Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 22: Seb (Part 2 of 2)

My maroon, lace-up boots thump on the stone until we stop to eavesdrop on a tour guide. We're on our way to becoming quite the experts in spotting parts of the original construction versus later renovations when Lauren points at a semi-circular platform over the narrow end of the amphitheater. Below are a series of exposed walls, which used to hold up the arena floor.

"Let's go down there," she says.

I briefly consider checking the comments on my posts or even searching for our names to see if anyone else had seen us, but decide against it. Who cares? I've already done as told. Whether it works or not is out of my hands. I'd much rather focus on enjoying the afternoon. Tomorrow it'll be back to business with another wretched interview, and then my head has to be squarely in racing until just about this time on Sunday.

Lauren doesn't have as much self-control, fiddling with her mobile as we go around to the far side. "My fan club saved your Snap and retweeted it. See?" She stops and turns the screen toward me so I can read it.

OMG!!! Seb and Lauren at the Coliseum are the cutest! The rumors must be true!!!

That is a lot of enthusiasm. "You have a fan club?" I ask.

She turns her face upward and smirks. "Don't sound so surprised. You have like ten. Of course, I used to think mine was just my dad running the account, but this definitely disproves that. He wouldn't use so many exclamation marks."

I laugh, imagining Marcus online, running his daughter's propaganda machine. "That is probably true," I say, leaning my elbows on the wooden railing. Below, a two-story drop leads to the grass covered, open corridors we saw from the higher level.

"Hey, can you turn around?" Lauren asks, stepping beside me. "I think I can get a pretty good pic if I get the angle right."

With our backs to the railing, she tries to set up another selfie. I keep one arm behind her as she pushes closer, but she obviously wants to squeeze as much of the crumbling walls into frame as possible because she keeps raising the phone higher and higher. With our heads tilted toward each other and our faces to the sky, she taps the screen. But as the images freezes, the device slips from her fingers and smacks her on the forehead. There's no chance of catching it before it falls into the void behind us.

"Oh, shit." She touches the spot of impact and turns around, searching for the phone on the lawn below.

"You are okay?" I ask, looking for any sign of injury on her skin. A coin-sized, pink splotch sits above her right eyebrow.

Lauren rubs the faint bruise. "Yeah. But my phone." She motions downward with a sigh. "We don't have tickets for that area."

I really don't want to stand in a long line just to spend money on a tour I'll only use to retrieve her mobile. "Come," I say, reaching for her hand. Taking the steps two at a time, we go back up one level and find the nearest security guard.

The guy in the blue uniform doesn't wait for me to talk. "Ciao, Seb Bianchi! Come stai?"

I'm usually not one to exploit my celebrity, but this time I don't mind the recognition as long as it gets us what we need. "Great, thanks," I reply in Italian, shaking his hand. "Listen. My friend dropped her mobile. Can you help us get down into the lower level to get it back?"

Lauren squeezes my fingers as the guard looks her up and down, a smile forming on his face. Bastard. I can imagine what all he's reading into the term 'friend.'