Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Mark
That millisecond looking deep into Lexington’s gray eyes at the restaurant—I was fine. Completely unaffected. It’s not like I was scared and ran away. It’s that I thought of some urgent business.
I do have pressing work for the palazzo bid, but instead of heading back to the office, I call Nonno for a personal favor.
No one is allowed in Trevi Fountain or to take money out except for the city workers who collect the coins every morning.
So there’s not much chance Lexi’s lira is still there, but I have to check.
I don’t believe in losing artifacts. This has nothing to do with the fact that she defended me to my cousins.
When Nonno answers, I ask, “Are you still friends with that policeman?”
“Carlo? Sure. Why?” Cars honk in the background. I guess he’s not at the office either.
“I need permission for something slightly illegal.” Please don’t ask questions.
“Is this about the American?”
Agh. Like Luca, Grandpa’s first question leaps over all the logical ones to the only one I really don’t want to answer.
“No idea who you’re talking about.” I’ve been a foreigner for six years, my language attempts sounding like a toddler for half of that time, my cultural gaffes a daily occurrence. I’ve become comfortable looking clueless, helpless, and stupid, which comes in handy more often than you’d think.
“Nice try. Mariella already told me you had lunch with a girl from Boston.”
I pinch my nose. That was literally twenty minutes ago. This family . . . at least no one can accuse them of being bad communicators. We are our own FBI.
“Lexi Walker,” Nonno adds, not to clarify the person we both know he’s talking about, but to prove how much he knows.
I should stop calling her Lexington, but the way her whole body reacts when I do—gingerly, as if she’s worried about the pain, but longingly, as if she wants something she can’t have . . . it’s addictive and intriguing. I cannot resist that look.
She said everyone calls her Lexi and I don’t want to be everyone to her. I’m a fool.
I stop walking down the street and sit on the low steps of an ancient church smashed between buildings.
“It’s about Trevi Fountain. Can you get me access to the water for two seconds?”
Nonno chuckles. “She made a wish and you want to retrieve the coin she tossed in.”
That’s all he needs to say. He knows. He’s smart, but apparently he gets hourly spy reports from every family member.
“Can you call Carlo?” I ask, fingering the leaves of the potted palm next to me.
“Meet me there in an hour, and you’d better have a replacement euro to toss in.”
I stand and head east. I don’t believe in wishes. I believe in numbers. That lira is worth nothing to anyone but her, so taking it back isn’t going to decrease the funds collected by the city from the fountain. But I’ll throw a euro in to support the charity the money is donated to.
When I arrive at Trevi, Nonno is nowhere to be found, so I push my way through the crowds to the spot where Lexington was yesterday, leaning over the low wall.
The pool is still. Most of the coins from yesterday have already been cleaned out this morning, but Lexington’s recognizable lira with the hole through the top lays nearby, under the lip of the wall where it must have been hard for the wet-vac to reach. Three cheers for lack of thoroughness.
It’s so close, within reach, but impossible to take without permission.
I don’t want to lose this spot, so I stand, jostled by the crowd, lasered with glares when others want access to the water to toss their coins in, pressed by people trying to get the perfect shot of themselves with the buff, half-clothed Titan god on the back wall of the fountain. People are weird.
The hour comes and goes, and the mass of humanity around me is starting to take its toll.
Just before I bail, I spot Nonno and a policeman searching the crowd.
I wave at them until they wave back. The policeman with Nonno blows his whistle to make a path through.
When they reach me, Nonno introduces Carlo, a buzz-haired man with sunglasses, which he doesn’t take off.
I point into the dappled water. “Would it be possible to grab that lira? I’ll toss in a euro to replace it.”
Carlo bends over the water and purses his lips. “Ah, haven’t seen one of those in a while. Is obsolete money worth something to you?”
“Yes,” I say.
Nonno is standing too close. He makes a humming sound, filing information away to share with Nonna, my aunts, and Mariella, no doubt. He’ll get the full reward in pasta tonight.
“All right, then. Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” I bend over, but the water has tricked me. The lira is deeper and farther than I thought, and I can’t reach it. “Can I get in?”
“One foot. Quickly,” Carlo says.
I toe off my gray canvas sneaker, step over the lip of the fountain, and put my sock into the sun-warmed water, soaking the bottom of my slacks.
I grab the lira and a second policeman up on the wall blares his whistle at me.
In two seconds, I’m out of the water, shoe on my wet foot, lira in my pocket.
The crowds are parting to make way for the second policeman rushing to me. But Carlo will explain.
The second policeman is on me in record time. It’s amazing how fast you can move when everyone gets out of your way. He grips my right arm, and every time he moves me the slightest bit, the water squishes from my sock.
“You are not allowed in the water! You can’t take money from the fountain! Haven’t you read the signs?” He’s yelling, and I feel every phone video and eyeball on me for this excellent display of why it’s important to maintain Trevi Fountain etiquette.
Here’s where Carlo will step in and tell him I had permission.
I glance around and then realize how much trouble I’m in.
Carlo and Nonno are nowhere.