Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
Lexi
“Lexington is my festival date.”
That sounds simple, but it’s absolutely not. Not after the week we’ve had together. This week was supposed to be all about my mom and the festival, and instead, Mark and I have moved so fast my head is spinning. There’s a warning bell in my mind that we splurged extravagantly and Monday is payday.
Or maybe today. I saw Mark’s flinch, and I hear everything he’s not saying.
He takes a step back. “It was good seeing you, Zoe. Good luck with the Gallos’ bid.”
“May the best team win.” She waves and starts off toward the piazza. “Nice meeting you, Lexi, and see you Monday, Mark.”
Once she’s gone, he clears his throat. “Sorry about that.”
“How long did you date her?” This other side of Mark I’m glimpsing today—his work stress, his personal history with Zoe—is a sharp reminder that he has a whole life here that I’m not part of.
He glances at me, and I’m stunned by the pain in his eyes. Regret. “Three years. Two-and-a-half in Boston, almost six months here in Rome.”
And I thought a week with Mark was something momentous. Welcome to the Delusional Hotel, friends.
We walk toward where our bet photos are on display, both silent in our own thoughts.
The fog of awkwardness hasn’t lifted by the time we arrive at the museum.
“Let’s vote, then go to the temple.” I need five minutes out of the heat and masses of people and music and smells. Five minutes to regroup and cool off.
I feel him stiffen at my side as he pulls the door open for me.
The air-conditioned museum is busier than I thought it would be, considering it’s the architecture gallery on the right and the Filmed in Rome cinema display on the left. Not the biggest draws. (No offense to Mark.)
Our bet photos are at the end of the hall, facing the second entrance on the other side of the building, and there’s a chattering crowd gathered around, pointing and arguing. Too many people. I’d rather we face the photos with a bit of privacy.
“I want to see your blueprints real quick.” I start toward the gallery.
He thumbs toward the cinema display. “Fine. I’ll be checking out the movie scenes.”
“As long as you don’t peek at the bet photos without me.”
I mean it as a joke, but Mark seems beyond smiling.
He’s like a locked room. Every once in a while, the door cracks open, then slams shut. I pried it open long enough to get my foot in and poke around this week, but I hear the hinges creaking.
I release his hand and we split ways.