The sound of the door latch releasing echoed under the portico.
After walking the two flights of stairs, the sight of him standing there at the doorway drew the final shred of strength from her legs.
‘Marco,’ she said, then immediately burst into tears.
‘What’s wrong?’ He took her in his warm embrace and led her inside. ‘You are freezing cold.’
‘I just walked over from my place.’
‘You walked from Trastevere? How long—?’
‘An hour and seventeen minutes.’ She sniffed, blotting her eyes on the tissues he handed her.
‘Madonna! Why did you do that? Why didn’t you call me?’
Regaining her composure, she said, ‘The city’s closed off to traffic because of thefesta. No buses are crossing the river.’
‘Tell me,’ he took her trembling cold hands in his, ‘why are you crying?’ He patted the couch, motioning for her to sit down. ‘Would you like a tea? Or coffee?’
‘Tea, please.’
He placed a saucepan of water on the stove top to boil. Popping two peppermint tea bags in cups, he plated up a few of Ignazio’samarettiand joined her on the couch.
‘What has got you so upset? It’s New Year’s Eve. We should be celebrating!’
Taking a look around, she realised they were alone.
Reading Stella’s facial expression, he explained, ‘Papà is at a party with friends from Sicilia who are here for the holidays. And Ignazio, I have no idea.Boh! He mentioned something about a party yesterday.’
‘And you didn’t want to join him?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Who would I kiss at midnight? A drunk tourist?No,grazie.’ He returned to the kitchen to finish the tea.
Stella stifled a giggle. ‘Were you lonely?’
‘Not anymore.’ He smiled, handing her a steaming mug and a biscuit. ‘This will make you feel better.Adesso dimmi tutto. What’s wrong?’
Stella recounted the night’s events, from the dumping of Vincent’s possessions out the window to the confrontation and war of words. She described the mob mentality of the locals who rallied around them, and how Vincent was left embarrassed and broken on Via di San Calisto.
‘I don’t understand.’ Brow furrowed, he took a sip. ‘Now you’re free and have closure. This is what you wanted,no?’
‘It is exactly what I wanted. I wanted to humiliate him, just as he did me. I wanted to literally throw him from my life.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s all coming out. I don’t know why I’m crying. I actually feel so relieved.’
‘Certo. You just need to get it all out. Now you can start to heal and move on.’ He handed her another biscuit. ‘Mangia.’
‘Grazie.’ The golden almond delight crumbled in her mouth and she was thankful for the sugar rush. ‘I just don’t know what to do now. I’m happy of course, but I also feel . . .’
‘Lost? Stay here tonight. We will talk and relax and tomorrow, in the light of the new day and new year, you will feel better. You’ll see.’ Marco eased back into the couch, placing a reassuring hand over hers.
Stella watched him quietly for a moment. The low lighting in the room only accentuated his features, with his few-days-old stubble adding to his charm. His chocolate eyes took hold of her, and the way they darkened with concern for her melted away the last of Stella’s worries.
But that’s how Marco had always made her feel, wasn’t it? He had always given her space to be safely vulnerable. Stella could be herself with Marco. Express her worries. Just be the person she wanted to be. And he cared for her, in all her incarnations. Paint-stained fingers. Fringe in her eyes. Overly enthusiastic. Hazelnut-munching. Day dreaming, and all. He never tried to change her, or question her. He was always there for Stella.
Unconditionally.
Marcella’s post-Roman Day Out pep talk rattled through Stella’s mind. It poked and prodded, begging her to see reason.
‘. . . he might just be the one you’ve been waiting for.’
