Marco gave a gentle nod, acknowledging Stella’s concerns. ‘Because Roma has always been our second home. Sicilia first, then Roma.’
‘Really? How so?’
‘Because mymammawas a Romana.’
Stella’s spine straightened. ‘Oh, I didn’t know.’
‘Mamma and Papà met one August when Mamma and her family were holidaying in Sicilia with friends. They both walked into the same bar, orderedcaffé, and both reached for the same espresso when it arrived on the counter. And then, history. That’s the version Papà tells me, so I imagine it’s all true and not romanticised.’ He rolled his eyes playfully and Stella tittered. ‘Andthis,’ he gestured to the bar, ‘used to belong to Mamma’s parents. Mynonni. They never used it themselves. They always leased it to other businesses. It was left to Papà after they . . .’ He symbolically gestured skyward. ‘Andnowwas finally the right time to make the move and use it ourselves. With Ignazio’s help, of course.’
‘How incredible that you can share in this family legacy.’
‘Our apartment used to be Nonno and Nonna’s, too. Else, who could afford to do all this in Roma?’
Stella nodded, nibbling her bottom lip. ‘I had no idea, Marco.’
‘A little bit of our family, tucked away in crazy Roma.’
‘So really, you’re half Romano.’
‘I’ve lived my whole life in Sicilia. Butsì, I technically am. I’m just not sure which half.’ He gestured down his right side. Then down his left.
‘I know,’ Stella said, taking his left forearm in her grasp. ‘Your left side. It’s home to more of your heart than the right.’
Just as his grin began to bloom he dropped his head in gracious defeat. ‘You got me.Brava. Nicely done.’
The sentiment was broken by the ear-splitting bang of a fire cracker exploding a few paces up Via dei Giubbonari. A group of purple scarf-wearing fans waltzed by, prompting Stella to explain, ‘Roma versus Fiorentina tonight’.
Something wistful about the way her eyes scanned the group through the window prompted Marco to ask, ‘And you areuna tifosa?’
‘Oh no.’ She broke the beat with another sip. ‘I’m aRomanista.’ She winked over the top of the mug. ‘There’s a difference.’
Marco’s shoulders dropped a little with guilt. ‘Why aren’t you going to the game, then?’
Her left eyebrow hooked with embarrassment. ‘Because I can’t afford – or justify, really – the ticket price at the moment. I’ll head home to watch it on delay later. It’s fine.’ She attempted to wave away the concern which had filled his expression.
Marco’s eyes darted between the wall and the window, just as a family with teenage-aged children dressed in Roma’s trademark yellow and red walked by. ‘When does the game start?’
‘An hour and a half.’
Checking his watch, he said, ‘Oh no.No. I can’t have this.Aspetta.’ His feet found an enthusiastic bounce and he disappeared into the office space.
Stella craned her neck to catch a glimpse of whatever he was up to. All she could hear was the shuffling of boxes and rustling of things being pushed around in a drawer. ‘Ah!Ci siamo!’ he announced, emerging with a monitor a little wider than the span of his shoulders. He set it down on a table, and returned to the office to retrieve some cables and a laptop. ‘Tonight Roma plays in Bar Luna e Lupa.’
Stella’s frame melted. ‘What?’
‘Mmm hmm. We bought this for the security cameras, but never connected it.’ He began plugging cables into ports and untangling wires.
‘Are you serious?’ she asked with incredulous eyes, setting the now empty mug down on the service counter.
‘Very serious. And you won’t paint tonight,va bene?’
Her hands splayed out to emulate her confusion. ‘Why not?’
‘Because . . .’ With a final push, Marco connected the last of the cables to the monitor and flicked the power switch at the wall. ‘Tonight you teach me all there is to know.’
‘About?’
He stood tall with an uncomplicated air. ‘AS Roma, of course.’
