‘Want some help?’
‘No,no. You’ve had a long flight.Ci penso io.’ She began shooing Stella from the room.
‘Thanks. I’ll unpack my suitcase and get my paints and brushes ready for tomorrow’s market.’ Stella yawned then hugged Marcella from behind. ‘Then I’ll head to bed. You should, too.’
‘You Australians! It’s only eight! I’ve just started to digest.’
Stella turned on her heel. ‘I’ve just spent twenty-four hours—’
‘I know. I know.Scherzo!’ She blew her a kiss. ‘Sogni d’oro,Stellina.’
‘Sogni d’oro, Marcella. And throw the milk out before you go to bed.’
Was it the jet lag? Or perhaps the presence of the ticket pinned to the back of her bedroom door? Stella was sure that if it could talk, it would taunt her while she slept.Ifshe could sleep.
April second, Stella. April second. Tick-tock. . .
Lying restless in bed, Stella’s mind raced with questions and worries. Deep down, she knew it was much more than the ticket and confused body clock, andfargreater than the threat of having to leave Rome an unemployed failure.
Her nervous system seemed to seize up every time she let her mind wander. She thought that she had finally freed herself from that swirling, cyclical whirl of unhelpful thinking.
But no. It was all back.
The flashbacks.
Vignettes jolted Stella violently back to the past. Moments frozen in her memory, all linked to her life with Andrew.
She had been triggered.
Her skin puckered and tightened under the sweat that rose to its surface. An all-too-familiar sensation, and Stella hated Andrew for it. Even now, eighteen months on.
Trying with all her might to bury the flush of adrenaline, she closed her eyes tight. She had come so far; she knew better now. Stella tried to distract herself from the taunting that prodded at her mind’s eye, but the dark souvenirs of her past with Andrew managed to creep in.
Appearing over and over were those words:Never again.
She forced them to come. Begged the words to make themselves known. A timely reminder. Her hard reset. Theselect all, deletefunction to rid her system, soul and spirit of Andrew. But that was how she ended up in Rome, wasn’t it? Because of Andrew, and thanks to her redundancy?
Or was itin spiteof them?
And now, it was all in spite of April second.
Having neglected to close the external shutters of her bedroom window, Stella lay awake among the shadows for some time, sweaty, rigid and anxious, before eventually succumbing to cortisol-soaked sleep in the pearlescent light ofla luna; seer of all, commander of the universe.
The choral song of the bells of Santa Maria, beautiful as it sounded, was rarely a welcomed interruption to Stella’s sleep. The only consolation, she often thought, was that she should consider herself fortunate to be living in Trastevere, one of Rome’s most unique and enchanting quarters.
Stella and Marcella – and now Vincent, evidently – occupied one of the two apartments on the third floor of their palazzo. Via di San Calisto was nestled off the main street, a mere stone’s throw from Piazza di Santa Maria, the neighbourhood’s main square and gregarious beating heart.
On cue, as the bells finished tolling, Stella rolled reluctantly out of bed. Turning her attention to the mirror on the wall by her desk, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and straightened her eyebrows.
Her head felt heavy; the emotional drain of the night before had sapped the brightness from her. Yet despite her jet-lagged system, she had managed to sleep right through.
She stood on shaky legs and drew in a deep breath, holding it a few beats.
C’mon. Life is waiting. Get your shit together, Stella.
She exhaled, and felt immediately lighter. Shaking out her limbs and rolling her neck, she knew she had returned enough to her body to be present for the morning.
A new start.
