‘I asked him about that.I suggested that he take some time to get to know Roma, his colleagues and make some new friends before we try something exclusive. But no, he didn’t want to hear any of it.’
Marcella played with the crucifix dangling around her neck. Chewing on her bottom lip, she tried to process Vincent’s logic. ‘Hmm.Interessante.’
‘He’s a good guy Marcella. He’s very protective of me. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.’
‘Just like the day-old bread,no?’
Stella regretted spilling the beans, knowing she would be hearing about this for a long time to come. The sound of the shower suddenly stopped and they heard Vincent step out of the tub. Marcella gave Stella a look that read, ‘this is your last chance’. Stella replied by miming locking her lips shut. For good measure, she pretended to throw away the key.
‘Stella, I just love you so much.’ Marcella stood up and embraced Stella, nearly suffocating her in her cleavage.
‘Morning, ladies,’ Stella joked.
‘Oh, sorrycara. They have a mind of their own.’ Marcella caught Stella’s chin in her hand. ‘Can I give you some advice?’
‘Always.’
‘Non si sputa nel piatto dove si mangia.’
‘Come again?’
‘Don’t shit where you eat.’
‘No, I understood. Just a bit rich coming from you, hey?’ Stella raised an eyebrow.
‘I speak from experience.Finisce sempre male. Male, male.’
‘The Dutch guy from work?’
She waved the question off. ‘Lascia fa’, Stella.’
‘Ah well, at least yourromanacciois improving.’
She gave Stella one of her cheeky winks and waved an incredulous Italian hand through the air. ‘Ao!Ma famme er piacere, Stella.’
Stella laughed and was grateful for the levity. ‘I’m going to head off soon for a run. Want to clear my head.’ She reached for her favourite AS Roma jersey and her cropped leggings.
‘Be careful.’
‘What about?’ Stella asked, change of clothes now tossed over her shoulder, retying her hair.
‘Everything.’
The streets were quiet and still, and her legs moved faster with each stride.
The thud of rubber tread was met with the wet slap of the cobblestones after the evening’s rain, shattering the peace wherever she turned.
This was Stella’s favourite time to run – Sunday morning, just before sunrise – as she felt Rome was all hers for the taking. Most of the small businesses were still shut and wouldn’t be rolling up their shutters until ten o’clock, or midday. The odd bar was open, but even they were quiet. A small gathering of nuns headed west, most likely making their way to an early service at the Vatican, singing in unison as they walked arm in arm.
Rome was completely at peace.
Piazza Venezia, one of Italy’s most notorious roundabouts, was also quiet. A few taxis and buses lay in wait. Illuminated by their internal strip lighting, Stella noted they were mostly empty. She continued, up and over the pavement at the feet of the Monumento Vittorio Emanuele, taking a sharp right.
There you are, amore mio. Buongiorno.
Stella had almost reached her destination – the Colosseum.
The iconic stone pines lining the Via dei Fori Imperiali stood boastfully proud, protective over the ancient ruins which lay entwined among their deep-set roots. The rich navy of the sky was starting to erode, making way for the iridescent gold of the dawn. Peeking out from behind the majestic amphitheatre was the sun, biddingbuona giornatato those lucky Romans who were ready to start the day.
