Page 103 of The Roman Holiday Rule

If you really want to know, all he wrote me was this: “Tell Lexington, ‘What necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer—the Future so much brighter?’—Jane Austen.” Is he flirting with you through me? Not cool.

I’m laughing so hard tears prick my eyes—that’s not Jane Austen, it’s Mr. Rochester inJane Eyre, and I have no doubt Mark misattributedthe quote on purpose. Then I read it again, staring at it so long I miss the light and have to push the cross button again.

My heart hammers inside my chest as I cross the street and enter the Common. I told Mark he was letting his past dictate his future. Is he trying to tell me—

The notification disappears, and I swipe to the next picture on Ninth King’s account, stepping to avoid a fallen branch. It’s an older woman bent over a little girl, tying ribbons in her braid. From the back, she almost reminds me of Alba.

I stumble on the uneven sidewalk. I’m almost at the fountain, head spinning and in no state to deal with clients. I’ll bail, reschedule, and find a quiet place to hyperventilate and overanalyze all of this.

But Kathryn is waiting, already waving me over.

I’ve researched this venue, we’ll make quick plans today to move forward, and then Julie can execute. I just need to compartmentalize for a half hour.

I slide my phone into my pocket, still moving in a dream I don’t want to wake from, when an elderly man joins her.

“Hey, Nonno.” She hugs him, pulls back, and I can’t breathe.

It’s Santino.

Fifty-Eight

Lexi

Istop walking.I’m ten feet away from Mark’s Italian grandfather and Kathryn just called him Nonno. Kathryn.Katie.

“Mark—” The word shudders out of me, half-whispered.

“Yes?” a low, gravelly voice says to my right.

I inhale sharply and turn. He’s here. Damp curls, black T-shirt, and sandals. Mark in Boston.

No words come. I just gape at him, taking him in. His eyes are intent, hopeful, and a tiny bit playful. He’s waiting—maybe for me to push him away or draw him to me—but I’m too messed up right now to do anything but blink.

And blurt out the most nonessential question out of everything I’m processing right now. “Are you the Ninth King of Rome?”

“Yes.”

“You said you weren’t on social media.” All those messages, and I was texting Mark? I need hours alone to rehash everything we wrote in light of this new information. Mark was the one helping me win the bet? He was keeping contact with me even after our diametrically opposed goals brought everything crashing down?

His heart is clearly taken with you.Mark wrote that abouthimself.

I’m so busy processing, wishing for the thousandth time things had ended differently, that I almost miss his answer.

“I wasn’t. Mariella set up the account last year to showcase my photography, gave it that pompous name as a joke, and was running it for me until you told me you’d interacted with the Ninth King. I downloaded the app, took over the account, and changed the password as soon as we landed in Frankfurt.” He dips his head and glances back at Santino and Katie watching us, all eager and nervous. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

I nod, but before we leave, I run to Santino and give him a tight hug.

He whispers in my ear, “I told you it’s not over until this world passes away. Did you forget?”

Kathryn steals a hug too, then apologizes, but her eyes have that Russo sparkle that tells me it’s all spunk behind her smoke screen of shy timidity. “I’ll hold your umbrella,” she says and does something weird with her eyebrows, like she’s waggling them but also trying not to.

Mark and I walk deeper into the park, and he glances behind him before speaking. “I wanted to meet you alone, but I couldn’t get rid of them. I’d told Katie my plan and the interfering little stinker went to hire you as her wedding planner. She just couldn’t resist.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a deep rumble in his throat. “Well, you know my family.”

“What plan? What, exactly, are you doing here?” Whatever his reasons, it’s not helping my Post-Mark Recovery Plan. With this setback, I’m not going to make it to stage two by next week.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I was going to use the Ninth King messages to get you to the fountain at noon. I had this whole thing—” He breaks off, blushing. “You know, it’s a little intimidating to plan something for an event planner. This is not my area of expertise.”

He’s so adorably vulnerable, I have to stop walking, close my eyes,and regroup. Focus on what should matter most. “Tell me one thing, Mark. Is the temple gone?”