Chapter 57
Fifty-Seven
Lexi
Tuesday, a week later, dawns with low clouds and the smell of rain. Good. The sky can have the tantrum I can’t.
When I walk into the office, Julie is already there, and she gives me a pained, compassionate grimace.
“I’m fine.” I straighten a file on my desk.
“No, you’re wallowing underneath all that productivity. I’m onto your tricks.”
“I’ve moved on, I’m letting go. I’ll prove it.” I pull out my phone to text Gia, dictating my words as I type and pace around the office. “Gia, I’m so flattered by the offer, and it sounds like a dream, but I’m sorry to tell you that I’m not able to take this job at this time. I—”
Julie throws her arms straight out, dramatic. “Wait. She gave you several weeks to make the decision. Take the time.”
My fingers hover over the keys. “Why wait?”
“You’ve been living on autopilot for the last two weeks, and I just wonder if you’ll regret that decision once you allow yourself to feel.”
I’ve told her my reasons, but she turns a deaf ear to them every time.
“Julie, you’re the one who told me that I’ve been too focused on the Italy trip, consumed by all things Rome.
I finally have closure with my mom’s envelopes and painting.
I’m going to frame her envelope art, hang them in that empty spot above my bed, and move on with life after Italy. ”
I have one of the envelopes in my purse to find the right size frames during my lunch break, if I can talk Julie into taking the Kathryn-Noah wedding. I don’t feel up to looking at wedding venues and watching an engaged couple’s sweet excitement.
“But . . .”
I give her my best don’t-say-it glare, then smile sweetly. “Want a wedding client?”
She backs up a step, hands in the air. “No. Nice try. Have fun with that.”
A slow grin widens across my face. “I’ll wait to answer Gia if you take this client off my hands.”
Julie freezes and thinks. “Deal.”
I smirk and shake hands with her. “Nice doing business with you. You’re meeting them at noon to check out a venue.”
“Nope. Already have a business lunch. I’ll take over the client after today.”
I sigh. So close. One last meeting is better than the whole wedding, though. I slide into my desk chair, setting my phone on the desk.
Julie sits too. “Delete that half-written message to Gia before you accidentally send it. That’s part of the agreement.”
“I love how since we’ve shaken hands on this deal less than two minutes ago, you’ve changed the terms twice.”
She doesn’t even look up from her computer as her fingers fly across the keys. “Always read the fine print, Lexi.”
I sigh and get to work. At 11:30, as we’re both preparing to leave for our meetings, Julie powers down her computer and says, “Where did you say you’re headed? Are we going in the same direction?”
“Boston Common. The fountain at noon.” Hand on my umbrella, I freeze as soon as the words are out of my mouth. That’s a little familiar. Too similar to Trevi Fountain at noon, my bet appointment with Mark.
“What’s wrong?” Julie pauses at the door.
I have to stop seeing Mark in everything. Stop. “Nothing.”
“Okay. See you later.”
I lock up behind me and trek north. I’m crossing the bridge over the pond, double checking the location on my phone, when I see that Ninth King of Rome has written me back. Finally.
I made contact. Told him you and I had questions.
That’s all he writes. This guy is going to kill me with suspense. I tuck the umbrella under my arm and type,
You’re going to make me drag every scrap of information from you, begging and pleading, aren’t you?
He writes back immediately.
Oh how the tides have turned.
I chuckle and stop at Charles Street between the two parks, waiting for the green light at the crosswalk. Who is this guy? I scroll through the photos on his feed again. There are a few new ones since I’ve last checked.
The dots appear, disappear, and then:
If you really want to know, all he wrote me was this: “Tell Lexington, ‘What necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer—the Future so much brighter?’—Jane Austen.” Is he flirting with you through me? Not cool.
I’m laughing so hard tears prick my eyes—that’s not Jane Austen, it’s Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre, and I have no doubt Mark misattributed the quote on purpose. Then I read it again, staring at it so long I miss the light and have to push the cross button again.
My heart hammers inside my chest as I cross the street and enter the Common. I told Mark he was letting his past dictate his future. Is he trying to tell me—
The notification disappears, and I swipe to the next picture on Ninth King’s account, stepping to avoid a fallen branch. It’s an older woman bent over a little girl, tying ribbons in her braid. From the back, she almost reminds me of Alba.
I stumble on the uneven sidewalk. I’m almost at the fountain, head spinning and in no state to deal with clients. I’ll bail, reschedule, and find a quiet place to hyperventilate and overanalyze all of this.
But Kathryn is waiting, already waving me over.
I’ve researched this venue, we’ll make quick plans today to move forward, and then Julie can execute. I just need to compartmentalize for a half hour.
I slide my phone into my pocket, still moving in a dream I don’t want to wake from, when an elderly man joins her.
“Hey, Nonno.” She hugs him, pulls back, and I can’t breathe.
It’s Santino.