Suddenly, he looked up, right at me. Our eyes locked for a long moment. Did the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smile? It was too far away for me to tell, and I backed away.
A few steps down from the opening, Dante took my hand, holding it loosely. I prayed that it wouldn’t sweat. Nervously, I licked my lips, and hoped I didn’t have coffee breath.
“Tell me more about where you live,” he said.
I was a bit disappointed that he wanted to talk, but answered anyway. “It’s just houses and stores and schools. Nothing exciting.”
He shook his head. “I see pictures, videos, so many things to see and do, you have all kinds of people, and music. Here, everything’s old. America is always changing, always new and exciting.”
I didn’t see how endless shopping malls and highways were exciting. “A great place to visit is—”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not visit, I want to live there.”
“But Rome is so beautiful,” I protested. Why would he want to give up all this—and for what? Fast food, an overabundance of car dealerships, and suburbia?
Drawing one leg up so he could lean on his knee, he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up to look even better. I loved that he seemed to have no idea how … delicioso he was. He stared into the distance and I could tell he was gathering his thoughts. I waited, content to just sit there and be.
“My father, he died young, so as the only son, I must help my family. I have a younger sister and my mother. We all work together. It’s a hard, but good life.” He turned to me, his eyes somber. “But I want something more. I want to go to America, see everything.”
I studied the stone under my feet, tracing the roughness of the weathered surface with my forefinger. “If you want to go to school, you can get a student visa. Then you could decide if you wanted to stay.” I wondered if he wouldn’t get homesick after living in this romantic city. At this point, I was pretty sure I could live in Rome forever. It would be easy to trade Starbucks for corner bakeries, traffic jams for walks to work, and mega–grocery stores for street vendors.
His voice was earnest. “I could visit you.”
His assured smile broke my heart. I wanted to spend every moment I could with him, but I had no clue how long I’d be here. Would I be sent home as soon as they were finished with Mrs. Jennings’s shoot, or would I stay here until Parker was well enough to fly back to New York? I had no assurances to offer him, so I stayed quiet.
He moved closer, a finger trailing down my cheek, tender and lingering. “I like you,” he whispered. “You’re kind, and … bellissima … so beautiful.” He bent his head toward me.
His lips were soft, and nipped playfully at mine.
I didn’t want playful. My hand delved into his hair and I urged him nearer, so that our chests touched. He deepened the kiss, exploring my mouth with his so slowly that I burned for more, and sighed in bliss.
We pulled apart, both reluctant. This was the place to be romanced by Dante—on top of the world—but it wasn’t the time. I looked over my shoulder, half expecting to see Ortiz, or to hear my name being screeched by the blonde beast herself.
“They’re going to come looking for you,” Dante said with a last quick peck.
“Probably,” I said. “But I don’t care. This place is amazing.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble. Take a few photos, then we go. We can come back another day.”
I nodded, and regretfully moved away from him. Pulling out my phone, I clicked a few shots of the view around me, then returned to the oculus and peered down. Right below me was the First Lady, in the beam of light. Then she really did look like a goddess.
What a great shot! I lowered myself so that I lay flat on the roof and adjusted my elbows on the lip of the oculus to get the right angle …
I heard a crack, the gritty grind of stone on stone, and jerked my elbows back just in time to see a small chunk of the edge fall away—down to where Mrs. Jennings stood.
I screamed in warning. A second later, the sickening thud of stone dashing onto the marble floor below echoed up. Shouts of alarm rose up.
“Bec!” Dante’s voice shattered my eardrum. And then his hands gripped me, dragging me back, away from the opening. I fought to get up, frantic to see what happened, but he wouldn’t let go.
“No! It’s dangerous! I shouldn’t have let you go so close!”
Crash!
The stairwell door splintered open and Ortiz burst through, gun drawn—and pointed at us.
“You!” She waved her weapon at Dante. “Let her go and back up! Hands in the air!”
Dante nervously raised his arms.
“It was an accident!” I shouted, gaining my feet somewhat ungracefully. “The stone crumbled when I was on the edge. It’s not his fault, it’s mine!”
Ortiz didn’t take her eyes off Dante, but with one hand, waved me over. “Bec, come here, now.”
I snatched a quick glance down the hole; Mrs. Jennings was safely surrounded by the agents off to the side. A sigh of relief escaped. I walked toward Ortiz. “It’s my fault, Ortiz. I was trying to take a picture and then I heard this cracking…”
She didn’t look like she was buying it.
“Really! I swear!”
Bravely—or foolishly—I stood in front of Ortiz, forcing her to lower her gun. “Mignone already searched him, Dante can’t and wouldn’t harm Mrs. Jennings,” I insisted.
Dante’s form-fitting tee and jeans made it obvious that he wasn’t hiding any guns. Grudgingly, Ortiz reholstered her weapon.
“Whose bright idea was it to come up here?”
I stayed silent.
She glared back at him. “I thought so. No more secret rendezvous, Romeo. Clear?”
He nodded soberly, his arms still raised.
“C’mon, Juliet, let’s go.” She gave me a nudge toward the stairs.
I didn’t know what Ortiz was thinking, but I knew that Dante wasn’t a threat. Even if it had been his idea to come up here and take pictures.
At the bottom, Ortiz talked with the others, Candace sending a scathing glare in my direction. Both of them might end up hating me by the time the shoot was over—if they didn’t already. Mrs. Jennings looked over at me and frowned. I’m sorry! I mouthed. Her mouth quirked into a comforting smile, letting me know she wasn’t mad. But she was probably the only one.
The agents and Candace, then Mrs. Jennings seemed to be disagreeing over something. Everyone waited. When Mrs. Jennings moved to the steps and Angelo followed with his camera, I knew she must have convinced them to stay and finish. Another win for me. If they had gone, I’d be responsible for the cancellation. My record was really taking a beating.
Dante was escorted to the barriers none too gently by Case. Feebly, I waved good-bye. He shrugged and without putting on his helmet, got on his Vespa and sped away. My perfect afternoon—ruined by crumbling rocks and bad timing.
I stood there, not sure if I should move. Sophie and Kevin were closely huddled over a tablet, talking. Having nothing to do but try not to put Mrs. Jennings in mortal danger, I moved across the plaza, away from the lights and the people.
If anything fell, exploded, or crashed around the First Lady, I wasn’t going to be the cause.
TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL
Never give it all away—not everything you know, everything you are, or what’s underneath that fabulous wardrobe. Nothing is as alluring as a little mystery.
18
“I told you to stay out of the way—not disappear and then try to brain the First Lady of the United States with a piece of masonry!” Candace snapped, then added, “This is why I don’t have kids. I’m not going to let you out of my sight when we’re at St. Peter’s Square. I’m beginning to feel sorry that I decided to keep you.”
What was I? A dog?
My eye roved over the crowd as she made her way back to the First Lady, the photographers, and Taj. Lidia caught my eye and scowled. Angelo too
k a few more photos with Taliah, Adele, and Marina, now in different outfits, who posed like nymphs. Their long, flowing—and almost sheer—green dresses did not hide the fact that they were only wearing thongs underneath. It didn’t seem to faze the First Lady, who smiled and posed elegantly.
A breeze seemed to come out of nowhere, pulling Mrs. Jennings’s diaphanous silk scarf from her shoulders.
“Bec! Chase down that scarf!” Candace shouted.
Run, Bec. Fetch, Bec. Heel, Bec.
At first I didn’t move. Candace glared at me.
“That’s an Hermès, and you’ll be paying for it if it goes AWOL!”
With my nonexistent intern paycheck? Knowing I was pushing Candace’s patience—and considering that I’d almost killed the First Lady—I obeyed. But before I could sprint toward the fleeing scarf, a cyclist weaving through the crowd caught my attention. And Nelson’s. The police shouted at him to stop but too late, the biker raced past the officer at the barrier and into the square.
Shouts rang in the air. A few police ran after the bike, but they weren’t agile or fast enough to catch him. Mrs. Jennings was surrounded by a human cage of agents even though the biker wasn’t near or heading toward her. In a flash he whizzed by me. I caught a flash of mirrored shades, long limbs, and tanned skin. Faster he went, head down, body straining forward, like he was aiming—for Taj.
“Look out!” I screamed, and forgetting the scarf, changed direction.
At the last moment, the bike rushed past Taj—so close!
Taj spun around and shouted something, angrily waving his hands at the departing cyclist as he whizzed around an unmanned wooden blockade and disappeared down a side street.
A local police officer, an older man with longish gray hair, a big nose, and a limp, hobbled over to Taj. The agents, seeing no threat, gave Mrs. Jennings some space although they looked tense and on high alert. It seemed like ever since she’d arrived—or earlier, ever since she’d been expected—things had gone wrong. There’d been too many accidents.
Ortiz went over to Taj and put a hand on his shoulder. I stopped short, watching while they talked for a few moments. The policeman walked away, and finally Ortiz returned to her post, scanning the area. I managed to retrieve the scarf—thankfully unpulled and unstained—off the leg of a barricade, near where the policeman stood.
Something about him … He looked at Taj with … recognition? Taj didn’t return it—but then most people gave him a double take.
Throwing her arms in the air, Candace shouted, “Pack it up!”
Hoping to redeem myself at least a little bit, I jogged back and started gathering and sorting and packing the accessories.
“Hey,” said Sophie as she gave Aldo and Angelo a hand collapsing lights and screens.
I smiled back. “Hey.” I folded the scarf and tucked it into a trunk.
“Some day, huh?”
You think?
“I think I topped my ‘That was really stupid, Bec’ benchmark today,” I mumbled.
She punched my shoulder lightly. “It’ll be okay, don’t worry about it. No one thinks you tried to kill Mrs. Jennings.”
It didn’t take long to stow everything back in the trunks and pack up the vans. Candace strode over to me, stuck out a palm, and wiggled long fingers at me. “Before I go, give me your phone.”
“Huh?”
The dark look on her face told me she wasn’t about to ask twice. I pulled it out. She took it and tapped the screen a few times before handing it back.
“Now we’re connected by GPS. Always leave it on, and no more surprises. Tomorrow I’m escorting Mrs. Jennings to lunch, and then she has an audience with the pope. I’ll see you back at the hotel tonight, but I’ll be keeping tabs on you in the meantime.”
It wasn’t a comforting thought. Candace strode back to Mrs. Jennings’s tent, and Ortiz sauntered over to me.
“My advice to you?” she said with a pointed look,“Stay away from Romeo.”
“His name is Dante,” I shot back, peeved.
“Romeo, Casanova, Dante … Look what happened to girls involved with the likes of them. How did they end up?”
Not good, no happy ending.
“Look out for yourself so you won’t get hurt.”
That was awfully cryptic and sounded like my mother.
Ortiz took her cell from her pocket and frowned at it. She tapped furiously. “Damn.”
“Problem? Maybe I can fix it,” I offered.
“Stupid battery’s dead. Can I borrow yours for a sec?”
I handed it over and Ortiz walked a short distance. “National security, I can’t let you hear,” she said.
I nodded impatiently and turned to watch Joe and Varon try not to make puppy eyes at each other. Ortiz returned my phone and joined the other agents.
Once Mrs. Jennings was back in her own clothes, the agents and Candace spirited her away. Much as I liked her, I was glad the shoot was done and she was off somewhere else—away from me. With her departure, the crowds had mostly dispersed. The police barricades were being removed and groups of tourists and locals filtered into the plaza again.
Unhindered by jittery agents, demanding photographers, and Candace’s eagle eyes, all that was left to worry about was Kevin’s detailed sweeps of the Pantheon to make sure we’d left nothing behind. That done, we were ready to head back to the office.
Kevin and Sophie sat in the middle row of the van. All the way in the back was an available seat—next to Taj.
“Taj is hitching a ride back to Edge,” said Sophie.
“Sometime today would be good, Bec,” added Kevin, turning toward the window.
Taj’s smirk looked like a challenge, as if I might be afraid of him. I wasn’t, and climbed in. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I.
Sophie and Kevin were whispering. Suddenly she turned around, her eyes sparkling and her smile sly. She was up to no good.
“Candace will be busy for the rest of the day, and then with her dinner with the gala organizers, we won’t see her until tomorrow.…” Her voice trailed off.
“So we’re skipping out?” I was down with that.
Sophie nodded. I could see Kevin clenching his jaw, clearly not overly enthusiastic about the idea. Where ever we went, Candace could track me with the GPS on my phone, which I didn’t dare disable. Even if I did, Taj was chummy with her and could report back everything I did. I’d have to be careful around him.
“Where to?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Someplace fun. And nothing to do with fashion. I’ve had enough for one day,” Sophie said.
Taj leaned forward. “How about the Forte Prenestino?”
Sophie’s eyes lit up. Mine did too—we’d be going to the place from the photo! Maybe I could learn something more about him. But then my conscience scolded me. Shouldn’t you be trying to find out what happened to Parker? Too many things have been happening since Mrs. Jennings got here—accident or not. I silenced my inner voice. There were other things I needed—no, wanted—to know. Like who Taj was. He was keeping secrets underneath all that couture and swagger, and I wanted to find out what they were.“What kind of place is it?” I said.
Taj’s mouth quirked to one side. “An old prison turned art gallery and—”
Sophie put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell her any more! She can find out herself—if—she comes.” She grinned expectantly at me.
“I’m in.” We just had to wait for the thumbs-up from Kevin. Technically, he could order us back to the office.
“Just this once,” Sophie pleaded, linking her arm through his and leaning oh so close. “I need to have fun!”
Was she giving him the pouty model look? Things had really progressed between them while I was kissing Dante and almost crashing the Pantheon roof on the First Lady.
“We could find a quiet restaurant if it sounds like it’d be too much for you,” Taj taunted—a straight-up dare.
“Fine.” Kevin’s lips couldn’t have c
ompressed any tighter. He was going to be a team player, but he wasn’t going to like it.
The van deposited us in front of the office. We’d have to hail a taxi to get to the Forte.
We went inside, and I got my jacket and wallet, then checked my backpack, still safe in its hiding spot. Serena must have heard the door and appeared on the balcony. Her matching green bouclé pants and jacket made her look like a Chanel elf.
“Where is Candace? Mrs. Jennings?” she asked.
Kevin shrugged. “Dinner with the gala organizers, I think.”
Serena’s lips puckered into a bitter frown. “Did she say when she’d be back?” Her voice was tight.
Oops. Someone didn’t get an invite.
Kevin shook his head and suddenly looked desperate to leave. “Hurry up!” he said to Sophie, then hustled us all toward the door.
“At least I want to see the proofs from the shoot!” Serena sounded pathetically desperate.
“I think Angelo is coming back with them,” said Kevin, shutting the door behind us and flagging down the first taxi he saw. This time Taj sat next to the driver and I squeezed in the back with Sophie and Kevin.
“Forte Prenestino,” said Taj, sitting back with a grin.
The taxi took off, zipping through narrow streets and then onto a broad avenue. We passed a colossal statue of a Roman soldier planted solidly amongst rustic brick-fronted buildings. Suddenly the Coliseum loomed in front of us, and I scrambled for my phone to take a picture. The scenery quickly turned from ancient to modern: a few sleek office buildings, and then a vast train yard that turned into a somewhat residential neighborhood. The taxi swung into a cul-de-sac.
This was the cool place?
The crumbling brick and cement walls were covered with graffiti and topped with rusted iron railings. Tree branches overhung in the few places where they could grow. The Forte was underwhelming, looking sadly similar to the boxlike buildings that surrounded it.
Taj led the way through a heavy archway crowned with a flashing red light and then down a long narrow tunnel lit by a spine of fluorescent lights and lined with benches on either side. Large-scale paintings hung at angles on the curved walls, covering the graffiti underneath. We came to an open area, cool and stark white. A twisty, modern-looking sculpture dominated the center.
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