Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Mark
I backtrack toward 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 turn it 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 have Gelateria with Lexington written all over my face?
Alarm widens her eyes. “Please tell me you showed up for the interview with the Gallos.”
Oh, that. I’m supposed to remember life events before the Lexington Almost-Kiss. “Barely survived.”
She lets out a long sigh. “That bad?”
“It worked itself out in the end.” Then I add, under my breath, “Like raspberry gelato.”
“Okaaaay. That’s weird and specific.” She looks like she’s going to ask follow-up questions, none of which I will be answering. She must see that on my face, because she shrugs. “Well, it’s behind you now.”
I follow her into the kitchen and set the bread on the counter while she fills a pot with water under the faucet.
Luca strides in, his arms full of spices and fresh produce, and starts bossing us on what to chop. I’m assigned onions again because Luca loves how much they make my eyes water.
Once we find our meal-prep rhythm, Luca takes a break to sharpen a few of Mari’s knives, leaning against the counter. “Did you get your car back yet?”
“They return from the Amalfi Coast Friday afternoon.” The family I lent it to knew the air conditioning was out, and I don’t envy their sweltering drive.
“Cutting it a little close.” He shoots me a warning look.
On Friday evening, we have a huge family thing for my thirtieth birthday at our aunt and uncle’s villa in Monte Migliore, a town an hour’s drive south of us.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get a ride with my parents?
We can squeeze you in. We’re leaving before lunch so Mom can help with the food. ”
“If you’re staying the night, I can’t. The festival starts Saturday, and I have some setup for our display and my Reena Brooke painting preview before it starts. Thanks, though.”
Mariella already had homemade pasta drying. Within the hour, we’re ready to take the tomato soup and the pasta dish—Luca’s seasoned twist on cacio e pepe—to the table.
The doorbell rings, and Mariella hands me the stack of bowls and plates. “Here, set these out while I answer that.”
I glance at Luca and he shrugs, then points to the white dishes. “Four.”
My heart sinks. Mari does this a lot—she’s a more-the-merrier type of hostess. A little warning would have been nice. I like it when it’s just the three of us with our comfortable banter and rapport.
There’s a murmur of quiet conversation at the door.
I’m laying the dishes around the table and trying to get a glimpse of who’s just arrived when Mariella leads Lexington into the room.
She catches my eye, and there’s a flash of electricity that sparks between us.
The last plate I set down rattles against the silverware.
“You guys remember Lexi? From the restaurant on Monday?” Mariella knows Lexington speaks Italian, but we make the switch to English anyway.
Luca nods. “Of course, hi. Nice to see you again.”
Lexington responds with all the niceties, the thank-you-for-inviting-me, love-your-apartment, I-brought-some-wine stuff. I wait.
The second Mariella is examining the bottle and Luca returns to the kitchen for the serving spoons, Lexington gives me a smile, quick and private, as if to say, I didn’t know, it was a last-minute thing.
I send her a furtive wink, and then we all sit around the table, Lexington across from me. Mariella carries the conversation for a little bit while Luca ladles out the soup.
Before I can decide how to play this, words spill out. “So how has Rome been the last couple days?”
Even though I asked the question, she avoids my eyes. “Very fun. I witnessed someone being arrested at Trevi Fountain and rescued a helpless guy being drilled by a scary old couple near the Colosseum.”
Mariella gurgles with laughter. “Those are two stories I have to hear.”
Surely Lexington won’t divulge those men were both me. I stretch my legs and give her a warning tap with my foot and she smirks. Too saucy for her own good.
“Start with the arrest, that sounds exciting.” Luca passes the freshly grated Parmesan around.
“It was epically bizarre. Tall guy, about my age, stepped in the water to get a coin. Not a handful, just one. There are, like, three policemen guarding each side of the fountain, so of course one of them sees and whistles at him. Does he run or hide in the crowd? Seem worried or stressed or repentant? No, he stands there, one pant leg and sock soaking wet, and half-grins, like he’s not in trouble at all. ”
She’s playing our Keep-Us-Secret game and her own Mock-Mark game, and I’ve never enjoyed a conversational heist more.
When the laughter dies down, Mariella pauses her next bite, fork in midair. “So, then what?”
“The officer starts yelling and marches him through the crowd, but the guy’s still looking around like he’s supposed to meet a buddy instead of be ashamed.”
“Who does that? What did he look like?” Luca asks, lifting a stray tonnarelli noodle hanging over the edge of the cacio e pepe bowl and dropping it into his mouth. “A fanatic?”
She opens her mouth, then flushes, taking a slow drink. She’s stalling, and I can’t believe she didn’t take that shot to describe me.
“A hardened case with a wonky conscience?” I offer.
She grins into her glass and slowly lowers it, looking right at me. “Exactly the opposite. I think he was a big softie with a hero’s heart.”
I sit up a little straighter, staring at her. I know that lira is special to her, but calling me a hero is going a bit far. Still, it’s nice to know she appreciates the trauma of a fake arrest I went through for her.
“No, we can come up with a more exciting explanation than that,” Mariella says. “I bet it was a dare.”
The twins add their theories, less and less plausible, until I announce that I saw a tourist sitting on the Spanish Steps. “Every website says it’s illegal. It’s like this woman did zero research on Italy.”
Lexington’s lips press together and she shakes her head.
Mariella rolls her eyes. “They don’t enforce that.”
“Tell that to the American who got a fine right in front of me.” I gaze at Lexington, who looks ready for anything I can toss at her. This woman is awesome. I give her polite, dinner-guest interest. “Have you visited the Spanish Steps yet?”
She wipes her mouth on the napkin, cool as anything. “Yes, actually. I had my picture taken by a bossy photographer. Took forever with one of the shots. Poor guy. Seemed like he had no idea what he was doing.”
Mariella frowns. “I hope he didn’t charge you much.”
“So what’s next on your schedule?” Luca asks.
Lexington stacks her empty soup bowl with the others and holds out her plate while Mariella loads it up with the cacio e pepe.
“Tomorrow I’m getting a boatload of free pictures of Rome from a fairly decent photographer.
Of course I’ll have to crop and add filters to tidy them up, but it’ll be good to have that stock for our clients. ”
It’s my turn to choke. I think she deliberately waited until I had a mouth full of tonnarelli noodles.
Luca frowns at me. “You never have a problem with how much pepper I put in.”
I shake my head, still coughing. Lexington slides the pitcher of lemonade close to my cup. “I bet this would help.”
“Free? How’d you manage that?” Mariella asks over my wheezing.
“Oh, I met this guy, he saw how much I love Italy, and he offered to give me all his Rome shots. Must be my winning personality.”
The girl won’t give me a chance to recover. I think I’m going to die from unreleased laughter and food colliding in my throat while they all converse around me. It’s polite on the surface, but Lexington is very well aware that her trash talk isn’t going over my head.
Before I can make a comeback, she tilts her head, all overblown concern in her expression. “Are you okay, Mark? You seem to choke a lot. I hope it doesn’t happen at work or in any high-stakes meetings.”
Behind my glass of lemonade, I shake my head in warning. “Don’t you worry your little head about me. I’m not going to choke under pressure.”
Mariella laughs. “What about today? Because you said you barely survived the interview with the Gallos until it magically worked out ‘like raspberry gelato.’”
Lexington turns wide, interested eyes toward me at this sniff of new ammunition. The fixed, heated look between us is even stronger now than at the gelateria.
“Like raspberry gelato?” Luca narrows his eyes at me. “I’ve learned not to trust Mark’s English. Is that a saying in America, Lexi?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
Luca starts telling her about a few of my more antiquated English lessons, and she turns her attention away from me to him.
After dinner, we move out to the thick-cushioned rattan chairs on Mari’s rooftop veranda now that the air is cooler. Several hours of laughter and easy conversation later, Lexington calls an Uber, and before I can walk her out, Luca grabs my arm.
“Lexi’s great, and I can see you like her, but we know how this plays out. It’s girl-goes-back-to-America-and-breaks-you all over again. I hope you’re using your head.”
“I am.” I understand his concerns because they’re mine too. There’s no future with Lexington as long as our circumstances don’t change. I clap Luca on the shoulder and give Mariella a hug. “See you guys later.”
I head down the stairs. Lexington is still waiting on the sidewalk in front of the house.
She glances up from her phone, and her twinkling grin is a mirthful acknowledgment of all our sparring and subtle wordplay this evening. That smile lights a match and holds it a little too close to the kindling.
Her Uber ride pulls up to the curb, and I open the car door for her. She slides into the back seat.
Hand on the door, I dip my head to meet her eyes. “Sleep well. Big day tomorrow.”
“Ditto. Don’t choke.”
I shut her car door, grinning. I told Luca I’m using my head. But what I’m actually doing is playing with fire.