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  I’d have to think of something else, and I would, but it was probably best to just get back to work. Would Taj say something? I narrowed my eyes, trying to assess his trustfulness.

  “I won’t say anything,” he said, as if he could read my thoughts, and left as silently as he’d come.

  Taj could say whatever he wanted; I wouldn’t be caught with any evidence if he changed his mind. I deleted the unfinished code and the photo of Kevin’s Amex on my phone, then opened the expense spreadsheet to focus on the rows and columns. Candace expensed everything. Wish I could do that. I would have loved to get my hands on the latest Alienware laptop—the best for games and customization for my, ahem, questionable technical activities—but it was a bit out of my personal price range. I didn’t dare put it on Mom’s credit card. Even she would notice a purchase that expensive.

  A couple of hours later, I heard Kevin’s return before he actually came in.

  “What do you mean my credit card has to be confiscated?!” I heard him shout in the foyer. “Of course I’ve run up a bit of a bill, I’m in Italy! I wired money into my account just two days ago!”

  Bam!

  Did he just punch a wall?

  “No, I did not order five cases of extra-bulking vanilla protein powder! Yes, I bought three pairs of Gucci shoes! Is it a crime to buy three pairs of shoes? Don’t you dare cancel that custom order or I’ll sue! I was on a waiting list for months!”

  A string of colorful curses followed; even I was impressed with his creativity in pairing body parts and inanimate objects. Did he kiss his mother with that mouth?

  He let out a blood-curdling scream and I stood up, stretching to see him. Ortiz and Taj sat across from each other and he barely looked up from his laptop. Kevin looked around wildly, then stormed upstairs.

  Taj didn’t even flinch with Kevin’s histrionics. His total lack of interest in the whole scene made me curious, and I decided to do another round of searches on him. I kept him in my sights as my fingers flew over the keyboard, but all I could find after searching countless databases and mentions of “Taj, fashion blogger” were copies of his posts, information about his blog, cities he’d visited. There was barely any personal information anywhere, except for the stuff I’d already found. No mention of a girlfriend, which for some stupid, insane, ridiculous reason, pleased me.

  The only thing that was unordinary—because it was so ordinary—was a reference to him tagged in a picture taken only days before. The caption said it was at a place called the Forte Prenestino. The only clue was that he was standing in front of a wall covered with graffiti—but that could be anywhere. When there was that little information on a person, it was too suspicious and time to put out an alert. I sent an encrypted message to DR#4, R2Deterent, and haxorgrrrl: Knowledge on T-bone raised from yellow to red. Who was he really?

  “Can you believe it?” Kevin rushed back in, a furious scowl on his face. “My Amex and my bank account are frozen. And I’m going to have to spend all day at the consulate tomorrow getting proof of my citizenship because they won’t accept my passport!” He was practically pulling out his perfect hair. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  A bunch of stuff, I thought, and wished that I was the cause of his grief. Still, this would do.

  “Bummer,” I offered, falsely sympathetic. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Taj’s lips curled up ever so slightly. My eyes widened as I looked at him; he did it! He nodded his head just a fraction, acknowledging my guess. I didn’t know whether to congratulate him or be jealous. Kevin stormed into his shared office, slamming the door shut.

  “Always have a plan B,” Taj mouthed, and tossing his messenger bag onto his shoulder, he pointed a finger at me, smiled, and left.

  TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL

  Go for the Goddess! Mini or maxi, uptown or down, you can’t go wrong when you put on a classic, draped silhouette.

  17

  The following day gave me no opportunity to analyze my clues—how could I when I was expected to help out with the day’s photo shoot, one of two that the First Lady would be doing off-site? Even though the insanity of the last session had been an accident, everyone’s nerves, mine included, were still jittery, and now super fueled by a morning’s worth of espresso. If nothing else, I would keep my eyes open for any new information.

  Photographic equipment, wardrobe, and makeup were packed into a van that, once checked by Agent Mignone, took off for the Pantheon—Rome’s best-preserved ancient building.

  Mrs. Jennings, Lidia, Candace, and the agents got into the bullet-bomb-fire-everything-proof limousine on loan from the Italian government—after it was checked out. I doubted it was as secure as the president’s huge monstrosity the agents called the Beast, but it looked pretty formidable. Last in, Ortiz slammed the door shut and the car zoomed away.

  The rest of us piled into vans except Serena, whom Candace insisted stay at the office. Someone had to stay and deal with Gianni, who’d been overseeing the outfits and accessories for Mrs. Jennings to wear for the other two scheduled shoots: one at the Vatican, the other for the interview being done at the office. She might have been given free rein over the magazine, but Candace allowed few people near Theresa Jennings, and those few were closely supervised.

  At the site, all the surrounding streets had been barricaded with wooden sawhorses one block deep to keep the curious crowds back. Word of the First Lady’s visit had gotten out. The local police were hard at work keeping people from trying to sneak past. Some in the crowd held signs welcoming Mrs. Jennings. Only we were admitted into the narrow lane that opened into the large square in front of the Pantheon, a massive temple with a big portico and soaring columns. Mrs. Jennings traveled all over the world, and even though she lived in the White House, she looked as impressed as I felt, although I was sure she’d seen the pantheon before. I stopped a moment to take it all in.

  The supply van was waiting, and Sophie nudged me to help unload and cart cases and equipment up the shallow steps into the shady coolness of the colonnaded porch. We lugged and dragged, sweated and huffed, leaving everything in piles for the assistants to set up in the locations cased previously. Taliah and two other models, Marina and Adele, lounged on one of the crates out of the sun. They were background models today. Sophie told me the shoots at the Pantheon were going to be goddess-themed: Mrs. Jennings was going to play Ceres, the goddess of abundance—a tie-in to her charity work. Taliah, Marina, and Adele were her court, the Three Graces.

  When the van was empty, I plopped down next to Sophie on the steps, trying to catch my breath. I leaned over, snagged two cold waters from the cooler, and handed one to her. As I savored that first cold swig, I wondered if she knew about Dante and me. Nothing seemed to have changed between us, and since today we would be crazy busy, I decided to hold off.

  And where was Dante, anyway? I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since he’d been dismissed at the hospital by Ortiz. Was he as mortified as I’d been when she called him “Romeo”? I should’ve gotten his phone number. I’d just have to wait for the next delivery to talk to him.

  Theresa Jennings emerged from the dressing tent and was instantly flanked by Mignone and Collins with Nelson and Case close by. Everyone stared admiringly at her in her flowing, toga-style dress. A sparkling band of emerald leaves circled her head.

  “Wow,” Sophie murmured.

  Our First Lady really did look … divine.

  “Water!” shouted Candace, snapping her fingers in our direction. Sophie had slipped her stilettos off—silly girl, knowing we’d be doing manual labor, to wear those.

  “Could you get it? Please?” she pleaded, looking pathetic.

  I grabbed as many bottles as I could and handed them out. I was about to give the last one to Mrs. Jennings when Case put out a hand to stop me, almost knocking me over.

  “Hey, careful! I’m a loyal American, Mrs. Jennings is safe around me.” And you know me, remember? Your room is down the hall from mine? You�
�ve seen my ID so many times, you should have every freckle on my nose memorized.

  His expression didn’t change. “Only agents or Ms. Chay get water for Mrs. Jennings.”

  Lidia, who’d been standing near Mrs. Jennings, came over to us. “I’ll get some water bottles from the cooler in the car.”

  She walked off. Mrs. Jennings looked my way and then, giving a nod to Case, waved me over.

  Somehow, I found my legs and moved to her side.

  “Hi. What’s your name?” she said.

  My breath hitched. I was about to chat with the First Lady! And then I thought, Wow, she really does look like Parker. They have exactly the same haircut.

  “Bec Jackson.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Bec. Are you here on an internship?”

  I smiled, with teeth. “It’s kind of like a work-study program, but I don’t think it’s what I want to do for a career.” It was the nicest way I could put it without saying the alternative might have been a detention center.

  “Well, I’m sure you have lots of options. Just choose something that you’re passionate about.” She smiled at me and looked up at the ancient stonework. “This is quite a place.”

  “It is.”

  She nodded and looked around with regret. “I would love to be able to wander around on my own, but I have a very busy schedule.”

  And a short leash, I thought to myself. It wasn’t easy being famous. What could I say to her? “You get to see all these cool places, meet important people, and wear amazing clothes.” I wanted to add, and people actually listen to what you have to say, but I didn’t think it was a good idea.

  She nodded. “You’re right. And those things are all wonderful.…”

  It sounded like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. I could guess what she was thinking:… but it’s hard, always being watched and guarded. My eyes sought out Ortiz, who was strolling around the “perimeter,” and the other agents, hovering like pesky biting flies.

  Lidia returned with a bottle of water that looked exactly like the ones I’d been holding. She opened one, then handed it to Mrs. Jennings, who took a long drink.

  “We’re ready for the next setup, Mrs. Jennings,” Candace said, striding over to us. She turned to me, her voice clipped, “Bec, stay out of the way until we call for you.”

  They went inside. I followed behind, secretly thrilled that I’d had a personal chat with one of the most powerful and influential women in the world. This summer may end up being pretty cool, after all.

  The outside of the Pantheon barely hinted at what was on the inside. It was vast—and round. Marbled floors and alcoves and columns blazed in a thousand colors. And it felt ancient, despite the electric lights that glowed with artificial brightness from the galleries and nooks along the single, curving wall. And then, I saw it—a pale beam, like the blade of a sword coming down from a round opening above. It sliced through the cool dimness and ended in a puddle of light on the floor.

  I barely noticed that the photographers had begun working, checking lights and backdrops for Mrs. Jennings in one of the alcoves. I wanted to watch, but my eyes wandered around the space, my gaze drawn upward to the light at the center of the coffered ceiling; the sun shining down like an eye in the sky. Looking for a nearby nook, I slipped in, took out my phone, and pulled up the Internet.

  The Pantheon … now used as a church … the best-preserved ancient building in Rome … staircase to the top closed off in the nineteenth century … burial site of the painter Raphael and the fiancée he put off marrying so he could carry on an affair with a baker’s daughter … Naughty!

  A commotion erupted near the entrance.

  “Scusi! Scusi!” someone called.

  The click and whir of cameras stopped. Candace turned and glowered at the speaker, a young and now obviously nervous policeman.

  “Scusi, madama—” and he started babbling in Italian, Candace nodding impatiently. When he stopped, she tilted her head back and yelled at the top of her voice. “Apparently we have a special rush delivery? Someone take care of that!”

  Her words echoed around the dome and were answered by a squeak and, “Bellisimo!”

  Ugi came running up. “Finally! The foundation I order for Mrs. Jennings! It matches her skin tone perfetto—” he gushed, but his enthusiasm faltered when he saw Candace frowning at him, stone-faced. “Much better than what she wear now, better for photos,” he said in a small voice.

  “Bec,” she said through clenched teeth, “go get the special order so we can avoid any further delays, please.”

  Glad that her bad mood wasn’t directed at me for once, I followed the policeman outside and down the steps—to where Dante waited beside his Vespa! Fluttering butterflies danced in my stomach. I guess Ortiz didn’t ruin my chances with him.

  “Bec!” He waved to me and I hurried over, the giddiness from our almost-kiss at the fountain flooding back.

  “Hi, Dante.” I took the package from him and signed for it. He tucked the receipt into his back pocket and followed me as I started to cross the plaza. Mignone met us halfway and plucked the package out of my hands. Opening it, he rifled through the contents before handing it over to Ugi, who snatched it away. Then Mignone quickly frisked Dante.

  “What’s going on?” Dante whispered as we stood there. No one else was cleared to be any closer to the shoot. The agents gave him the Look.

  I took his hand. “Come on.” To avoid any trouble, as Nelson trained his eyes on him, I led Dante away from the immediate scene, but where he could still see the photo shoot in action.

  He stared, open-mouthed. Who wouldn’t gawk at the First Lady being photographed in a place like this, and in a dress like that? Pointy satin heels peeked out from the draped hem of her gown as she posed.

  Angelo shot from different angles, on the floor, and then up on a ladder. When he climbed down, he signaled for a change, and Aldo brought out a different piece of camera equipment. Ugi and Joe, accompanied by Ortiz, were allowed to fuss with Mrs. Jennings’s hair and face.

  “Everyone, take five minutes!” Candace shouted, then waved me over to where she stood with Taj.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to Dante, and ran to see what she wanted.

  “Delivery boy is back,” Taj said coolly, looking in Dante’s direction. Their eyes locked, and that unfriendly aura that simmered between them at the office made the vast space of the Pantheon interior feel small.

  “Why is he here?” she said, flicking a hard eye at Dante.

  “Dante delivered Ugi’s makeup,” I said.

  “Get him out of here—I can’t have any distractions!” Candace hissed in my face, “Stay in the vicinity—and out of trouble!”

  Glad that Taj had nothing else to add, I passed water around, then went over to where Dante stood, waiting.

  “We’ve been officially kicked out. We won’t be able to see anything from here.”

  Winking, he grabbed my hand and tugged me away. We walked around the curved wall, toward the exit, away from the photographers, and then slipped through a small archway that led into a narrow hall ending in a small door banded with heavy rusting iron. Smiling at me over his shoulder, Dante pressed on it, and it cracked open just enough for us to squeeze through. Darkness and cool musty air flowed out. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go in—it looked like spider territory. Dante disappeared through it, and soon all I saw was his tan hand, reaching out to me.

  “Come, bella,” he said.

  A look back—we were alone. I took a deep breath, and then his hand, and passed through the opening, forcing myself not to think of creepy-crawly things. Dante reached over me with his free hand and gently pushed the door closed. We were in total darkness. I didn’t like being cramped in the passageway, unable able to see, even with him.

  “Watch the steps,” he said. “There’s no light. We’ll go slow. Keep your hand on the wall.”

  I reached out and my fingertips met cold, damp stone. I shivered, fearing what I m
ight touch, but started climbing up after him.

  So many steps! The thud of our footfalls on the stone staircase and Dante’s soft breathing were a steady cadence, encouraging me to go on. Just when I resolved that I couldn’t climb another step we reached another door. Dante pushed it open and dazzling light flooded in. I blinked several times. When my eyes adjusted all I saw was blue sky and rooftops.

  We’d taken the old staircase … to the top of the Pantheon!

  I stepped outside. There was no better view. In the distance, over a sea of terra-cotta tiles, TV antennas, and power lines, I could see the Coliseum, broken and white, like a tiny crumbling cake. Church spires with glints of gold and copper pierced the sky. In the far distance, I was sure I saw the buildings of the Vatican. A flock of birds flew overhead. It was … magical.

  “Here,” Dante said, “we see everything. Careful, bella.”

  He stepped onto a precarious-looking walkway, the railings broken and rusted in spots. Eventually we came to another set of crumbling stairs, this one going straight up the dome. He went up a few steps before turning to me.

  “At the top of the steps is the occhio.”

  “Huh?”

  “The, how you say? The eye—where the light comes in.”

  Cautiously I scrambled over and looked down.

  The photo shoot continued on below us. Everyone looked so tiny; there was Candace, in her bright red Dolce and Gabbana suit. There was Mrs. Jennings in another Roman-style gown. And Sophie, chatting with Kevin, standing very close and smiling at him. When had they gotten so chummy? Maybe she was trying to get her name off the chore chart; I couldn’t blame her for that. I spied the Secret Service agents, and then Taj, Taliah, and the other models hovering close by. Taj ignored them, his eyes on a notebook in his hands. Every now and then he scribbled in it. What, no electronic tablet? Mr. “I can ruin anyone’s life in keystrokes and not get caught” is going low tech?