Chapter Twenty-Eight Rory

The Colosseum is its typical crowded self, but as I overhear a tour guide cheerfully declare, not yet at prepandemic levels. Max isn’t answering my call, and I’m not about to try Caro. Max said they were in the upper level, but then he stopped responding. For a moment, I hesitate—wonder why I’m even here, why I’m voluntarily opting to put myself in Caro’s path. But, no, I want to see Max and tell him what I discovered. Even though—and I’m still processing this—it might impact him, too.

Sandra Lowenstein was in that picture.

She must be Orsola, Ginevra’s twin sister. The one who lives in Positano, where tomorrow Ginevra has orchestrated a strange lunch date for all of us. The beautiful and good sister, from Papa’s fairy tale. Though—why does Ginevra hate her sister so much as to keep a photo with an X over her face in her office?

What does it all mean?

I need my brother—my lifeline on this strange, twisted trip.

Thankfully Ginevra’s advance ticket and private tour got me hop-the-line access, and both Max and Caro are still on my Find My Friends. I follow Max’s dot, not pausing to linger at the massive arena that extends underground, where all the gladiators, slaves, and animals would congregate before a fight. I did that tour on my first week in Rome—when everything in my life still felt relatively shiny, optimistic.

I was heartbroken about Nate, scared about finding a new job after the main character gig ended. But still everything made relative sense. Now nothing does.

I hustle past little group clusters, my thoughts mingling with the myriad guides bringing the stadium to life in a smorgasbord of languages.

Ginevra Ex. X over her sister’s face.

So callous. So… bizarre.

The beautiful sister is the good one. The ugly sister is evil!

“The stadium could house fifty thousand people at one time.…”

Is Orsola my mother? Is she Max’s mother, too?

How did Papa even know the sisters?

“The largest and most complex amphitheater of the ancient world.…”

Ginevra knew everything about me and Max. She watched us grow up from afar.…

How did she get all those mementos from our whole life?

Why did she gather us all on this train? For evil reasons? Or benevolent ones?

“Built under Emperor Vespasian in 72 AD.…”

Caro and Nate…

My breath is hard going as I mount the stairs, pushing past the slow couple ahead. I veer right to follow Max’s dot, still blinking in the same place. There are far fewer people in the upper arena, mostly VIP tours, but I hasten ahead until suddenly I am jostled sideways, into a stone wall.

“Scusi, scusi!” It’s that Russian couple from the train, the woman with her head buried in a guidebook. I rub my smarting shoulder as they file blithely past. God, can a girl get a few hours without any of these train people?

Now I pass exhibition displays, Nordic tourists navigating with audio sets. My pace slows. What was I rushing for? Why am I even meeting them now? I’ve visited the Colosseum multiple times since coming to Italy. I don’t need—or want—to face Caro now. Strange how three months apart—by far the longest separation since we met as kids—has mangled our friendship. Did she become a different person in that time? Or did I? All I know is we feel more and more like strangers.…

It’s for Max that I’m here. It wasn’t any easier—any less of a betrayal—for Max to find out about Caro and Nate. And I guess I came to the Colosseum for my own sake, too. Because I need to confide in my brother, talk through the things in my head.

I dial Max again, but the call goes to voice mail. I swivel, my vision a whizz of concrete, travertine, and marble. Where are they?

My attention is diverted by an elderly man stooped over a cane, talking about the events that led to the building of the Colosseum.

“Nero’s palace,” he says, “was located exactly here. When Vespasian came to power, his decision to build the Colosseum here could be seen as a gesture to return an area of the city Nero had acquisitioned for his own use to the people.”

“Nero was discredited at the end of his life, wasn’t he?” asks a gentleman in his midfifties, the type you see always beside the guide, asking questions as much for the answers as to hear himself sound intelligent.

“Yes. Very much so. He murdered his stepbrother, his first wife, her sister—then he killed his new wife, too. He removed anyone he perceived to be in opposition to him. The people held him responsible for the great fire in 64 AD, and tides began to turn. Eventually the senate declared him an enemy and ordered his execution. Nero tried to bribe the officers of the Praetorian Guards to help him, but—”

“He ended up committing suicide, didn’t he?” the eager tourist asks.

The guide nods. “Yes. But Nero didn’t want to. His instinct to live was strong. One of the Praetorian Guards asked Nero, Is it so terrible a thing to die?”

“Is it so terrible a thing to die?” the tourist echoes. “Well—”

I don’t stay for his contemplation. Chills spring down my arms.

I push through the group, and finally free of the crowd, I spot Max and Caro. Just the two of them—no guide in sight. No wonder I couldn’t find them. They’re in a corner marked off for renovation, surrounded in tape and blockades. Caro is up on the ledge, and Max is a few feet behind her.

They clearly shouldn’t be there. How did they even get up there?

I scan the area for an access point, realizing they had to surmount the barrier. I start to go that way, a strange fear circling my stomach. Caro is standing beneath an arch, up against a pillar, close to the edge. So close that if she steps farther out…

“Guys!” I shout, but I’m still too far, and my voice bounces off the stadium walls, doesn’t travel. “Max! Caro!”

They’re both facing out, toward the street, their backs to me, so I can’t see what they are saying, but something about their setup is odd. Something about the scene, their being in this area that’s walled off, their stilted body language, strikes me as… terrifying. Suddenly Caro glances over her shoulder, back at Max, and I start at the twisted look her features assume, the pain leaching from her eyes.

Max reaches a hand out toward Caro, but she doesn’t step back. In fact, she almost seems to pitch forward.

I start to run.

“Caro!” I scream.