Page 60 of The Roman Holiday Rule

This is my first time receiving a Lexington Special and ... worth the wait.

Her words are like the lightest, fluffiest bite of tiramisu—with all the sweetness and wake-me-up the dessert would give. And it will help my chances of winning the owners over.

I might make it through this meeting in one piece.

“Yes, it’s very good.” Mr. Gallo is peering over his wife’s shoulder to look. “Are there any more?”

I nod, and Mrs. Gallo swipes left to the one of Lexington sitting on the Spanish Steps. “Isn’t that not allow—” She swipes again to the one of the policewoman marching Lexington down the stairs, and they burst into whoops.

Lexington lowers her phone and narrows her eyes at me, even though she’s grinning. “Yeah, I stepped right into that one.”

“I think technically yousaton that one.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, but her shoulders shake in silent laughter.

Mr. Gallo elbows his wife. “Remember when I convinced you to put a lock on the bridge in Paris?”

Mrs. Gallo folds her arms and mock pouts. “He’d noticed the police, but I hadn’t. It took us the rest of the morning to take care of the paperwork and fees.” She scoots closer and gives him a loud, wet smack on the cheek. “Soooo romantic.”

We’re all laughing, and then my eyes slide up to Lexington just as she glances from them to me, her delight at the Gallos’ cheeky love still lingering on her face. My breath hitches. I’ve caught her at various moments of hurt and pain, but this is the first open-faced joy she’s shared with me. I wish my eyes were a camera so I could capture this forever. Where isthatnew technology when you need it?

She lowers her voice. “I can’t thank you enough for the lira. What you did ... thank you.”

Her smile is so bright it singes my discretion. I would splashthrough a thousand forbidden fountains for that smile. Deface the Colosseum? Done. Sit on the Spanish Steps? All day long.

She excuses herself and continues to the restroom.

The waiter whisks our empty plates away. We stand and Mr. Gallo shakes my hand. “Thank you for meeting with us, Mark.”

Sometime between the start of the interview and Lexington’s interruption, they’ve switched from calling me Mr. Russo to calling me Mark. And I understand why, because since she walked in, I feel like myself.

“My pleasure. Restoring your palazzo would be a dream. I already have an Italian mosaic specialist lined up, and Ms. Accardi from Sapienza University is willing to serve as a consultant where needed.”

“Who is the specialist?”

“Dr. Riccardo Russo.”

Mr. Gallo’s eyes widen. “In Boston? I thought he wasn’t taking any projects in Italy. Wait, is he related to you?”

I nod. “My father. He’ll come for this.” I pause. It’s not bribery, it’s leveraging my assets. “If I get the bid.”

Mr. Gallo exchanges a look with his wife. “That’s an excellent connection and added value in your offer. I’m impressed.” He turns to go.

Mrs. Gallo points to the restroom area with a knowing smirk. “Wait for her. You make a cute couple.”

“We’re not together.” Why do we keep having to tell people this?

Mr. Gallo chuckles, spins his wife around like they’re waltzing, and they start walking out. He throws his parting words over his shoulder. “You’d better listen to my wife. She always picks out the ones that stick.”

They move off, and I let out a breath, sinking back into my seat.

Five seconds later, Lexington slides into the chair across from me. “Is it safe? Are they gone?”

I sit up straight. “You have no idea how much you helped me.”

She snorts. “Uh, I heard enough to know. That was a bit brutal.I think my life debt is repaid.” She holds up her lira on the chain around her neck, smug victory on her face.

“Umm, I get to say when it’s repaid, but you at least deserve a gelato. Come on, there’s a place down the street.”