‘I don’t know. I never saw him again. I moved back in with Mum for a while before I found my own place. I decided that no man would ever make me feel that way again. So worthless. So disempowered. So pathetic. It’s not who I am now.’
‘Brava. You are so much better than that. And better than him! The internship and the money? You took it all,no?’
‘Of course. The internship was a blessing in disguise. It distracted me from the ugliness of the situation. It freed me to love and appreciate art through my own eyes again, not through the filter Andrew had imprisoned me behind. Eventually, they kept me on and I was given the task of running the education department.’
‘Ah,sì. But then it closed and you came here to Roma.’ Marcella pieced the story together.
‘Yes. Five months officially in that role. God, I loved it. I never touched the fifty thousand dollars until I arrived here, of course. It set me up with rent, supplies and well, the chance at a new life.’
‘This Andrew, what did he think of your beautiful paintings?’
Stella tutted. ‘He thought they were rubbish, and did a terrible job of softening the blow behind every evaluation. “Why can’t you paint things of importance? Why is your work so passive? It’s scared. It has no purpose. Your ideas are too simplistic. Stop living this fairytale of watercolour and join us in the real world!” That last one was one of his faves.’
These derogatory remarks fired Marcella up. ‘Che coglione!Allora, what happened tonight with Vincent that got you so upset?’
‘Oh, shit!’ Stella whispered, throwing her hands over her eyes. She had completely forgotten about what had happened with Vincent.
The same churchgoers Marcella had disturbed earlier turned their heads disapprovingly in their direction.
Marcella shooed Stella along the pew, but not before sharing a snide sarcastic blessing with their disapprovers. ‘Che Dio vi benedica.’ She genuflected down the aisle, made the sign of the cross and kissed the gold pendent of the Madonna that had been tucked between her breasts.
The door slammed shut behind them with a solid thud, leaving Stella’s tear-soaked memories all alone on the final pew of Santa Maria.
Outside, the cool night air was a refreshing change for Stella’s flushed cheeks. The piazzacarried on with life, seemingly unaware of the cathartic release that had taken place within the sacred confines of the church. Friends and families chatted away, children chased each other with glee. Life, it would seem, was perfectly as it should be.
Stella pulled back her fringe and fanned herself with her hands. Taking a few deep breaths, she felt more settled, and motioned for Marcella’s arm. Walking side by side through the piazza, they were comfortably silent. Marcella lit a cigarette and proceeded to exhale a series of perfectly formed smoke rings, prodding each with a red fingernail before they disappeared from reach.
As they arrived at Via di San Calisto, Stella turned to look at Marcella. ‘He had me on the floor,’ she said.
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes. Vincent had me pinned to the floor like Andrew did. By my wrists. I haven’t let anyone that close to me since the incident. It all came rushing back. He leaned in to kiss me and I seized up. God, after eighteen months, shouldn’t that have passed?’
‘What you experienced with Andrew, that was traumatising.’
‘I know.’ Hearing Marcella acknowledge the severity of the situation brought Stella some relief. Now she knew, and she understood how hurt and bruised Andrew had left her.
‘I am so sorry that happened to you, Stella.Mi dispiace tantissimo.’ Marcella wrapped her arm around Stella’s shoulders and coaxed her along. ‘About toni—’
‘It’s a different situation. I know. It just . . .’
Marcella nodded reassuringly. ‘Did you want to kiss Vincent?’
‘Of course, I did. I still do. But the moment. My wrists . . .’ The sadness in her voice was replaced by frustration. ‘What have I done?’ Stella grabbed Marcella’s free hand and held on tight. ‘Marcella, I made a promise to myself when everything happened with Andrew; a special promise, an unbreakable promise. If I can’t keep it . . . If I fail . . . I think I’ll just crumble to ruins.’
‘This is Roma. The ruins are the best part of this crazy beautiful city. Everybody loves the ruins.’ She failed to get a laugh out of Stella.
‘I worry that Andrew broke me, Marcella. All those years of . . . Well, you know. I think my heart is broken beyond repair.’
‘Non ti preoccupare, amore! Romahas seen the spilled blood of many broken hearts over many thousands of years. Yours is no more broken than those.’ Marcella took a long pensive drag on her cigarette, loudly exhaling the smoke into the gentle breeze. ‘Don’t worry, we can put you back together. Rome wasn’t built in a day,no?’
‘You’re the second person to tell me that this week,’ Stella said, managing a wry smile.
‘Ah,sì?’
‘Yes, Marco reassured me that Rome wasn’t built in a day, too.’
‘Cuteandwise,’ Marcella noted, raising an eyebrow. She guided Stella to the door of their palazzo with a gentle hand on her lower back.
