‘Getting there.’ Opening the window close by, Matthew filled his lungs with the mid-morning air, tinted by the earthy dampness of the vines from across the valley. ‘How about some time off this afternoon?’
‘What? No more demolition?’ She kicked a curve of sage-green porcelain and it skidded along the bathroom floor.
‘I’ve got something more important in mind.’
‘MINCHIA!’ came another of Petunia’s cries from below, trailed by the sound of glass smashing on brick tile.
‘I’m in.’
‘How do you feel about consuming alcohol under duress? For or against?’ Matthew’s hands were poised over the wicker basket.
‘Decidedly for.’
‘So, you would say that you’repro-secco?’ Matthew dramatically withdrew a chilled bottle from the wicker basket and raised an eyebrow suggestively.
Collapsing back on the drop sheet-turned-picnic rug, Sarah erupted in laughter. ‘Oh, so very pro!’
‘That was pretty bad, right?’ He wiggled the cork from the mouth of the bottle and it popped off to the side with an effervescent fizz.
Resting back on her elbows, Sarah said, ‘Mastery of the Dad joke is a highly refined skill. Props to you.’ She mimed a little clap as best as her position would allow.
Matthew handed her one of the two small pizza boxes which sat by the basket then proffered the bottle. ‘No glasses. Got to do this the old-fashioned way.’
Sarah took the first swig and the bubbles tickled her nose. ‘That’s good.’
‘Hopefully as good as this.’ He folded back the lid of his pizza box and withdrew his first slice. ‘And they didn’t skimp on theprosciutto. Noted. We shall be returning.’
Sarah did the same, rearranging some of the green pepperyrucolaatop hers. ‘Together on one?’ But she turned to find Matthew already halfway through his first slice. ‘Ugh! What’s gentlemanly about that?’
Purposely, with a mouth full of San Marzano tomato-laden dough, he apologised, ‘Mi scusi, Signora. È troppo buona!’
‘Close your mouth when you eat!’ She gave him a playful shoulder shove. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?’
Matthew shook his head and took a swig from the bottle. ‘There are no manners when it comes to pizza. There is, however, one rule.’ Watching Sarah struggle to manoeuvre the thin slice in her hand, he took it from her and said, ‘Like this . . .’ He pinched the crust-end in half, and folded it upwards. ‘Here.Thisis how you eat pizza in Italy.’ The slice was now rigid and held all its toppings.
Sarah was impressed. She took a bite and her eyes rolled. ‘Heaven,’ she said between mouthfuls.
‘Close your mouth when you chew. Has no one ever told you it’s rude to eat like that?’ He smirked then hid his lips behind the bottle for another swig.
‘Smartarse.’
‘You might regret that comment in a sec,’ he said, digging around in the basket. ‘Close your eyes. Hold out your hand.’
After a scrutinous peek through one eye, Sarah obeyed and a small box dropped into her hand. ‘Dr Stefania’s question cards?’
Matthew nodded, closing his pizza box and popping it to the side. His expression flattened and some of the joviality evaporated. ‘I think today’s . . . moment . . . proved that we need to invest more time in getting to know each other.’
Sarah turned the box over in her hand. She was so touched by the sentiment; he was really trying to make an effort, and this demonstrated that he was ready to be vulnerable with her. ‘This means a lot, Matthew.’
‘No.This,’ and he gestured between them, ‘means more.’ He took a swig of prosecco. ‘I’m ready.’
Sarah opened the box and withdrew the pencil and Flag notes, and handed them both to Matthew. ‘Your job.’
He nodded, steeling himself with a deep breath. ‘Draw.’
Sarah gave the cards a rough shuffle and withdrew the first card. Her cheeks flushed, and she knew it wasn’t the prosecco. ‘Intimacy,’ she announced. ‘What is your favourite sex position?’
Matthew lurched forward to inspect the card. ‘Seriously? That’s the first card?’ He exhaled, rubbing his temples.
