Chapter 46
Forty-Six
Mark
Even before the official start of the festival at one o’clock on Saturday, there’s a buzz in the air like the tire crunch of gravel before a day of construction begins.
The city looks like one big party, with colorful streamers tied to lampposts and banners hung over the narrow streets between buildings.
I pass several piazzas with stages set up in the middle and booths hugging the perimeter. I thought the Reena Brooke painting preview today would be the highlight of my year, but after that kiss with Lexington last night . . . I think that slot is already taken. Permanently.
Outside the museum where the Reena Brooke gallery is, I hesitate. I’m a half hour early because I don’t want to miss a potential minute of time with Lexington, but as soon as I step inside, it’s clear I’ll be lucky to be with her at all.
Lexington, gorgeous in a pale pink, floor-length skirt, dark hair swept up with a few stray wisps, is delegating, passing out instructions, and answering questions while Gia fields phone calls in the corner.
Festival staff carry in chairs and set paintings onto easels like ants on a mission.
A small wooden stage has been set up in the back.
I slip off to the side, out of the way, and rest against the cool wall.
First things first—I loosen my tie and shed the suit jacket my aunt insisted I wear since I’m supposed to be at the architecture display for the first hour of the festival, representing the company.
I drape it over my arm and watch as the chaos in the room turns to an organized machine.
It’s nonstop interruptions and tiny fires to put out, but Lexington is calm and gracious.
After ten minutes, there’s a break in the action and she scans the area.
As soon as we make eye contact, she sets her tablet on the podium and joins me at the wall.
I brush my hand over her shoulder and squeeze the back of her bare neck, then step away before I’m tempted to kiss her while she’s at work.
Her expression is knowing and questioning, victorious and shy. “Hey, you.”
It takes me a moment to regather my wits after that simple but loaded greeting. I take her elbow and draw her to the hall, out of the action. “How’s it going?”
“It’s insane, but it’ll settle down once everyone spreads out at their stations. I hope. I’m already a hot mess.”
“You are vibrant and impressively capable and . . . stunning.”
She adjusts my tie, grinning. Mental note—muss up tie so Lexington can fix it again later. “You’re a bit intimidating in an I do math way in this suit yourself. I think I’ll take Alba up on her offer to hear embarrassing Mark stories—”
I grab her hand and play with her fingers. “I don’t think so.”
She waggles her eyebrows. “Home team disadvantage.”
“No such thing.”
Her boss marches over, looking panicked. “Romeo Bergamo’s new watercolor paintings never arrived from the Venice museum where they’ve been on exhibition the last three months. He is one of our anchor artists, one of the biggest draws. What are we going to do?”
Lexington taps thoughtfully on her chin for a minute.
“But he’s here, right? I have an idea. Festivalgoers love participation, to see and understand the creative process up close.
I know how eager a lot of us are to watch the pottery demonstration.
So what if we ask Bergamo to give a live demonstration? ”
“Have him paint a watercolor scene while everyone watches? Where? Outside? In the museum?”
“I’m not sure where. Maybe we can ask him what he prefers? But I think the art lovers would enjoy watching him create in real time.”
“Brilliant. I’ll figure out the details. Good work, Lexi.”
“Also, we need to move Roberto from tech for Six Characters in Search of an Author to setting up for the Orpheus Band, since they open at two and the play isn’t until four o’clock.”
“I’ll have a volunteer walk him over to the Piazza Navona now.” She spins on her heels and speed-walks away.
Lexington turns back to me with an apologetic smile. “Three of our tech wizards bonded during the reception, ate out together last night, and got collectively sick, so we’re short on staff.”
I squeeze her hand and release it. This is a big day for her. “I’m sure it’s been crazy all morning. I know I’m early. Does that mess up your schedule?”
She toys with the lira on her necklace chain. “No, it helps, actually. By the way, the photos are printed and on their way over to the other museum and the voting station’s all set up. I hope you can handle losing, because this time, I’ve really found the heart of Italy.”
So have I.
She steps back, widening our tiny, private world, and for the first time I notice a woman standing off to the side, watching me. It’s a little creepy.
“Mark, this is my best friend and co-worker, Julie. She surprised me and flew in on Wednesday.”
I clear my throat. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to Rome.” She’s the polar opposite of Lexington, at least in appearance, with her flashy clothes, short, styled hair, and lots—lots—of jewelry.
“Thrilled to meet you,” she says, emphasizing the word as we shake hands and smiling in a way I don’t quite understand. “So, tell me, Mark, where do you see yourself in five years?”
Lexington shoots me an apologetic look. “Julie, can we skip the inquisition?”
“Um, this is literally in my job description as a best friend. Did you not read the contract?”
Lexington chuckles. “From middle school? I thought that was a joke.”
“I never joke about overstepping my boundaries.” Julie raises her eyebrows at me, clearly expecting a real answer.
I shove my hands in my pockets. It seems like I’m going to have to win her over, somehow. “Probably still working as an architect.”
“Family?”
My eyes flick to Lexington for a split-second, remembering the feel of her lips on mine. This feels like a trick question. “Depends.”
“On what?” Julie glances between Lexington and me. This woman has some chutzpah.
But Lexington spins her around by the shoulders.
“See you later. Take over for me here, please.” She pushes her toward the sea of volunteers in striped Festival T-shirts, then turns back to me, brushing off her hands like she’s just disposed of excess crumbs.
“Sorry. Julie has no problem diving right into things.”
“Did I pass the test?”
She presses her lips together, as if afraid to spill a secret, and glances at Julie entering the fray across the busy room. “I think you passed the minute she saw me on Wednesday afternoon.”
Interview with the Gallos day. “After we cleared up that misunderstanding about Katie.”
She nods and peeks up at me with a tiny grin she can’t quite hide and I’m lost all over again.
Gia rushes past, tapping an imaginary watch at her wrist, reminding Lexington of her scheduled duties.
I clear my throat. “Okay, the painting. Today is about the art. I’m over the moon to see a Reena Brooke original. Totally eclipses the joy of seeing you.”
Her eyes twinkle up at me, and she leads me down a few hallways to a storage-type room. She keys in a code to unlock the door and flicks the light on. “Shut the door behind you.”
The easel in the middle of the room is covered with a red velvet cloth, and I position myself in front of it. “Seriously, this is a huge privilege, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m a little nervous.”
She tilts her head. “What are you nervous about?”
I rub my hands together. “No idea. It’s just a big moment.”
She pauses, looking shy herself, then turns all official on me. “Mark Russo, I present to you Reena Brooke’s painting. Three, two, one.” She pulls on the fabric, and it falls to the ground. “This is the site of Reena Brooke’s first kiss with the man she ended up marrying.”
I stand, shocked, drinking in the scene before me. I would have known it as a Reena Brooke painting at first glance, and I can’t take my eyes off it.
It makes me feel turned inside out, as if everything inside me is brought into the light. Vulnerable, honest. A deep, healing breath of air and breathlessness at the same time. It’s exactly what I felt last night. First kiss.
Its beauty and genius are indisputable, worth the wait and the mystery. Reena Brooke’s fans in Rome will love it, will want to know where this pavilion is, and will want to see it.
Except it’s the structure in the Gallos’ palazzo garden slated for demolition.
Lexington sidles up to me and looks between me and the painting. “Do you like it?”
Anxiety laces her tone. Now I feel like a jerk. She set this whole reward up, a huge treat and privilege, and I haven’t even responded.
“Of course I do. She was so, so good. It’s perfect.
” I lean in, memorizing every detail. Brushstrokes that seem so casual and innocent but drive the whole painting to an intense feeling of singular focus on a lovely, timeless pavilion in springtime.
Which is actually decrepit and unsafe. “Too ironic,” I mutter.
“What’s ironic?”
Should not have said that out loud.
Maybe I should tell her. Except she’ll be disappointed in the pavilion’s fate. Upset. I can’t do that to her today, of all days.
I run a hand through my hair. “Nothing.”
“Mark, tell me.” Those irresistible, pleading eyes again, only this time for real. I glance away, afraid I can’t refuse her, even though it’s for her own good. She’s too invested in this painting with her speech about Reena Brooke tonight, with the festival, with me.
I have to give her something. “I know that place, that’s all.”
She whirls to stand in front of me, chin lifted, eyes feverish. “You know where this is? You’ve seen it?”
Guilty, I shift away from her excitement and perch on the edge of the cluttered table. All this sentimental drama—is this what my sister loves about being in love? It’s uncomfortable. “It’s on the Gallos’ property. Behind the palazzo I’m hoping to renovate.”
“That is ironic. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. All this time, you had the answer.” She squeezes her hands together. “Can you take me there?”
I hesitate, but force myself to answer. The last thing I need is her questioning me because there’s no way I’d ever lie to her. “Sure. Maybe tomorrow evening after the festival is over?”
Before she can respond, my phone rings, and I glance at it. It’s Paul Lanzi from the Italian Heritage Society in Boston. I’ve been waiting for the investors’ call all week, but this is the worst possible time. “Sorry, Lexington, I have to answer this for work. One second.”
I pace a few steps away and answer. “Hi, Paul, this is Mark.”
“Mark, I’m calling early to make sure and catch you because I have good news. We love your plans for the palazzo. This is the kind of project we want to support. We voted last night, and it was unanimous. The society will be investing in the palazzo renovation if you get the bid.”
“That’s great, I’m so happy to hear that. Thank you.”
We set up a time to discuss the details, and I hang up.
What do you call something amazing that’s actually awful?
It’s probable now we win the bid—we’re local, and with the investors’ funds, we can negotiate better subcontracts.
And that means my dad is finally returning to Italy.
But if we’re hired, that means it will be my blueprints that cause Reena Brooke’s pavilion to be torn down, even though I fought for restoring it and was overruled.
“Good news?” Lexington’s hopeful, happy expression kills me.
“Yeah.”
She waits for more, but I can’t give it to her. That’s not in her best interest. Not today.
Watching her face fall at my evasive answer isn’t much better. She tugs my hand, pulling me off the table, an eye on the wall clock. “I’d like to see the temple before my speech at five. Do you have time this afternoon?”
I force myself to answer. “I’m manning the company display at the architecture gallery for the festival opening, then I’m free.”
“Perfect. Once things are up and running, I should be able to slip out for an hour. Let’s meet here at two, vote on the bet photos, then see the pavilion before my speech this evening.”
“Spoken like a true event planner. It’s a date. Good luck today, Lexington.”
I move toward the door. I kissed her senseless last night, and now I’m walking out with that dry goodbye and a cheesy thumbs-up. Awesome progress, Mark. That’s not going to confuse the girl at all.
“Are you sure you’re not . . . disappointed in the painting?” Her voice cracks on the question.
I love Reena Brooke’s art, but Lexington’s devotion is even more extreme, like it’s personal to her. I pull her into a hug and speak into her hair. “Lexington. I . . . love it. Thank you for the preview.”
I press a kiss on her head and leave, just in time before I spill all the bad news she doesn’t need today.
Back to overreacting to Lexington Walker. Not that I ever stopped.