Stella ran her palm over the silken cold marble of theBocca della Verità, smoothed by centuries of probing fingers and cautious hands. ‘It’s so wonderful,’ she gushed.
‘Vincent, do you know the story?’ Marcella asked.
‘Vaguely. Remind me.’
‘Allora.’ Marcella readied herself, moving front and centre. She took his hand and placed it inside the mouth of the large marble disc-like face. ‘The oldstory goes that if you put your hand inside theboccaand tell a lie, that it will bite it off. Chomp!’ Marcella held his hand there for a moment.
‘That’s stupid,’ he said sourly.
Stella turned, immediately surprised by his negativity. ‘Why?’
‘As if anyone would believe that? It’s mounted to the brick wall of a church. Nothing is going to bite your hand off.’
‘Erm, a correction, if I may?’ Stella said. ‘It wasn’t always housed here at the church. Some time ago – a long time ago, in fact – it was located elsewhere. And it wasn’t always brick-mounted. If the sources are correct,it could very well have been used as a sort of early pagan lie detector. Completely gross to say, I know, but it likely came with a hidden axe-wielding henchman.’ She paused, catching herself. ‘Ugh. I just got all teacher-y. Apologies. It’s second-nature.’
Marcella pushed Vincent’s hand deeper into the marble recess. ‘Want to try?’
There was something about the dark shadows of Marcella’s eyes that concerned Vincent. Her persistence grated at him and, in an attempt to change the subject, he turned the tables. ‘Ladies first. Isn’t that how it should go?’ He freed his hand with a vigorous twist, well-camouflaged by his long bulky-layered sleeves.
Marcella feigned rolling her wrists in preparation. ‘Certo.I have nothing to hide.’
Stella, sensing a tension, looked back and forth between them. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Nothing, Stella.Niente. Just a friendly little game ofBocca della Verità.’ Marcella was about to slip her hand into the gruesome mouth when a church official appeared from behind them, ushering them along.
Regarding the threatening sky, Stella said, ‘I’m thinking it’s best we head home and postpone the rest of the walk for another day.’
Marcella shrugged, pacing ahead, which gave Stella a moment alone with Vincent. ‘I’m going to walk ahead with Marcella. Something’s not right, I can just feel it.’ Stella rose to her tiptoes and planted a sweet kiss on his lips. ‘That ok?’
Vincent nodded. But something about his concrete scowl and his tensely pursed lips told Stella he wasn’t happy with Marcella’s performance at theBocca.
Suddenly, more northerly gusts greeted them, and a loud crack of thunder split the air, causing them to jump.
Exiting via the wrought-iron gate they stepped out on Via Luigi Petroselli, and Marcella led them back across the river in the direction of Trastevere.
Stella walked ahead of Vincent with Marcella’s arm under her own, mulling over the palpable tension she had witnessed between the two. She wanted to probe Marcella while the moment was still fresh, so she lowered her voice. ‘Is everything ok?’ Marcella was unusually quiet, but Stella sensed that she wanted to say something. After a moment, having received no response, Stella gave her a little nudge. ‘Hmm?’
‘Sì, niente. I’m just tired,’ Marcella replied, forcing the most genuine-looking smile she could. They continued on their return journey, quickening their pace with every grumble of thunder.
Stella’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. It wasn’tnothing, that much she could tell. If she wanted to really talk to Marcella and get whatever it was out on the table, now clearly wasn’t the right moment. ‘You know you can tell me anything.’
‘I know,cara. I know.’
Keeping one eye on them, and the other on his phone, Vincent seethed with frustration from a few paces behind. He sent a quick message:Change of plans tonight.
diciannove
Friday night arrived, marking the end of amuchcalmer week in the apartment.
The tension between Marcella and Vincent – or whatever it was that had been simmering at theBocca della Verità– also seemed to evaporate. It hadn’t, however, left Vincent’s memory. His blossoming relationship with Stella was progressing, and he knew how easily she could be swayed by Marcella’s opinions. Choosing to placate Marcella with kindness and enthusiasm, he wanted to do everything in his power to ensure Marcella had no fuel to reignitethatfire, wherever it had come from.
‘Shall we go out for dinner tonight?’ Marcella asked Vincent, peering over the refrigerator door. ‘I know I’m good at my job, but there’s only so much you can make withpecorinorind, strawberry yoghurt and olives.’
‘And you call yourself a chef!’ he teased, poking around in the drawers. ‘There’s some bacon here.’
‘Bacon?Ma chebacon?’ Her cheeks immediately reddened. ‘There shouldneverbe bacon in this house!’ Marcella thrust herself at the fridge, practically swiping the three-inch stub of fat-streaked meat from Vincent’s grip. ‘This is not bacon. It’sguanciale! Cured pork cheek.’ She exhaled her relief. ‘For pasta,no?Gricia. Carbonara. Amatriciana.’ She counted them out with an impassioned commanding hand.
‘Same-same.’
