‘Yes, and to make matters worse, I’m going to have to paint it in acrylic. Which I have never done in my life. And I’ve just . . .’
‘Come undone?’
‘Yes.’
‘How big does he want it?’
Hanging her head, she said, ‘The entire length of the bar. Maybe twelve feet, or so.’
‘You’ve got your work cut out for you. What does Marcella think?’
‘She says it’s a great opportunity, but . . . I don’t know.’ Her eyes glazed over the mess in front of her. ‘I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Or paint, for that matter.’
‘Can you back out?’ He returned to the kitchen and Stella could hear him straining pasta over the sink.
‘Not now. I’ve only just said yes.Plus, I need the money.’ Stella moaned. ‘I just really want to help Marco, too. He seems like such a sweet guy; kind of old-fashioned. I’m surprised Rome hasn’t scared him off yet. I’ve only spoken to him a few times now, but he just seems like such a genuine and down-to-earth person. No, no. I have to do it.’ Fiddling nervously with a grey lead pencil, she said, ‘I just wish I knew why the universe brought us together. Whythatwall? There’s got to be a reason.Destino. . .’
Vincent reappeared in the living room with two jars of store-bought pasta sauce. ‘Do you wantclassicoorarrabbiata?’
‘I’m not fussed. Just be thankful Marcella’s not here to see those. She’d have you skinned alive.’
‘What doesarr-abb-i-ataeven mean?’
‘Angry.’
‘Arrabbiatait is, then!’ He laughed, heading back into the kitchen.
Stella picked up Santa Caterina’s prayer card and examined it more closely. The blue background of the night sky closely resembled the deep navy paint Marco had selected for the walls of Bar Luna e Lupa. Deciding that the blue might beaplace to start, she reached for her brushes.
Stella’s newly found focus was obliterated by a deafening metallic boom from the kitchen. She was startled by the eruption, which sent her materials flying.
‘Are you ok?’ she screamed, collecting her breath.
Vincent, dripping head to toe with pasta sauce, stepped into the living room. ‘I’m guessing you need to take the lid off the jar before you put it in the microwave?’
‘Themicrowave?’ Stella’s shock turned to instant amusement, bursting into laughter, ‘Oh God, look at you!’
‘Help! Quick, get something to clean this up. I don’t want to move.’ He stood before her, frozen, trying to slow the dripping process.
Still rolling in hysterics, Stella hurried into the kitchen to get a dishcloth, only to realise the full destruction of the incident. Not only had Vincent blown a hole through the microwave door, but the sauce had splattered all over the floor, the adjoining benchtops and across the ceiling.
‘Here!’ She handed him the roll of paper towel, the only survivor of the kitchen catastrophe. ‘It looks like someone’s been murdered in there.’
Wiping sauce from his face, Vincent was now able to laugh at his own stupidity. ‘Who needs acrylic paint when you could throw some sauce at the wall and be done with it? In fact, I’ll help you,’ he offered, playfully flicking the sauce from his fingers in Stella’s direction.
‘Oi! Stop that!’ She giggled, wiping the red flecks from her face.
Stella began collecting her materials from the floor while Vincent methodically wiped himself down, limb by limb. Bending over to pick up a final brush, she slipped in a pool of water spilled from her wash pot, instinctively grabbing Vincent on the way down to break her fall. They landed side by side on the living room floor. The laughing continued as they acknowledged their misfortune.
‘What’s going on tonight?’ Vincent roared, wiping sauce from his hands. ‘Have we angered the Pasta Gods?’
‘It’s karma for the store-bought sauce.’
Stella tried to right herself, but Vincent teasingly grabbed her and pulled her back to the floor. They lay there awkwardly for a few seconds. Vincent’s expression suddenly changed from jovial and blushing from laughter to pale and straight-faced and in that moment, he stared right through her. They were close enough for Stella to notice the green hue to his blue eyes, and the light dusting of freckles across his nose. She could feel her heart pounding frantically behind her ribs, yet she felt paralysed. All she could see, all she could register, was Vincent. Stella could read the intention in his eyes, and he dipped lower so there were just a few centimetres between them. His breath danced along her expectant lips, and her core suddenly burned for him, drawing the blood from her head, sending it coursing between her legs. She wanted the kiss.
No. Sheneededit.
‘Eccomi, ragazzi!’
