Vincent’s gaze flicked to Stella. ‘Very lucky.’ Catching his not-too-subtle look, Stella’s stomach flipped. There they were, the same determined eyes from the floor and from the bridge. Stella felt intoxicated, as if they were drawing her in. As if she were under his spell.
‘I know Marcella’s story,’ Vincent eventually said. ‘What about yours, Stella?’ He chewed on the end of a wooden toothpick, allowing it to roll across his lips suggestively.
‘Uhm, well, eighteen months ago, I came out of a relationship that left me a little worse for wear, if I’m honest.’ Stella had only just opened up to Marcella about the Andrew mess, and felt it a little too premature to dump the details on Vincent. She didn’t know how he might react to hearing of her pain and struggles. Would it turn him off her? Was shewantingto impresshim in some way? She didn’t know the answers, so chose to sidestep the details for now. ‘A little while later, I began a three-month intern role at the state gallery. A role that taught me a great deal, really. And they liked my work, I guess, so the gallery took me on. Permanently. Or so I thought, until I was made redundant five months later.’ She downed the final mouthful of her spritz. ‘No amount of alcohol makes that easier to swallow.’
‘Sorry to hear that. What were you doing?’
‘I was the director of the gallery’s education department. I led the team that worked with schools visiting the gallery.’ She sighed, trying to push out a smile despite her melancholic nostalgia. ‘My favourite part of the job was watching the children enjoy art. These teeny little humans just standing awe-struck in front of the mammoth paintings of the Renaissance. There was something so pure and honest about that kind of reaction to art.’ Marcella reached out and held Stella’s hand on the table, giving it a little squeeze of support. ‘In retrospect, I can see now how it constantly reminded me that something was missing from my life, you know? A spark, joy, a sense of wonder. I used to tell my friends that I wanted to be blown away by something, to have the breath sucked from my chest in amazement . . .’ Her throat tightened. ‘Eventually, I arrived at the epiphany that I didn’t want to be blown away by something. I just wanted to be blown someplace else.’
‘Roma,’ Marcella said, blowing a seductive kiss to the piazza.
‘I decided on Rome. It just made sense for me. I’d studied some subjects here, been here for work and pleasure, of course. It was always a home away from home for me. Rome sweet home, I like to say.’
Vincent raised his glass of water – untouched – to toast. ‘To Roma.’
‘To Roma,’ cheered Marcella, boisterously.
‘To loving it unconditionally, irrespective of its inefficiencies, frustrating tendencies and bureaucratic red tape!’ Stella added.
‘To the dog poop on every street corner and constant cloud of cigarette smoke!’ Vincent chimed in, gesturing to the cigarette packet lying on the table by Marcella’s black clutch.
‘To the terrible water pressure and smelly pipes!’ Stella added. Without a drink-filled glass she borrowed Vincent’s and charged it high in the air.
‘To the sexy men!’ Marcella cried.
‘And women!’ Vincent added, looking directly at Stella.
‘To Roma!’ they finished in unison with one final well-timed charge.
The girls laughed, collapsing on each other’s shoulders.
Marcella then took stock of what was left to consume on the table. ‘Americano, you stay hereefai la guardia,va bene? Stella and I will go get some moreantipasti.’ The two headed inside to make a selection from the small plates and nibbles.
An attractive waitress with a long dark ponytail and high cheekbones approached the table. ‘Avete finito?’ she asked, gesturing to the empty glasses, olive pits and used napkins.
‘Ah, yes.Sì.’ His bright blue eyes caught her attention and she smiled in return.
Leaning around Vincent to collect the last of the olive dishes, she brushed his arm as she retreated. ‘Mi scusi,’ she apologised, instinctively catching his shoulder as she did so.
‘No problem,’ he said, allowing his eyes to linger longer than was necessary. ‘Any time . . .’ His breath held the beat hopefully, as his eyebrows drew together with interest.
‘Ilaria.’
‘Grazie, Ilaria.’ His gaze trickled down that glossy dark mane, now splayed over her shoulder. With Stella and Marcella out of earshot, what was the harm in a little innocent flirting? ‘A beautiful name befitting a beautiful woman.’
Upon hearing this, the speed with which Ilaria was clearing the table suddenly halved. Noting how his tone had shifted into something deeper and more suggestive, her cheeks blushed and her smile lengthened. ‘Prego.’ Turning, she walked back inside with her full clearing tray. Crossing paths with Marcella and Stella, both returning with plates of food, Ilaria gave Vincent a sly grin, then disappeared within.
Stella tossed and turned in bed, unable to settle the restless energy that trickled through her veins.
You’re very distracted, Stella. Tick-tock.
Between the low-level street noise and the muffled sound of Marcella’s heavy breathing coming from the next bedroom, she finally gave up trying to sleep altogether.
She tiptoed from her room and padded her way to the kitchen. With each step, the parquet floor creaked and squeaked; noises that ordinarily went unnoticed during the day somehow seemed to roar through the silence of the night.
The fridge offered no comfort by way of edible distractions, so Stella poked through the pantry instead. A packet of crispbreads tempted her for a moment, but she didn’t dare attempt to open the box and noisy foil wrapper. Pouring herself a glass of water, she stood over the sink, guzzling it down for its immediate refreshment. Refilling her glass, she decided that reading would be her best bet towards sleep.
She made her way back to her bedroom as quietly as she could, being sure not to spill a drop of water despite the dark apartment. Just as Stella was about to step foot into her bedroom, a hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder from behind. She spun around in shock, spilling the water across her pyjama top and down her cotton bottoms. Before she knew it, between the shadows and dark corners of the corridor, she was silenced by a hand which had clamped securely over her mouth.
