Page 65 of The Roman Holiday Rule

I chuckle.

Well with your advice, maybe not. Thanks.

Good luck. I’m here if you need me for anything else.

That done, we wander across the narrow bridge into the building, a large space dotted with ruins. Smooth marble columns contrast with the old brick walls, and atmospheric music plays from thedocumentary in a nearby room. We stop in front of a glass-encased model of the original temple.

Despite the completeness of it, it’s nothing compared to the scale and intricately molded details of the remaining temple columns outside. It strikes me how much vision must go into being an architect. To be able to look at something and see its potential, to understand things past their facade.

Mark’s focus, passion, and loyalty snap into place. Even his premise that understanding the heart of Italy takes more than a tourist trip.

We pass through and exit the building on the other side. Julie checks the time. She has a friend in the city she’s reconnecting with last minute, and Mariella invited me to her flat for dinner, but before we part ways, she asks about Mom’s Colosseum letter.

Yeah, about that. I rub my forehead. “Just ... hear me out and don’t try to quoteYou’ve Got Mailat me.”

“What?”

“You know that line, people go crazy in foreign countries.”

“That is not the quote. It’s ‘people do really stupid things in foreign countries.’ You could not quote a movie right if your life depended on it.”

I hold in a smile, thinking of Mark’s plan to cure me of that.

I explain Ms. Accardi’s apron at Keats House and the couple from the envelope at the Colosseum. She sobers and her eyes widen.

“So you’re telling me that every time you’ve opened an envelope, you see something from the pictures your mom painted?”

“Yes. This is the part where you tell me I’m not crazy.”

Her face twists, because what I’ve told her is ridiculous. We stare at each other for a moment. “Can I see the program and envelope that match again?”

“I have them both in my bag, actually.” I pull them out and hold them side by side.

She pores over them, studying the similarities. “They’re identical. Did you get a picture of that woman’s apron?”

I laugh. “No, that’s weird, and Mark showed up anyway. The program and envelope are the only proof I have.”

She hands them both back to me with a contemplative look that makes me uneasy. “You’re not crazy. Let’s play this out and see what happens next.”

I don’t say it, but that’s not what I’m going to do. I’m not a “play it out” kind of person, I’m a planner. Despite Julie and despite my heart, I need to get things back under control before it’s too late.

Thirty-Seven

Mark

Ibacktracktoward the metro, beaming wide at the amphitheater when I pass it. I’ve officially changed my mind about this tourist spot. The Colosseum is amazing. Maybe my new favorite place in Rome. I consider high-fiving the pockmarked wall but think better of it.

I spend the afternoon at the office, adjusting prices on the bid with Dad’s mosaic estimates, then grab a few fresh rosemary rolls from the market on my way to Mariella’s rooftop apartment. Luca, Mariella, and I always cook together at her place on Wednesdays so Luca can experiment with new menu ideas before the weekend.

Mariella’s street in Trieste is my favorite part of town, where the buildings stand unattached. Hedges and six-foot walls give the homes a sense of privacy. This is where I would choose to live if I ever plan to buy property and have a family. It’s close enough to the center but not in the bustle of tourists, clean and quiet.

She snagged the top-level apartment during an interior design job. The whole top floor was a storage attic, unlivable, and I helped her check the cluttered space for decor or furniture to incorporate in her redesign. We told the owners it wouldn’t take much to turnit into an apartment, and they had me draw up a plan. After the reconstruction, they offered Mariella first dibs on renting.

I climb the stairs, walk through the door, and Mariella drops her phone on the couch, rushing to me. “You didn’t call me. How did it go?”

“How did what go?” Do I haveGelateria with Lexingtonwritten all over my face?

Alarm widens her eyes. “Please tell me you showed up for the interview with the Gallos.”