Ginny turned to see a bride and groom holding out a phone, for her to take their photo. When she looked through the screen at the happy couple, they looked too young to be making a lifetime commitment to each other. She supposed no one ever went into marriage expecting it to blow wide apart, like her own parents’ relationship had.
Coming from a broken family, she hated the idea of history repeating itself for her and Adrian. A sense of melancholy made her shiver as she took several shots. Feeling the need to impart some advice to the newlyweds, she handed back the phone.
“Treat your life together like a piggy bank that you both want to keep full of pennies,” she said. “Do things for each other and treat your needs as equal. When you talk to each other, really listen. I’m not sure I’ve managed to do it fully in my own marriage. That’s why I’m in trouble.”
The bride arched an eyebrow and the groom laughed. “Scusa, non parlo inglese,” he said with a shrug as he pocketed his phone. “Grazie.” The couple kissed and walked away, entwined in each other’s arms.
Ginny smiled and waved them on their way. “Naive,” she muttered to herself.
The rickshaw rumbled along cobbled streets where the strum of guitars mingled with conversation and laughter. Window boxes burst with geraniums and petunias, and an illuminated green cross outside a pharmacy displayed the temperature, twenty-nine degrees.
Ginny’s eyes were drawn to the handsome man standing beneath it crooning an Italian love song. His words and face were full of passion and the rickshaw stopped again. The singer stepped off the pavement and walked toward her, taking hold of her hand. “Ciao, bella signora,” he said.
The rickshaw driver rolled his eyes.
Ginny felt color rising up her neck as the singer fixed his hazelnut eyes on hers. When he rubbed his thumb across her fingers, her chest fluttered and she wished Adrian was here to witness her receiving this attention.
After finishing the song, the man lowered his head and brushed the back of her hand with his lips. Even if he made a living by flattering tourists, he’d made Ginny feel more desirable than she’d felt in years. The experience was worth every penny of the twenty euro note she gave him.
“Grazie, ciao.” The singer grinned, blowing her a kiss as he disappeared back into a crowd of people.
Unable to stop grinning, Ginny settled back in the rickshaw feeling all balmy inside.
The driver set off again and she brushed her hair from her eyes. Then she stopped with her hand midair. Something felt very different about it. When she lowered and rotated her fingers, her heart almost juddered to a halt. She was no longer wearing her wedding ring.
Ginny’s throat constricted and she looked around her frantically. Could the singer have slipped it off her finger and taken it? She hadn’t felt it vanish but knew pickpockets could be adept and quick. “Stop,” she cried out to the driver. “My ring has gone.”
He did as she asked and halted the rickshaw. They both stepped off and looked around helplessly. “Thieves can take things without you knowing,” he said.
Ginny felt faint in the heat. Deep down, she knew they had no chance of finding the singer again. They’d already traveled a fair distance and there were too many people around. She felt foolish at being flattered by a professional thief.
“Mi dispiace.” The driver shrugged dolefully and Ginny slumped back into her seat. The beauty of Florence dimmed around her and her ring finger felt naked and too light.
A flash of memory came to her, of spotting the ring in a shop window. She’d fallen in love with it right away and just knew it would be a perfect fit. It came housed in a green leather box and she kept peeking at it in Adrian’s drawer. She’d rarely taken it off since he slid it onto her finger on their wedding day. And now it was gone.
Adrian was always the first person she turned to in times of trouble. She desperately wanted the old version of him here with her, so he could hold her and tell her that everything was okay. The ring was only a band of gold and he’d buy her another one. But her phone battery was dead and her husband was hundreds of miles away, living his life without her. Ginny had never felt more alone.
She asked the driver to drop her off at Boboli Gardens and her knees almost buckled when she saw the others. Nico strolled toward her.
“What is wrong?” he asked, noticing Ginny’s hunched frame.
“My ring is gone... Stolen.” Her words came out in gulps.
“I am sorry,” the rickshaw driver said from behind her. “This has never happened before.”
Nico spoke to the driver in Italian, asking him to relay what had happened.
Edna bustled toward Ginny. “This is absolutely dreadful,” she said. “We need to contact the police and report this, pronto. They must try to catch the rapscallion who did this.”
Heather wrapped an arm around Ginny’s shoulder and spoke softly into her ear. “There, there. No point crying over spilled milk.”
For the first time, they didn’t all feel like strangers thrown together in an odd situation.
“You do not need to pay me,” the driver insisted.
“No, I must.” Ginny’s hand trembled as she took out her purse.
Nico shook the driver’s hand then paused with his fingers outstretched. He cocked his head, squinted and bent down. He picked something up from the floor of the rickshaw and held it up. Ginny’s ring winked in the sunshine. “It was here, in a crack,” he said. “Perhaps you dropped it.”
