Page 41 of The Roman Holiday Rule

Lexi

Halfway to Trevi Fountainfor my never-tell-anyone wish mission, Julie video calls me for a check-in. I stop outside agelateria. The sweet, cool air from the open door revives my sweaty skin.

“So how’s Rome? Any more of that Passport-Luggage guy?”

“Hang on. Look at this place.” I flip the camera and show her the glass cases of pastries and colorful gelato choices through the window to tempt passersby.

As I pass the phone over all the flaky choices, Julie calls out, “Ooh, get one of those, no wait, get that puffy one with all the layers—is that lemon?”

I lift the phone back to my face, groaning. “I wish. I’m too full from lunch to eat anything, and Ineedto be hungry for dinner.”

Wasting a meal in Rome is theworstcatastrophe imaginable. I’m pretty much in a constant state of waiting to be hungry so I can eat something else.

“Pity.” The camera bounces around as Julie walks the streets of NYC. No surprise, even this early and while on vacation, she’s up and about, seeing and doing with all her energy and verve for life. “So? Passport Guy?”

I tell her about the bet, the prank and trash talk, and lunch with Mark and his cousins. “He called me Stwalker, like stalker and Walker.”

Julie knocks her head back, giving full release to her Laugh of Abandon, which is so awesome it should be trademarked.

“It’s not funny, Julie.” It totally was, but I want her to take my side.

“If I’d called you that, you would have died laughing. Why is this guy getting under your skin?”

An odd flutter in my chest gives me pause. Mark is definitely affecting my time in Italy, and at least I haven’t been lonely. Not that distracted and vexed is that much better. “He’s going to sabotage my trip.”

Julie sobers. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“Exactly. I’m a full day behind schedule at this point.”

Julie pulls the phone close so I don’t miss her eye roll. “Oh yes, The Schedule. I wondered when we’d get to that.” She glances at her Fitbit. “We made it twenty-two minutes into the conversation before it came up. That’s probably a record, thanks to Mark.”

She’s made it abundantly clear that she thinks I should “let Italy guide me.” Open the letters when I feel like it, wander aimlessly.Celebrate Rome.Which is why she’s on the marketing side of our business instead of the event planning. That’s the thing about festivals and parties. The fun happens because someone was working behind the scenes to think of all those contingencies, order the food, think about the flow of people and time. “Jules—”

“I know. I won’t argue with you.” Her expression is thoughtful, and a tiny furrow of worry wrinkles her brow. “The thing I can’t figure out is if this Mark development is a good thing for you or not.”

“Not. Anything knocking me off course goes in the cons column. Even the fact that we’re talking about him instead of Mom’s letters, the painting’s location inspiration, or the festival is all wrong.” I wander across the street to a charming boutique shop with brightscarves and purses hanging from a rack on the sidewalk, fingering a silk fuchsia wrap.

“But maybe he knows about the temple. Maybe he can give you insight into Rome that will make you closer to your mom. Maybe he’s the love interest in your—”

I let the fabric drop from my hand. “He’s engaged, and he thinks my trip is doomed to fail, Julie. End of story.”

“Is it, though?” She lets that hang dramatically, and even though I change the subject, I get the distinct impression she’s not done with the question of Mark.

After we hang up, I continue my walk to Trevi Fountain and arrive in the midst of the afternoon tourist influx. The crowd is so thick I can’t even see the bottom of the steps in front of the fountain. Three large tourist groups cluster around their leaders, and a couple of dogs bark at one another.

But that’s not why it’s so noisy and chaotic. A policeman just caught a man stepping out of the fountain.

Which is crazy. In plain sight of all these people and with thepoliziamilling around, there’s no way someone thought he could get away with that. If he was thirsty or hot, there are fountains all over the city for drinking and this man chooses the forbidden one? Or was he stealing money?

I move higher up on the side wall for a better view. Funny, the criminal is wearing the same color shirt Mark had on today. And same color hair, but Mark is too correct to—

I wheeze.

No way. ItisMark.

I clap a hand over my mouth, pressing hard to stifle the delighted hoot. The man is bonkers. What would possess him to do that?

Oh, I amneverletting him live this down.