Stella couldn’t contain her smile. It pulled from her cheeks to the creases of her eyes. ‘Marco . . .’ Not even a shake of the head could reset her. ‘Sicily has no representation in theSerie A. You haveno otherchoice other than Roma.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘There is Lazio.’
Stella practically levitated with concern. ‘Oh, no! Not Lazio. Don’t Marco. You are here in the heart of Roma. You have to be one with the Giallorossi. It’s not worth losing customers over.’
‘Ma dai, Stella!’
‘“Daje”, you mean! This is real life in Roma. These things divide. C’mon, Marco. It’s one of the League’s most fierce – if notthe fiercest– rivalries.Il Derby della Capitale. It gets ugly.’
He waved sarcastically. ‘I know, I know.Tranquilla.’
‘And you should probably put something in here that shows your allegiance.’
‘Sul serio?’
‘I have so much to teach you.’
‘Va bene.But before you start anything, I am going to make some snacks. You know, for thepartita.’ He held up a finger to stop her in her tracks, ducking behind the service counter to collect his apron. ‘Annammo, daje!’ he said, stressing the inflection of his best Roman dialect, motioning that she should join him in the kitchen.
‘So much better already,’ she said, giving him a sarcastic little applause.
‘It’s genetic, remember.’
On a giggle she said, ‘Ok, we will begin with the most important lesson of all.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘The most handsome players.I più belli!’ She chuckled, following him into the kitchen.
diciotto
Given a small pocket of reprieve from the incessant November rain that Monday afternoon, Marcella insisted that Vincent join her and Stella on a walk.
‘Youcanread a map,eh?’ Marcella teased as Vincent approached the agreed meeting spot on the Ponte Palatino.
‘Don’t give me that much credit,’ he laughed. ‘Google was true to her word.’ He tucked his phone back in his inner coat pocket.
A northerly gust scooted over the top of the murky waters of the Tiber and split in two; the lower half escaped under the bridge, rippling the water with its force, while the upper half shunted itself forcefully over the balustrade, pummelling the pedestrians and vehicles who crossed from one bank to the other. Marcella held on tight to her scarf, which was loosened from around her neck. Vincent’s unbuttoned coat flapped wildly, causing him to scramble to fasten the buttons.
Vincent pointed in the direction of a cluster of ominous-looking dark clouds. ‘Looks like a storm’s coming.’
Marcella didn’t look to the sky. Rather, her eyes assessed Vincent. ‘Ithasbeen brewing,’ she affirmed with an inflection of concern, and the illuminated digits returned from her memory, bringing with them a kick of adrenaline.04:00.
Stella suddenly appeared on the triangular median strip between the Ponte Palatino and Lungotevere Aventino on the eastern bank. ‘Ciao!Ciao!’ she called, making her way towards them.
Marcella snapped back like an elastic band, and embraced Stella with a longer-than-usual hug. She studied Vincent’s body language closely as he and Stella greeted one another. Nothing seemed amiss in his usual affectionate kiss and beaming smile.
They started walking in the direction from which Stella had joined them.
It was then, noting how Marcella’s gaze fixed itself to the cluster of storm clouds building in the distance, that Vincent let his hand dip into his inner coat pocket. Discretely, he flicked his phone to silent mode and dropped it into the front pocket of his jeans.
‘So, did you have anything in mind for today’s walk?’ asked Stella.
‘I know just the place,’ Marcella said, and led the way over the bridge, across Lungotevere Aventino and down the path between the Foro Boario and the Tempio di Portuno.
‘What’s with the crowd?’ Vincent pointed to the queue of people gathered under the enclosed portico of Santa Maria in Cosmedin.
Marcella smiled. ‘You’ll see.’
