Through his tears Marco managed a chuckle. ‘Una fame da lupaat Bar Luna e Lupa. Brava Stella.’
‘I couldn’t help myself.’ She winced. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Mind?È meraviglioso. Sinceramente.’
Her eyes darted across his face, seeking reason for the overwhelming feelings she had for him. ‘Marco.’ She lowered her head. ‘This is all for you. All of it. My time. My care. My affection. My. . . love.’ She checked herself, surprised for having let it slip so easily from her lips.
‘I am honoured to have it all.’ Catching her chin, he said, ‘And here’smylove in return.’ Marco kissed her deeply and passionately, allowing her petite frame to melt into the curve of her favourite place on his chest. Together, they swayed gently to the music, enjoying the electricity and heat that radiated between them. ‘Oh, I almost forgot.Aspetta.’ Marco left her to collect the paper-wrapped parcel from the counter. ‘For you.’
‘For me?’ She allowed it to bounce in her hands as she tried to assess its weight.
‘Open it.’
Peeking into the bag, Stella’s eyes widened. ‘Is that a—’
‘—alla nocciola. Just for you.’ He winked.
Withdrawing the tray from the bag, she set it down on a table, revealing a larger than normal decadent-lookingbignè di San Giuseppe. ‘Grab something to cut this with. We’re splitting this now.’
Two steps ahead of her, Marco handed her a knife from a neighbouring table. ‘I won’t say no.’
Thebignèhad been piped full of hazelnut cream, and dusted generously – even by Stella’s standards – with icing sugar. ‘Excuse fingers,’ she said, doing her best to split thebignèwithout disturbing the perfect filling. Taking a bite, her eyes rolled in delight. ‘Oh my—’
‘—God.Buonissimo.’ Marco wiped some cream from the corner of his lips.
‘Grazie, Roma.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he agreed through a chew.
‘Have you ever realised that most of our time together is spent eating?’ She took another bite.
‘E allora?’
‘It’s just occurred to me.’
‘Food is love,no?Mangia!’ he said, coaxing the last morsel into her mouth. ‘Eat up. I have eleven more at home.’
‘Eleven?’
‘I had to place a special order for the hazelnut filling. The minimum wasuna dozzina.’
Stella jumped into his arms. ‘Another reason to love you, Marco Luna.’
Marco pulled down the roller door, securing the latch. He checked it twice before stepping back onto Via dei Giubbonari, dropping his keys into his coat pocket.
Stella, a few paces ahead, was peering through the window of a neighbouring store. Marco took a moment to look up at Bar Luna e Lupa’s sign dangling overhead, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze that trickled its way up the street.
Stella now stood in the middle of Via dei Giubbonari, perfectly framed by the polished cobblestones under her feet and the terracotta-coloured buildings either side of her. Above them, Christmas lights twinkled magically against the darkened backdrop of the Roman sky. The lights ran the entire length of the street, all the way to Campo de’ Fiori. Directly above Stella floated a garland of lights, from which a large shooting star light glistened.
Seeing Stella amidst the beautiful scene, Marco touched his hand to his heart, casting his eyes skyward. ‘Grazie,Mamma,’ he said, smiling into the starry night sky.
‘This is perhaps the only time I will ever say this, but I think “shooting star” is far better expressed in English than it is in Italian,’ Stella said as he approached, taking her hand. She gestured to the shooting star light above them.
‘How so?’
‘Stella cadente; “falling star”. It emphasises the demise of the star, its death. Its miraculous beauty existing for a mere moment as its heavenly dance signals the end of its life. “Shooting star” celebrates the journey of the star, shimmering across the sky, seen only by those lucky enough to have gazed up in time. It’s all about the beauty of the journey, not the grand finale.’
‘Allora, my little star, is this your final dance across the sky?’
