Page 42 of The Roman Holiday Rule

I pull out my phone and take a picture. I’ll delete it if he’s being hauled off to actual jail, but if he only has to pay a fine, this is going down as the heart of Italy right here, at least in my book.

Golden.

The policeman looks like he can barely contain a grin and winks at someone to his left as the crowd moves aside to clear a path for them. My concern turns to glee again—Mark seems to have been set up.

Sure enough, he scans the faces around him with a look of half-amused revenge, not worry, before they head away in the opposite direction, and I duck before he sees me.

But nowIcan’t see and I don’t want to miss a second of this. I can’t help it. I peer over the wall again. Stoic, respectable, grumpy Mark, his pant leg soaked and wrinkled, is being marched off in the firm grip of a policeman. Another wave of uncontrollable giggles consumes me.

As soon as things calm down and I’ve scrolled several times through my brand-new shots of Mark the Criminal, I make my way to the water. This wishing business is a ridiculous waste of time, but I’m on vacation and everyone knows people do strange things when they’re out of their comfort zones. And ... maybe it’s not a waste of time.

“Back so soon?” a voice asks in Italian.

I swivel. The old man from before is standing at my side, a small smile on his face. I could swear he wasn’t standing there moments before.

“Oh. Hello again. Yes, I thought I’d try making another wish since the others came true.” Just a delusional lady wondering if the impossible is possible, don’t mind me.

His eyebrows lift.

“I know it’s all been a coincidence. But it’s fun to pretend.” I pull the euro from my pocket and hold it between my thumb and finger. “Got a regular coin this time.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter what you throw in. You’re out of wishes.”

Uh, okay, what?

He holds up his fingers, counting. “You wished to get your luggage. Then you made a wish this morning. I saw you. That’s two.”

Fine, I’ll play along. “Don’t I get a third wish?”

“No, where’d you get that idea?” He chuckles.

I want to grab someone, anyone, and ask if they’re hearing this. Prove I’m not insane. “Only every single fairy tale since the beginning of time.”

He shakes his head again. “I’m sorry. This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s Italy.”

I blink at him and let out a laugh. Well, I stepped right into that one.

He pats my shoulder, like I’m a spoiled child learning to face hard reality.

“So you’re not an Italian genie?” I tease to cover my own foolishness.

His eyes spark with amusement. “No, only an ordinary, unexceptional old man with my own unfulfilled wishes.” He holds out his hand. “Santino.”

“I’m Lexi.”

Instead of a regular handshake, he covers the back of my hand with his second hand, as if wanting to comfort me, but also to hold onto something.

“You’re not ordinary. You’ve made Trevi Fountain special for me.” I point to the various people nearby throwing coins over their shoulders. “Because of you, I know the real way to make a wish instead of all that Hollywood brainwashing.”

His kind eyes soften.

I want to ask what his unfulfilled wishes are, but that’s way too personal. Maybe I can still get my wish, though. “What would you say is the heart of Italy?”

He folds his hands over his stomach. “The heart of Italy. I don’t know, these poetic ideas are never my thing. All I can say is that when I was a kid, my heart would beat faster when I talked about my mom’s pasta.”

I smile and thank him, but pasta is exactly the kind of shallow thing Mark expects me to say.

I shake Santino’s hand again. I’ve spent two days coming to Trevi Fountain and there are a million other places to visit in Rome. I doubt I’ll run into this man again or have another chance to hang out at Trevi Fountain. Guess I’m on my own finding the heart of Italy.