Page 91 of The Roman Holiday Rule

He glances at me, and I’m stunned by the pain in his eyes. Regret. “Three years. Two-and-a-half in Boston, almost six months here in Rome.”

And I thought a week with Mark was something momentous. Welcome to the Delusional Hotel, friends.

We walk toward where our bet photos are on display, both silent in our own thoughts.

The fog of awkwardness hasn’t lifted by the time we arrive at the museum.

“Let’s vote, then go to the temple.” I need five minutes out of the heat and masses of people and music and smells. Five minutes to regroup and cool off.

I feel him stiffen at my side as he pulls the door open for me.

The air-conditioned museum is busier than I thought it would be, considering it’s the architecture gallery on the right and the Filmed in Rome cinema display on the left. Not the biggest draws. (No offense to Mark.)

Our bet photos are at the end of the hall, facing the second entrance on the other side of the building, and there’s a chattering crowd gathered around, pointing and arguing. Too many people. I’d rather we face the photos with a bit of privacy.

“I want to see your blueprints real quick.” I start toward the gallery.

He thumbs toward the cinema display. “Fine. I’ll be checking out the movie scenes.”

“As long as you don’t peek at the bet photos without me.”

I mean it as a joke, but Mark seems beyond smiling.

He’s like a locked room. Every once in a while, the door cracks open, then slams shut. I pried it open long enough to get my foot in and poke around this week, but I hear the hinges creaking.

I release his hand and we split ways.

Fifty

Mark

Lexington is ten secondsfrom finding out that the pavilion she seems to care so much about isn’t on the blueprints, a fact I hid from her all day.

I tried to protect her from having to deal with that on her big day, but that’s about to backfire. And instead of standing by her side, I’m walking through the displays ofFast and Furious, several famous spaghetti Westerns, andMission:Impossible III, fighting off memories Zoe awoke in me, memories of what I lost and how much it wrecked me.

I don’t miss Zoe—she was all wrong for me in ways I couldn’t understand back then. But an echo of that pain tugged at my chest at the sight of her. A reminder of what it felt like to lose everything.

We never officially broke up. She left and I stayed, as simple as that. Easiest thing in the world for an ocean to crack in half something you thought was permanent, to get on a plane and never look back. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to live with the results of both times it happened—my dad before I was born, and Zoe after I grew up.

I follow the flow of people perusing the displays, then stop inmy tracks at the next movie, whose scenes are blown up on larger-than-life board mounts.

Roman Holiday.

Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck on a Vespa at the Colosseum. The two of them on the Spanish Steps. At the Trevi square. Eating gelato. Audrey Hepburn in her final moments in Rome, smiling at Gregory Peck while her eyes fill with tears and her mouth quivers with all the things she can’t say.

Gregory Peck, walking down the long hall alone, away from her, away from everything he foolishly hoped to keep.

Every snapshot is an echo of my week with Lexington, including the last one that hasn’t happened yet, but will.

You can’t fall in love with someone who lives somewhereelse and expect a happily-ever-after.

It’s theRoman Holidayrule.

And fool that I am, I was about to put myself in the position to play that out again.

Fifty-One

Lexi