Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
Mark
In the two seconds of distraction when I shot an uneasy glance at the ancient buildings lining the ground-shakingly-loud square, Lexington’s hand slipped from mine.
I reach to reconnect, but the crowd has already swallowed her. I scan the strangers around me. “Lexington! Lexington!”
My words are snowflakes in an avalanche, but I keep yelling for her anyway, pushing through the people around me, scanning faces.
There’s no way I’ll find her. I need to get out of the crowd and text her.
I’m ten feet down a side street off the square, phone out, when I hear my name. That was easier than I thought it’d be. Arms wide, I spin, beaming, then freeze.
It’s Zoe Richards, back in Rome, ladies and gentlemen.
“Mark. Wow, hi.” She gives me a quick hug. “I wondered if I’d run into you.”
“Hey, Zoe. Welcome back to Rome.” My words are autopilot responses, buying myself time to adjust.
Her ginger hair is cut shorter, but she’s still trim and professional in a black dress and fancy shoes, suave and formal. Not the type to quote space opera movies or argue with a stranger on a plane or laugh about a fine for sitting on the Spanish Steps.
That’s when I see Lexington, her back to us, two meters away, phone to her ear. I release a relieved breath.
In one stride, I’m at Lexington’s side, tucking her against me and dipping my head to graze her hair with my mouth. “I lost you.”
“Mark! That was a madhouse.” She drops her phone into her bag. The moment she notices Zoe moving into our conversational space, she turns a curious eye on me. “Did you run into someone you know?”
Most loaded question ever. I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Lexington, this is Zoe Richards. She’s one of the bidders for the Gallos’ palazzo restoration. I . . . knew her years ago.”
Peeling her eyes from my clenched jaw, Lexington steps out from under my arm wrapped around her and shakes Zoe’s hand. “Lexi Walker. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. You’re an American?”
Lexington doesn’t return to my side. The three of us are equidistant from one another, and her cool, composed Lexington-mask slides into place. “Yes, I’m here helping run the Art Festival.”
I jump into the conversation. “Hasn’t she done an incredible job?”
Lexington flicks her gaze to me for a split-second and it kills me that I can’t read her expression. We just need to survive the rest of the day—the pavilion, her speech—and then we can deal with the issues between us. Namely, the ocean.
Zoe widens impressed eyes. “Yes, well done. The festival has been super fun. My colleagues and I are looking forward to hearing Anna Leone tomorrow night. How in the world did you manage to book her?”
Lexington nods. “Yeah, she took some convincing. So if you’re bidding for the Gallos’ restoration, I assume you’re an architect too?”
“Yes, I’m at Ivy International Group now—it’s a bit large for my taste, but there’s been a lot of room for moving up the ladder, especially with my knowledge of Rome from my time living here.”
I catch Zoe’s eye and give her an intense look charged with meaning. Not only was her time in Italy not about Italy, but I can’t believe she’s hinting at our relationship. So much for letting me handle this on my own terms.
She smiles. “And what about you, Mark? How have you been and what have you been up to?”
“Still living here. I’ve been working at my family’s reconstruction company.”
“That is awesome. I admire that a lot.” She looks to Lexi with a grimace. “I couldn’t hack it. Remember those all-nighters I pulled in school, Mark? I was so homesick I couldn’t sleep. But it worked out, me heading home.” She wiggles her ring finger on her left hand. “Got engaged in June.”
No, no, no, don’t turn the conversation toward relationships. “Congratulations.”
“It’s stunning,” Lexington adds, peering at it as Zoe holds it close for her to see.
“Thanks.” She looks between us, and I see the question from a mile away, the polite social necessity of reciprocity. There’s no way to stop this incoming meteorite. Not even an extended coughing fit can save us. “How long have you two been together?”
Boom. The awkwardness level just tripled.
Lexington glances up at me, searching my face.
I pause, and for every second of hesitation, I feel the space between us lengthen.
Zoe winces and laughs. “Oh, did I put my foot in my mouth? You had your arm around her, I assumed you were dating.”
I can’t confirm or deny that. I don’t know what we are.
Is Lexington my girlfriend? A summer fling? My friend?
An hour ago, I would have said we were together. Now, images flash in my mind of Zoe by my side. In class. Exploring the tourist sites and ranking the restaurants of Rome. Then, plane ticket on the table between us, me listening to her telling me she was leaving.
I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “Lexington is my festival date.”
Which is not an answer at all.