Page 92 of The Roman Holiday Rule

It doesn’ttake long to find the display labeledRusso Family Construction, Restoration,and Interior Design. I move straight to his reconstruction plans, anxious to see his vision for the gardens.

There are several pages on display from different perspectives—front, back, side, above. It takes a bit to get my bearings. I’m not familiar with blueprints.

Approaching footsteps distract me. I take a quick glance to make sure no one wants to peruse Mark’s work since I’m hogging the space, my face practically pressed against the designs.

The couple from the Colosseum who interviewed Mark—who were on my mom’s envelope—still hold hands as they walk down the hall toward me. “Mr. and Mrs. Gallo!”

They beam at me, and Mrs. Gallo winks. “Well, I can’t say it’s a surprise to find you here at Mark’s display.”

I feel my cheeks flush as if she’d caught us kissing in the park. “And you—this is your palazzo, right? Mark told me there was a temple on the property, but I’m having trouble finding it.”

Mr. Gallo tilts his head. “You mean the pavilion? Sure, but it’s not on the reconstruction blueprints of course.”

“Of course?” There’s a split-second where I think I should run. Just pelt down the hall and not hear what it is he’s about to say, because I don’t want to know.

But I stay, because I need to understand the plans Mark made, and I want—

“They’ll tear it down. It’s a piece of junk.”

Junk.

The blunt word hits me like a rock. I step back from the display, wishing I were alone. Home. Anywhere but here.

It hurts to know this about the site of my parents’ first kiss. But it hurts, almost worse, that Mark knew. The second he saw the painting, he knew his company would be demolishing it if they won the bid.

I have been so clear about how much it means to me. Even if he doesn’t know why, he understood that. He could have said something. Warned me. Been more urgent about taking me there. Promised to change his blueprints and keep the temple. Donesomething.

All my suspicions from the morning have shifted to something hot and dry, like the moment you realize you’ve enjoyed the sunshine too long and everything is turning sharp and prickly. The warning sting of excruciating pain to come.

I wish I’d never come to Italy.

“Lexi, are you okay?” Mrs. Gallo asks, a hand on my shoulder.

Her eyes are so kind, I almost give her an honest answer. But it’s day one of the festival. There is no room in the schedule for a breakdown. “Of course.” My voice is too bright, my eyes blinking too fast. “Would you two like to come to the Reena Brooke gallery at the Palazzo Colonna museum? We’re revealing her last Italian painting, never seen before, and I’m giving a speech about her work. I’d love to have you there.”

Maybe the famous painting will convince them to not tear down the temple.

But it might come at the cost of Mark losing the bid he wants.

The Gallos promise to try to make it to the painting reveal, and I leave them as soon as I politely can. I cross the museum to where I left Mark. I need to understand.

I find him on a bench, staring at nothing.

He locks eyes with me, then stands, and his expression nearly breaks my heart. Like he’s already lost something precious. “You saw the renovation plans.” It’s not a question.

I search his face. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Not today.” His voice is unapologetic, but heavy with something that sounds like compassion. “This is your big weekend. I know how hard you worked on this festival, and I wanted to keep the bad news from you until after your speech.”

“That temple iseverythingto me, Mark, and when you saw it in that painting, you didn’t think to mention you were planning to tear it down?”

“I tried to save it. I fought for it. That’s what I do—I restore, not tear down. But it’s unstable. The Gallosandthe city permit offices put their foot down. It has to go.”

My heart clenches, and it feels like my chest wall has caved in. “Since it’s the subject of Reena Brooke’s final revealed painting, it should be a national treasure. Can we appeal that decision?”

“Lexington, I’m sorry. It’s private property, and the structure has been deemed unsafe. My hands are tied. Even if another company gets the bid, the pavilion will be destroyed.”

“Do you need the money?”