Page 90 of The Roman Holiday Rule

I jump into the conversation. “Hasn’t she done an incredible job?”

Lexington flicks her gaze to me for a split-second and it kills me that I can’t read her expression. We just need to survive the rest of the day—the pavilion, her speech—and then we can deal with the issues between us. Namely, the ocean.

Zoe widens impressed eyes. “Yes, well done. The festival has been super fun. My colleagues and I are looking forward to hearing Anna Leone tomorrow night. How in the world did you manage to book her?”

Lexington nods. “Yeah, she took some convincing. So if you’re bidding for the Gallos’ restoration, I assume you’re an architect too?”

“Yes, I’m at Ivy International Group now—it’s a bit large for mytaste, but there’s been a lot of room for moving up the ladder, especially with my knowledge of Rome from my time living here.”

I catch Zoe’s eye and give her an intense look charged with meaning. Not only was her time in Italynotabout Italy, but I can’t believe she’s hinting at our relationship. So much for letting me handle this on my own terms.

She smiles. “And what about you, Mark? How have you been and what have you been up to?”

“Still living here. I’ve been working at my family’s reconstruction company.”

“That is awesome. I admire that a lot.” She looks to Lexi with a grimace. “Icouldn’t hack it. Remember those all-nighters I pulled in school, Mark? I was so homesick I couldn’t sleep. But it worked out, me heading home.” She wiggles her ring finger on her left hand. “Got engaged in June.”

No, no, no, don’t turn the conversation toward relationships. “Congratulations.”

“It’s stunning,” Lexington adds, peering at it as Zoe holds it close for her to see.

“Thanks.” She looks between us, and I see the question from a mile away, the polite social necessity of reciprocity. There’s no way to stop this incoming meteorite. Not even an extended coughing fit can save us. “How long have you two been together?”

Boom. The awkwardness level just tripled.

Lexington glances up at me, searching my face.

I pause, and for every second of hesitation, I feel the space between us lengthen.

Zoe winces and laughs. “Oh, did I put my foot in my mouth? You had your arm around her, I assumed you were dating.”

I can’t confirm or deny that. I don’t know what we are.

Is Lexington my girlfriend? A summer fling? My friend?

An hour ago, I would have said we were together. Now, images flash in my mind of Zoe by my side. In class. Exploring the tourist sites and ranking the restaurants of Rome. Then, planeticket on the table between us, me listening to her telling me she was leaving.

I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “Lexington is my festival date.”

Which is not an answer at all.

Forty-Nine

Lexi

“Lexingtonis my festival date.”

That sounds simple, but it’s absolutely not. Not after the week we’ve had together. This week was supposed to be all about my mom and the festival, and instead, Mark and I have moved so fast my head is spinning. There’s a warning bell in my mind that we splurged extravagantly and Monday is payday.

Or maybe today. I saw Mark’s flinch, and I hear everything he’s not saying.

He takes a step back. “It was good seeing you, Zoe. Good luck with the Gallos’ bid.”

“May the best team win.” She waves and starts off toward the piazza. “Nice meeting you, Lexi, and see you Monday, Mark.”

Once she’s gone, he clears his throat. “Sorry about that.”

“How long did you date her?” This other side of Mark I’m glimpsing today—his work stress, his personal history with Zoe—is a sharp reminder that he has a whole life here that I’m not part of.