A new city. A new business.
He pushed his feelings out of the way and buried them in the pit of his stomach. In order to keep Stella in his life – even as a friend – he had to keep the peace, and that meant keeping quiet.
Then again, she hadn’t seen the smirk.
dodici
Stella’s comfortable and predictable life had suddenly shifted.
While she was enjoying the new closeness with Vincent, she felt an unfamiliar wrench which kept her conscience in check. She felt caught between a sense of duty to her routine – keeping plans and appointments, job hunting, painting and selling her work – and Vincent’s unpredictable and impulsive pull.
It was exciting. Liberating, in fact.
Stella had needed to let go of control and surrender to Vincent’s schedule; his movements, deadlines, comings and goings. Then, and perhaps the most difficult to accept, was the sneaking around.
Vincent’s increasingly fervent desire to keep Marcella out of the loop didn’t sit well with Stella. Not only did it feel like blatant lying, but now, a fortnight on and with a heart full of things to share, she longed to be able to chat to Marcella about it all. Telling her mum and girlfriends back home wasn’t an option. To do so seemed premature, and she wasn’t ready to face the questions from them either, when she already knew she didn’t have the answers.
The past few weeks with Vincent had certainly placed a partition between Stella and Marcella; a divide only visible to Stella. Marcella, completely preoccupied with her own work and life, was none the wiser, as her own schedule made it easy for the Stella and Vincent’s movements to go unnoticed. Vincent continued to press that Marcella would only complicate matters, and that it would be more exciting if they kept things between themselves.
But Stella was less worried about Marcella, and more concerned with defining what was happening with Vincent. He treated her like a girlfriend, and was attentive, caring and protective. And there was the sweet pile of Vincent’s notes and letters, which continued to grow on her desk. But the sneaking around and lies, which he seemed more than comfortable with, spoke otherwise.
All the while, Stella had been spending an increasing amount of time at Bar Luna e Lupa, preparing the wall and finalising the mural’s design. Time away from the apartment, Vincent and Marcella, was a breath of fresh air. She found herself drawn to spending time at the bar as it was uncomplicated. She could be herself, let herself go and express herself as she wished. Marco and Giuseppe – but certainly Marco, in particular – were quickly becoming good friends, and her anecdotes from her time at the bar irritated Vincent.
Since their meeting at Bar Luna e Lupa, Vincent had spent a great deal of time scrutinising Marco in his mind. He disliked how often Stella spoke about him, and always with her trademark bright smile. Vincent knew for certain that Marco had to be watched.
‘What’s the verb for “to take advantage” in Italian?’ Vincent asked Stella out of the blue that Saturday evening as they sat reading at opposite ends of the couch. With Marcella working the dinner shift, this was his opportunity to probe Stella without interruption.
Without looking up from her novel, she answered, ‘Sfruttare. Why?’
‘Because I think you are beingsfruttare-d.’ He knew the grammar was wrong, but figured it would be an ice-breaker.
This got her attention. Placing her bookmark securely in place, she took off her reading glasses and looked him square in the eye. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I think,’ he began, choosing his words carefully, ‘that Marco is taking advantage of you and your kindness, and is milking you for cheap art for the bar.’
‘Well, for starters, I agreed to do the job. I could’ve said no, but I didn’t. Heispaying me, remember.’
Vincent guffawed. ‘Not much, Stella. C’mon. That payment is an insult to your talent.’
‘It’s a great opportunity for me.’ While she appreciated the compliment, she didn’t take too kindly to his assumptions about Marco. ‘He’s not like that. Marco’s—’
He shook out his hands to appease his fidgeting fingers. ‘He’s. Taking. Advantage. And I can’tbelieveyou’re blind to it!’
Her shoulders dropped a little. ‘All I can see, Vincent, is how my work is going to look on that wall. That kind of chance doesn’t come around all that often. I think it was fate that brought Marco and I together that day in the market.’
Vincent didn’t like the sound of that and, unable to hide his frustration, his natural instinct was to change tack and fire again. ‘You don’t see what I see. You must be less perceptive than I thought you were.’
Stella’s spine lengthened. ‘And what is it thatyousee, Vincent?’
‘He wants you.’
‘Who?’
‘Marco.’
‘Ugh!’ Stella threw her hands in the air and jumped off the couch. Her novel hit the floor with a loud thud. ‘You’re being ridiculous! This conversation is ridiculous. And a little insulting, if I’m honest.’
‘Ridiculous? I saw how he looked at you that day we were there for lunch. It’s etched into my brain. Iknowthat look. EvenIhave given that look before. And if you think that my being protective of you is insulting, then—’
