Page 55 of Us in Ruins

Margot and Van reconvened with the class moments before they filed out of the museum, so she’d used Van’s back like a desk, scribbling frenzied sentences into the blank spaces of her copy of the worksheet. She handed it to Rex, who passed it to Topher, who gave it to Calvin, who nudged it into Dr. Hunt’s hands as the class joined a walking tour through the city center. With Suki covering for them, it was like they’d never left.

As they walked, Margot could barely focus on the way ancient Rome drifted past, instead preoccupied with how her heart hammered behind her rib cage. Every face in the crowd looked like Enzo. She saw his high cheekbones, his tanned skin, his dark hair everywhere she looked, like a phantom she couldn’t shake. But it was never actually him with his hands shoved in his black hoodie, and one strap of her yellow backpack over his shoulder.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, an establishment that had things like complimentary robes and silver-plattered room service, her whole body ached, and her nerves had worked themselves into knots.

“I can’t spend all night in my room,” she said as she and Van filed into the elevator.

The thought of wasting the whole evening cooped up watching reality show reruns with Suki and fielding evil glares from Astrid made her skin itch. They couldn’t just sit around. She had to do something or she was going to lose Van and the Vase in the same fell swoop.

She jabbed the top button on the elevator panel with her thumb. They emerged onto the hotel’s rooftop patio, a small square with a handful of umbrellaed bistro tables and overgrown shrubs. A few tables held ice buckets with bottles of wine, the glasses flipped upside down on carefully folded napkins.

Margot walked straight to the patio’s railing, gripping onto the swirling metal fence. She could almost taste the city, sparkling like a LaCroix on a hot summer day. The air was rich: thick with gasoline, stale cigarette smoke, and something distinctly floral from bursting red blooms that trailed down the limestone buildings.

“How are the vibes?” Van asked, coming to stand next to her. The words sounded so unnatural leaving his lips that Margot laughed so hard she might’ve pulled a muscle.

“The vibes are great. I mean, this is...” she said, her voice fading out. When she finally found the word, she finished: “Amazing.”

There was a reason they called Rome the City Eternal. The metropolis stretched out before them, sprawled beneath the last drips of a sorbet sunset. From here, Margot spotted the skeleton of the Colosseum and evergreens dotting the Roman Forum. Modernity didn’t wipe out the history—it molded around it.

“I spent so much time worrying about what we’d find underneath these ancient cities. Sometimes it’s nice to get a little perspective.” Van’s fingers drummed against the iron banister. He turned back to the nearest table and swiped a bottle of red and a wine opener.

“We can’t drink that,” Margot chastised.

“Who’s going to stop us?” Then, Van lifted himself up and over to the other side. “Come on.”

“Here is fine,” Margot said. “Here has chairs.”

“When has Margot Rhodes ever turned down an adventure?” Van asked, extending his hand.

She took it. Every other time they’d touched, it had been for survival. This was something sweeter. When her feet landed on the other side of the fence, his fingers slipped out of hers, and she knew he only flexed his hands because he was slowly turning back to stone, but she wanted to pretend that maybe, just a little bit, he was testing out the feeling of her palm on his.

They followed the curve of the shingles to a quiet corner where the roofline flattened and sank to the clay tiles. Van wound the silver spiral opener into the bottle’s cork like a certified sommelier. It released with a pop. He swigged straight from the bottle. When he was finished, he wiped the back of his hand over his lips in a way that would make Miss Penelope drop dead.

Holding the wine out to Margot, the bottle slipped from his grasp. Margot caught it with two hands, a splash of red dripping to the tiles. With a laugh, she said, “Thank god for my Spider-Man-like reflexes.”

But her eyes didn’t move from Van’s fingers. When he’d dropped Relics of the Heart into the sewer, it had been the same stiff grasp that fumbled it. It was happening faster this time.

Before she could think better of it, she drank down a big gulp. It tasted like spoiled grape juice. It basically was spoiled grape juice. Underage drinking was not an extracurricular she’d intended to pursue, but warmth flooded Margot’s body. She could make an exception for Italy.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can be doing right now?” Margot asked. “The Vase is just... out there. Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, plotting? Planning?”

“I have a plan,” Van said. “And the plan doesn’t start until the class gets on the train tomorrow.”

Margot’s words curled inward like night petals shy against the morning sun. “Promise me you’ll be okay until then?”

Van nodded once, firm enough for her to believe him.

Quiet settled between them, as heady and indulgent as the red wine they shared.

“Why did you come here?” she asked when the silence grew too thick. “In 1932, I mean.”

Van blew out a stiff breath. His gaze slid sidelong but not really focusing, like he was riffling through the indexes of his mind. Finally, he settled on: “Money.”

“Noble pursuit,” Margot said.

His eyes flicked toward her. “It is when you’ve spent the last two years selling papers up and down Manhattan making chump change.”

“Did you have to wear one of those silly little hats like they do in Newsies?”

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