Stella knew that her friend was on the money. Though she didn’t want to voice it aloud, she had returned to Rome tainted by anxiety.
Steeling herself, she conceded. ‘Ok. That would be lovely. Thank you.’
‘Sul serio?’ Marcella clearly hadn’t expected to win so easily.
‘Yeah. Let’s do it.’
Marcella threw the diary in the air with an impassioned, ‘Evviva! I have so many ideas already!’
‘Already?’
‘I am a chef,no?’ Marcella waved her hands as if performing a magic trick. ‘Voilà!’ She danced a jig and tapped her feet. ‘Tada!’
‘Ok, that’s enough. You’re done. I am consenting to something simple and very small.’
‘Then you don’t want something Italian.’ Marcella pointed an impassioned finger at Stella, prodding her square in the chest. ‘I am Italian. I will do it the Italian way.’
‘No, Marcella. Simple. Understated. Please!’
‘Italians don’t do understated. We do overstated, and big and loud and proud. That’s why we are Italian. More is more, and we never want less than what is best. Yourfestawill bestupenda. I will call Giacomino, the wine guy. He will do us a very good deal on thevino. Just wait, I will call him now—’
‘Stop! Hold it!’ Stella grabbed Marcella’s hand that reached for the phone. ‘How much wine do you think a few people will drink?’
‘A few people? Oh, Stellinamia,no,no. We need to celebrate and have a properfesta!’
Rolling her eyes, Stella gave in. It wasn’t worth arguing over. It was easier to just let it happen. Marcella was far more stubborn than Stella was tolerant.
‘And, is thistheGiacomino who you used to . . . You know?’ Stella gave a cheeky glance across at Marcella.
‘Sì, the famous Giacomino,’ Marcella sighed, reliving one of many intimate moments they had shared in a past life in Bologna. Taking an erotic thought with her, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Exhaling a long-drawn-out sigh of defeat, Stella called out from the couch, ‘Ok, but no costumes!’
Popping her head around the door, Marcella smiled brightly. ‘Of course there will be costumes!’ And with that statement, the conversation was over.
Stella faceplanted into one of the cushions with gracious defeat and muttered, ‘’Sti cazzi.’
dieci
A gentle knock on her door pulled Stella’s attention away from the job application module she was filling in. ‘Come in.’
Vincent popped his head around her door. ‘Am I disturbing you?’
Hitting save, Stella shook her head. ‘No, not at all. I’m due a break.’
‘Going ok?’
‘It’s . . . going.’
‘A job application?’
Stella smiled her response. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Listen, where’s Marcella?’
‘She’s out with some work friends for drinks. Said she’d be back late.’ Prickles suddenly ran their way down her spine as it registered that they were alone.
‘Good.’ Vincent stepped into her room, bobbed down in a low squat by the edge of her desk and placed a hand over hers. ‘Have you come up with anything for the mural yet?’
