Page 55 of The Roman Holiday Rule

“Notinit. A restaurant right across the street. That’s what they want. Twelve thirty. Call me when you’re done. We’ll all want to know how it goes.”

I groan again.

“You’ve got this. Ciao.”

After breakfast and a shower, I take the metro to the Colosseo station and emerge at the famous amphitheater. Tourists cross the street, slowing the cars, and though it’s only midmorning, the heat is ramped up to showering-was-useless level.

I fight the urge to grumble again at the ridiculousness of requesting a meeting this close to one of the busiest tourist attractions in the middle of the summer.Dig deep and find your friendly, cheerful words,Mark.I’m doing this for Nonno and Dad.

Mariella’s text with the name and address of the restaurant points me to the other side of the Colosseum. In the shadow of the amphitheater’s curves and arched windows, I’m dwarfed by the weight of its size, history, and the architectural masterminds behind its design. It was ahead of its time on several levels—for crowd control, genius engineering in the hypogeum’s trapdoors, ramps, and lifts, and the mix of materials to help it weather earthquakes.

Fitting we have this interview in the area. I feel like I’m walking to my execution. For a quick second, I can almost hear the sound of fifty thousand people shouting at a gladiator contest.

But that’s just a group of wild kids, running toward the entrance.

I cross the street where the restaurant sits on the corner. Fewer people here. The popular outdoor seating has a front-and-center view of the Colosseum, but I pick a table inside where it’ll be quiet, cool, and nearly deserted. I need every advantage to nail this interview and get the bid, because Dadhasto come back to Italy.

Before Nonno can no longer hear his son’s voice.

Thirty-Two

Lexi

Big plans today.Colosseum in the morning, temple hunting this afternoon, and an exclusive night tour of the catacombs this evening. I slide the third letter into my bag and head down to the hotel lobby.

The receptionist calls me over.

“Ms. Walker? There’s someone waiting for you.” She points to the café attached to the lobby.

My heart rate ratchets up. There’s only one person who would meet me here.

I cross the lobby and when I’m at the entrance to the restaurant, someone shouts my name.

Not a deep, raspy masculine call. Not Lexington, but Lexi.

Shock ousts my flash of disappointment.

The familiar voice makes no sense, but I squeal anyway. “Julie?”

She’s waving, and when I pass through the breakfast crowd to her, she hops up from the table, wide hoop earrings swinging, and squeezes me in a hug. Itisher. In Italy. “What are you doing here?”

She pulls back. “You needed me, and I’m here for you. I caught an evening flight from New York and got in around six this morning.”She shakes me by the shoulders, and her exuberance cracks me up. “I’min Rome!”

Classic Julie move—straight to the extreme, impulsive measures.

I slide onto the chair across from her, her tiny espresso cup between us. She spreads her arms straight out liketa-da.“Are you surprised?”

“Yes, except it’s you. Thank you for coming. You’re the best.”

“True.” She winks. “So. Down to business. Let’s start with the festival. Any progress on where the painting is from yet?”

“None.” I wave off a waiter—there’s a maritozzo with my name on it at my favorite bar and even with Julie here, I’m not deviating from my schedule anymore, even though the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee is a killer combo. “I guess I’ll disappoint all Mom’s fans.”

“No offense, that’s not a good strategy.” Julie drums her fingers together. “What if someone at the reveal knows where it is? That would be dramatic.” She wiggles her shoulders, the spark of an exciting idea animating her whole body. “Ooh, can you imagine the media reports, our real-time posts as the mystery is solved? This could be good.” She drums her nails on the glass-top table. “If no one knows, we could run an international contest to find it. That’s very good publicity for our company. And for your mom’s paintings.”

This is Julie through and through—never down for long, and always with a fresh take.

I feel that constant knot in my stomach loosen. It will be okay. That actually does sound like fun. I press my lips together and squeeze her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here, Julie.”