‘I can stop by and drop it off once it’s dry.’
‘Molto gentile. Grazie.’ His smile mirrored hers. ‘Scusami. I don’t even know your name.’ The man offered his hand, this time in gratitude. ‘I’m Marco. Marco Luna.’
‘Stella Chiaro.’
Stella watched as his eyes widened. ‘Luna, the moon, and Stella, the star.’
She giggled at the coincidence. As their hands met, there, in that quiet little corner of thecampo, it seemed as if, for a moment, all was right with the world.
Walking away from the beautiful artist and her stall, Marco finally felt his heartbeat slow. No matter how touched he had been by her offer of the painting as a gift, nothing could have prepared him for what he found in that nook of the piazza.
He had to look a second time, wondering if his eyes had betrayed him the first.
But they hadn’t.
Stella’s position by the easel, reaching across to the painting, revealed a small tattoo on the underside of her left wrist. Delicate and feminine, the tattoo – a shooting star – had made his breath catch at the back of his throat.
The sight of the tattoo had turned his mind and all previous focus to a frenzied emotional mess.
Now stood by the front window of Bar Luna e Lupa he closed his eyes, trying to reset his vision. To no avail. The shooting star was still there.
Marco tugged down the collar of his black t-shirt, dropping his gaze to the skin of his bare chest. Shaking his head in disbelief, his eyes turned skyward. He placed a hand over his heart, giving it a gentle caress, trying to subdue the creeping smile that began to bloom.
tre
‘Scusami, tesoro! I couldn’t get out of there fast enough! Were you waiting long?’
Stella had come to expect Marcella to be late to everything, so wasn’t fussed when she arrived over an hour past the agreed time that afternoon. She understood that when running on Italian time, it would be rude to arrive when expected, or in fact, within thirty minutes of it, so always came prepared.
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve been reading.’ She gestured to the withered, yellowing paperback she had stuffed in her satchel. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Where are Giulio and Elda? Too much for them in this afternoon sun?’ Marcella asked, bundling her thick mop of curls into a high bun while casting her eyes across themercato.
‘Yeah, they left about an hour ago. Too hot for the cheese.’
‘Eh, allora! Nothing worse than the smell of melting plastic and cheese.’ Marcella helped fold up Stella’s easel and they proceeded to lock arms, walking tightly side by side, like an old married couple. ‘E quello?’ she asked, gesturing to the painting under Stella’s free arm.
‘Long story, I just need to drop it off down the road a little. It’s for a new bar, Bar Luna e Lupa.’
Marcella stopped in her tracks to properly appreciate the painting. Much like Marco before her, she ran her fingers over the night sky. ‘Che bello!Quanto sei brava! Honestly, you should be charging more than you do for these paintings, Stellamia. You could make so much more money.’
‘Well, Ialmostdidn’t charge the guy for it. I wasn’t even thinking! The words just flew out of my mouth. “Here, take my art, take my soul! All for free!” I don’t know what came over me. Like a gift, or something. Every euro counts at this point.’ She sighed louder than intended.
‘You meant to give it to him in exchange for freecafféon your way to work and kickbacks for lunch,eh?’ Waving her finger at Stella, she bellowed, ‘You really are a trueItaliananow!’
‘Shh, you! Thankfully, he insisted on paying.’ She exhaled, thinking of the fifty in her satchel. ‘I really need to rewire my brain. God, I hate money talk. Mum always taught me it wasbrutta figurato discuss money matters.’
Marcella scoffed. ‘Not when it comes to your wage,cara.’
‘Still. It’s icky and makes me uncomfortable.’
‘Welcome to Italy! It’s full of ick!’ Marcella bellowed, and they both giggled.
As they continued down Via dei Giubbonari, Stella recounted the events of the morning to Marcella, which included an animated re-enactment of the kitchen scene with Vincent.
Becoming increasingly frustrated, Marcella announced, ‘I will have to sleep with him now to fix this mess. That way we can all start over. You know, a clean plate?’
Stella laughed. ‘You mean, a cleanslate?’
