Page 38 of The Roman Holiday Rule

“So, stalker lady—”

“I swear I didn’t know Mariella was your cousin.”

He purses his lips and raises doubtful eyebrows. “Evidence is stacking against you, Ms. Walker. Or should I say Stwalker?”

I clap a hand to my mouth. “Stop,” I tell him through my fingers. “I’ll laugh wine through my nose.”

“And that’s supposed to deter me?” He looks pleased with himself, and that satisfied smile is irresistible.

I can’t hold my amusement in any longer, except, after bottling it up so long, it comes out as a snort. Very attractive, Lexi.

Luca returns and looks between both of us. “What did I miss?”

I press my lips together. Anything I say is a minefield.

Mark shrugs at his cousin.

The metal legs of Luca’s chair scrape on the brick floor as he sits and pulls it close to the table. “He didn’t try out one of his infamous puns, did he? When he speaks in English, they spew out like a burst pipe. He can’t help it.” Luca glances up at Mariella rejoining us. “Plus, he’s sleep deprived with jet lag and then a text in the middle of the night from a crazy American woman shook him up.”

Crazy?I choke on my fish. “Sorry, bone.”

Just because I was awake in the night, now I’m crazy?

Luca turns to his sister. “Did you hear about this bet he has?”

The siblings exchange significant, concerned glances, and a protectiveinstinct rises unbidden in me. Not for my own reputation, but for Mark.

I squeeze the rest of my lemon into my water. “First, his humor is great. Also, the middle of the night here is evening in the States. I’m sure there’s a good reason for the text.”

Mark stares at me, and for a quick moment surprise and something else deepens his expression.

A man who gives up his seat in first class for an elderly gentleman, who lifts kids up on his shoulders, who helps his rival fill out forms—that’s a man I respect. Which makes me want to play nice.

Although I shouldn’t be playing at all. I let the competitive sparring inch too close to flirting. I twist in my seat so our knees aren’t touching. He’s off-limits. So even if it felt for a few minutes like our sparks could lead to warmth, that’s not what this is. It’s a competition that ends on Thursday, nothing more.

Except for that, it’s me and Italy and Mom. Every time I’m with Mark, I seem to forget that. One more reason to get away from him.

Look away. Now.

Breaking our locked, intense gaze is harder than it should be.What about Katie?I want to hiss. Instead, I frown hard at him. He swallows and looks away first, releasing me.

I stand. “I should be—”

Mark pushes back from the table at the same time, sliding his keys and phone into his pocket.

“—leaving.” I’m trying to bolt. He’s not coming with me, is he?

But his face registers alarm, as if I’m trying to followhim. It seems we’re both trying to get away from the other.

“Same. I have work to do. Later, guys. Nice meeting you,” he adds to me, for the sake of our charade, but he doesn’t make eye contact. His face is closed off—an expression I recognize from the plane.

He heads back through the restaurant kitchen before any of us can react.

It’s very un-Italian of me to rush the end of a delicious meal with friends, but those last few moments rattled me. I set enough eurosto cover my part on the table and tell Luca again how delicious his food was.

Mariella hops up, frowning. “I’ll walk you out, Lexi.”

The diners seated at the tiny tables outside the restaurant, shoved against the side of the building, are half-hidden by potted shrubs. The rest of the street is lined with probably over a hundred parked motorcycles nearly eclipsing the store entrances, as if every driver’s philosophy wasthere’s always room for one more.