Chapter 45
Forty-Five
Lexi
Later, after we’ve all brought the used, chipped dishes inside and everyone is lounging around the meal’s debris, Santino comes and sits next to me on the outdoor couch.
Taking my shoes off and tucking my feet under me on the cushion, I shake my head at him.
“You knew, all this time. That Mark and I had met.”
He chuckles. “I put it together pretty quickly. I thought I saw him talking to someone at the fountain the day after he got back to Rome. You wished for your luggage back and later I found out he’d had a luggage switch, so then I was sure.
By the time he asked for my help getting your lira out of the water, which I remembered seeing on your necklace, I knew he was a goner. ”
A goner.
I set one leg on the ground, drawing shapes in the gravel with my toe to hide my blush. With a laugh, I say, “I heard about your ‘help’ at the fountain getting the lira.”
He looks to our left, monitoring Mark with wary eyes where he’s talking to one of his aunts near the door. “I can’t sleep at night, waiting for his payback.”
That cracks me up, and I turn to find Mark watching me. He rubs the back of his neck, smiles, and only returns to his conversation when his aunt whacks his arm.
Santino sets his wineglass on the side table. “So did the fountain grant your second wish?”
“Well, I walked straight to the place I was looking for.” I grin, remembering. “It wasn’t because of the fountain wish, though. It was because I was avoiding Mark.”
He rubs his thighs and stares at the hills behind the villa, past the young trees.
“No, there is no magic in the fountain. I’ve thrown a thousand coins in and my greatest wish is still unfulfilled—that my son would return to us.
You heard what Alba said tonight. To lose your child is the greatest heartache in the world that no parent should have to go through.
We’d had a fight about the family business, and then he was just .
. . gone. We knew nothing, couldn’t find him, until Mark showed up at our door and filled us in on the missing years. ”
We sit for a moment, watching the kids play with the molted cicada shells on the trees.
“My mom said to me once, ‘Start fresh when you need to.’ Maybe he’s waiting for you to come find him.”
Santino turns pained eyes toward me. “Then why wouldn’t he have said that to Mark? Or answered our calls and letters?”
“I don’t know. I have no family left, but if I did, I think I would chase them down to the ends of the earth, no matter what I think they want.”
He pats my knee with a sad smile.
I take a deep breath. “Even though the fountain has no magic, there is something weird I’ve experienced this week.
” I can’t believe I’m bringing this up to him, but if anyone would take me seriously and try to understand, I believe it’s this kind but eccentric man.
“I had four letters from my mom to open in Italy at various places. She’s an artist, and she painted a scene on each envelope.
Every time I opened one, I saw a part of the painting in real life. Here in Italy.”
He strokes his chin, thinking. “Four times?”
I nod. “Like the pattern on an apron.” I lower my voice. “This villa. Down to every detail.”
His eyes widen. “Here?”
I nod again. “I can’t fathom how it’s happening.”
“Well, I can’t answer that. The only thing I can say is that I don’t believe in magic, I believe in miracles. Maybe they’re pointing you to something.”
“But what? I’m going crazy trying to figure this out.”
“I don’t know, Lexi. Wait and see.”
I bark out a cynical laugh. “I’m not very good at that. And I’m out of envelopes. That chapter is over.”
He gives me a wry half-smile that reminds me of his grandson. “You don’t know that. Anything is possible. Nothing’s over until this world passes away.”
Advice for both of us, it seems.
Mark comes and stands in front of me, holding out his hand to pull me up. “We should get back. Big day tomorrow.”
We say our goodbyes, and by the time we walk down the drive to the waiting scooter, I’ve been hugged or cheek-kissed at least ten times.
It’s a kind of soul satiation that I haven’t felt since I lost my mom, and when I climb behind Mark on the Vespa, I rest my head against his back, thankful for the helmet and the ride to get my emotions under control.
We drive home, silent. There’s so much to ask and process, but I sense us both waiting, letting the evening sigh and close before we dive into . . . whatever is next.
Mark pulls up to my hotel and parks the Vespa. We both take our helmets off and turn toward each other, faces shadowed under the lamplight.
“How do you feel about tomorrow? Is everything ready?”
“Mostly. We should send our bet photos to the printer so he has time to get them mounted.”
“Right. I warned him they were coming and he said he’s fine with a rush order.” He points to the general area of my bag. “Send me yours and I’ll upload them to his page. I already have an account with him.”
I pull my phone out and scroll through my photos, but hold the screen close to my chest. “So you’ll see mine and I won’t see yours?”
Mark’s face is smug. “Home team advantage. Just kidding. I won’t open it.”
“I’ll have a volunteer pick up the prints and take them over to the photography gallery in the morning.”
I can’t believe I didn’t even have time to edit my photo, but even crazier is how little I care about that right now. Once it’s sent to him, he slips his phone in his pocket and studies me for a moment.
Is this goodbye? The next two days are going to be wild and full. The biggest days of my career. My mom’s art dedication. This is the calm before the storm, and I want to soak up every moment of it.
“Happy birthday, Mark.” That came out a little flirtier than I intended. I blame the lingering memory of Mark’s spicy-clean scent after clinging to his back all the way into the city.
“Do you want to take a walk?” His rough voice rumbles low, like faraway thunder on a summer’s night. Distracted for a second by that smooth, kissable spot at the edge of the curls at his temple, I almost miss his question.
It’s late, but it doesn’t occur to me for one second to say no to Mark. I have even less self-control than I did five hours ago. “Yes,” I whisper.
He locks the helmets into the seat compartment, and we head toward the park. Cicadas chirp, or whatever cicadas do. The air smells like lavender and freshly cut grass and late-night secrets.
“Your family is great.” It hits me again—I just met Mark’s family.
He shoots me a quick smile but doesn’t respond.
“Your little cousins adore you.”
His chuckle is barely discernible over the night sounds, but he takes my hand.
I peek up at him, at his furrowed brow and near-scowl that a week ago I would have thought meant anger. But now I know he’s shy, and his thumb is rubbing circles on my palm.
I stop walking, forcing him to face me. The branches of the oak we’re under cut the lamplight into speckled shadows. “Mark.”
“This was a bad idea,” he mutters and releases my hand.
I guess never mind about all that stuff I thought about handholding with Mark. Just a fluke. “Taking me to your family party was a mistake? Or just me, in general?”
His eyes lock onto mine, and he spins me until my back is against the tree trunk. “Not you, Lexington. A walk in the dark. I don’t think I can—” One hand stays on my shoulder, and with the other he scrubs his stubble.
“Can what?” Despite my question, I give him a tiny nod, because I’m feeling reckless. If the cicadas can be so bold, I can too.
He closes his eyes and lets out a breath. “I can’t stop . . .” His face moves closer to mine. Another inch. His cheek grazes mine. “. . . myself from . . .”
The last unspoken words hang in the air near my ear. He turns his head, and oh, the architect can measure space. His lips meet mine, direct and bold at first. Then . . . this man knows his angles.
I grab his shirt and pull him closer. The birthday boy is so not shy.
His hands press into the back of my neck, tangling in my hair. We are zero degrees of separation. Geometry is hot and dangerous, kids.
A few minutes later, he rests his forehead to mine with a deep sigh.
His hand finds mine in the dark, and we walk back to the hotel in silence because the force of that kiss demands space around it.
It could fill the galaxy, the emotion in my chest. I have never felt so free to just feel and not think.
At the hotel lobby entrance, his lips graze the corner of my mouth. As much as his first kiss spelled out his attraction, this one whispers familiarity and affection, and the intimacy of it makes me feel known in a way I haven’t for a long time.
We’re going to have to talk soon, but not now. Not tonight.
Reluctant, I pull open the lobby door. “Thank you for taking me. I had a really nice time.”
“Night, Lexington. See you tomorrow.”
The absolute banality of our goodbyes is a testament to how much that kiss knocked us off-kilter.
With his classic, crooked smile, he waves and drives off on the Vespa, leaving me glowing and dazed, like a drunken star.