Stella felt uneasy listening to Vincent talk about his ‘beautiful’ ex, though tried her hardest not to let on.
‘I had been away for a week in Berlin when my assignment finished up early. Rather than call to tell her I was due home early, I thought I would surprise her and prepare a special meal for when she came home. On my way back from the airport, I stopped by the market and bought her favourite triple-cream brie and a bottle of wine . . .’
Stella could see where this was going and her stomach lurched. ‘Oh no!’
‘Yes. At eleven o’clock in the morning. In our apartment.’ He stopped and took a deep breath, as if reliving it all over again. ‘With Leo, my boss.’
‘Vincent! When did this all happen?’
‘About six months ago. It’s ok. I can talk about it now. I think I’m over it. I guess it’s just . . . well, the shock.’
Stella knew all too well and consoled Vincent with a sideways hug. ‘So, where’s Céline now?’
‘In Paris. With Leo.’ He laughed to himself. ‘Honestly, they’re perfect for each other.’ He took her little hands in his and looked deep into her eyes. Stella’s knees weakened in response. ‘Enough with the past and the ghosts of Paris. Let’s go capture Rome.’
They spent the afternoon observing the changing face of the Tiber. Vincent was able to capture some long exposure shots of life transitioning from one side of Rome to the other. As seven o’clock approached, the dusky haze of sunset began to sink in, drenching Rome in a wash of earthy tones.
‘Sunset might just be the most beautiful time of day,’ Stella said.
‘Why?’ Vincent asked, rummaging through his gear in search of a light filter.
‘Well, sunset signals rest time. Reflection time. Everything just slows down and you get time to think, realising the sun has set on what could’ve been your last day on earth. How lucky we are to have lived to see it.’
‘I really like your outlook,’ he said, fixing the filter to the top of the camera. ‘You see light where there’s darkness.’
‘A modern-day Caravaggio, you could say.’
‘A what?’
‘Never mind.’ She smiled and turned to rest her back against the thick brick of the bridge. ‘Just a little art nerd joke.’ A deep sigh escaped her at the sight of the sun slowly disappearing behind the majestic dome of St Peter’s Basilica. ‘Now,thatis beautiful,’ she muttered under her breath.
Vincent didn’t turn to enjoy the view. He was far too taken by the reflection of the sunset splashed across Stella’s face. Her delicate, wavy chestnut hair appeared gold in the wake of the sun’s departure, and her deep brown eyes flickered as they met his. ‘No, you’re beautiful,’ he said, coming to stand beside her.
Stella was taken aback by his sudden proximity, and noted a subtle change in the way he looked at her. His gaze was direct and powerful, as if nothing else existed for that moment but her. It was the same look that he had given her last night on the dining room floor; the eyes, the intensity. She tensed in anticipation.
Uh-oh, Stella. . .
Vincent moved a step closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Then suddenly, the sunset disappeared behind the shadows of his presence. Stella looked up at him as he leaned in, and despite the tremble beneath her feet she knew onlyshecould feel, she closed her eyes. She was ready.
She could just make out the heat of his breath on her lips . . . and her phone began to ring, splitting her focus.
Stella looked between Vincent’s face and her satchel, which sat on the pavement by her feet. ‘It’s ok,’ she said, casually waving her hand. ‘I bet it’s not important. The only person who ever rings me is Marcella.’
Her phone went silent, diverted to voicemail.
Stella’s eyes returned to Vincent, who stood just as tall and confidently as he had done a moment before. This time, he dipped his head with greater determination, committing resolutely to the moment.
Again, as if on cue, Stella’s phone piped up.
Vincent exhaled frustratedly.
What if it’s someone calling about a job? Just check!
‘I’m so sorry. I better just see who it is.’ Fishing her phone from her satchel, Stella was surprised to find a text under the notification of a missed call from Marcella.
Emergenza! Call me. Now. Un bacio.
In truth, Vincent wanted to toss Stella’s phone into the murky depths of the Tiber. But noting the worry which had now taken up residence across her face, he said, ‘Just call her back. See what’s going on.’
