conversation. Lots of things.

Mark leads me off the well-trafficked patio, around the waist-high wall, and into the citrus garden. Sharp-scented lemons growing plump on the trees brighten the night air.

He spins me to face him and folds his arms. “We weren’t finished. You’re at a private reception for the participants of a citywide art festival next week. How did you get in?”

The nerve, to assume I don’t belong just because I’m a visitor to Italy. Indignation flares in my chest. I could tell him that I’m the daughter of the artist whose work is at the center of the festival. That the festival exists because of my mom’s painting being dedicated to the city. That would put him in his place. But something about Mark makes me want to keep this fight on my own terms. My merits versus his assumptions. “I co-organized it. It was my idea, and I’ve been working long-distance with the festival director for months. Gia and I are like this.” I show him my fingers twisted together. “Technically,youaremyguest.”

He’s lucky I lethimthrough the door.

I might have put two and two together when I learned his full name from the luggage claim forms this afternoon except Gia and I split the communication with the festival participants. I got A-L.

“You’re the event planner? That means this uncomfortable suit is your fault.”

Okay, I’ll admit my first blinding thought on seeing him upstairs was that nothing could trump the sight of Mark in a dark suit. My brain does weird things in shock mode.

No worries. I recovered from that madness. We are back on track.