Page 98 of The Roman Holiday Rule

“Gia must have thought so.” I gaze out the rain-streaked window at the ground crew loading the luggage into the belly of the plane. “She offered me a job this morning.”

As I outline the idea, Julie’s mouth starts to drop, but she forces it shut. Carefully, neutrally, she asks, “What do you think about that?”

She fought for Mark when I told her about our impasse, listing all the reasons he’s good for me, but when she saw I wasn’t budging, she switched to compassion and comforting mode. Now she’s waiting for any sign of emotion from me behind my mask of composure so she can match my opinion. Reigning in her drama is the hardest part of her job as my best friend, and I love her for it.

“I haven’t thought about it much yet. Obviously it would affect you and would mean I make an international move, or at least travel back and fortha lot. I mean, it sounds like a dream job, frankly, but I don’t think I’m in a place to make a big decision like that. I asked her to give me time to talk through it with you and consider.”

“Okay. We’ll give ourselves a few recovery days and then figure it out. If you want to go for it, we’ll make it work.” She wants to saysomuch more, I can see it in the way her cheeks and mouth twitch.

Ten bucks she doesn’t make it to the count of ten. One. Two. Three. She shifts toward me in her seat. Four. Takes a deep breath. Yup, here she goes. “There’s always a reason to stay and always a reason to go. You just have to figure out where you want your life to take you.” She huffs and faces forward again, fluffing her short hair. “And that’s all I’m going to say, even though you’re purposefully goading me into giving my opinion.”

I chuckle and drop my head onto her shoulder. At least Julie can still make me laugh. “What would I do without you?”

Get a grip, Lexi.

I’m sitting at my antique wooden desk in our Newbury Streetoffice, organizing my overstuffed day down to the minute. The tasks on my list blur. Scheduling is not giving me the calming sense of control like it used to. I miss Mariella, Santino, Luca. And of course, Mark.

It’s been three days of this—overproduction during the day, and feverish nights when I can’t quite turn off the feelings. I even haveStar Warsqueued on my streaming service for tonight. Sign up here for more useless tips on how to get over a guy.

A notification on my phone dings, a direct message from Ninth King.

Well? Who won?

Sorry, no idea.

You get me all invested and then leave it hanging like that? I even voted! Paid good money too. What happened?

I debate what to tell him. That everything with Mark blew up? That I put a decrepit temple above a man I loved? That I didn’t have the heart to look at his bet photo or find out the results?

Things got too busy with the festival.

So you never even saw your competitor’s photo?

No. Was it good? Did I make a fool of myself?

They were equally good. I’m guessing the voting was pretty tight and I’m super curious. Keep me posted if you find out.

I send him a thumbs-up, then flip my phone facedown.

How am I supposed to make a level-headed decision about Gia’s Rome job when Mark keeps popping up in every conversation, inevery memory? Especially since Mariella and I are texting back and forth. She told me that the Russos won the Gallos’ palazzo reconstruction job. That Luca added a fudgy raspberry dessert on the menu called The American. I want to be there for all of that, but what kind of reception would I have with Mark’s family when we’re not even friends anymore?

The bell above the door tingles and Julie breezes through the reception area and into our tiny office space with a large purple smoothie from the coffee shop down the street. “Morning.”

I paste on a smile that feels brittle. My mask as Well-Adjusted-Professional is cracking. “Nice. Did you match that smoothie with your outfit on purpose?”

She glances down at her purple dress, swiveling her hips so the skirt flares. “You know it.” She sets the plastic cup on the desk opposite mine and powers up her laptop. “Gia emailed a plan and a merge contract. Have you gone through it?”

See? My life is Rome with every breath, as if it’s calling me. I mean, I lived and breathed Italy before my trip too, but now, each lungful hurts like every bone in my rib cage has fractured. “Not yet. I saw the three texts she sent though. She’s full of exciting ideas. She keeps saying to take my time with this decision, but I’m guessing patience isn’t her strong suit.”

Julie laughs. “I noticed that. We should talk through it, if you’re up for it.”

I lean forward. “I don’t have the faintest idea how to go about making that decision. It’s a land mine.”

“Take Mark out of the equation. Would you want to take this job if you’d never met him?”

My shoulders drop, and I spin my pink highlighter on the desk. “On paper, it’s perfect. But it’s not that cut and dried, Julie.”

She gives me a quick understanding nod, then starts clicking and typing. Her phone rings and she answers it, pacing to the corner as she fields questions for a potential client, fingering the ficus treethere, and then to the bay window where we have a large bureau of samples. Nice and busy and normal.