Casting his eyes across to the church, his gaze wandered up the belltower and he took in a deep breath. ‘I’m not a threat to you, or Stella. Just so you know. Right? I’m just trying to work through my problems. Like you.’
Noting how his eyes returned to his feet, Marcella said, ‘I know.’
‘I’m trying my best here in Rome. I really am. But things are justdifferent. Expectations are different. The way most things function . . . I’m struggling to really grasp it all. Especially at work. I’m constantly on my phone trying to cover up other people’s messes.’ His head dropped into his hands. ‘Things are difficult for me in the office. My team is weak and it’s representativeof me, even though I’ve inherited the problems. All I want is to do well and establish myself here. That doesn’t involve failing. But that’s all I feel is happening. And I don’t want Stella to see that side of me. I want to . . . impress her. I want her to see strength and dependability in me.’
‘Have you talked to her about this?’
‘No. I want to sort it out myself.’
Marcella nodded sagely. ‘Ok. But I think you should.’
‘When I’m ready. And aboutus, can we just pretend it all never happened? TheBocca, the pigeon? Just start over?’
She nodded again. ‘Certo.’
‘And can you just respect that our tastes in Roman cuisine differ?’
Swallowing her pride, Marcella nodded.
‘Where’s Stella?’ Vincent asked, turning to scan the piazza.
‘Al ristorante. She wanted to make sure what we left covered theconto.’
‘Sounds like her.’ Retrieving the pizza box, Vincent stood and winched Marcella from the step. ‘C’mon. Let’s go home.’
venti
‘Hai fame, Stella?’ Marco asked, standing a few feet behind her in the otherwise empty bar.
With her tongue caught between her lips to fortify her concentration, Stella nodded. ‘You know I’m always hungry.’ She dipped her head to the left to assess her brush strokes more clearly. ‘I’m nearly due—’
‘A break. I know. You’re starting to sigh. Your tiredsospiri piccoli.’
She turned to face Marco and found him stood with both hands behind his back. ‘Mywhat?’ Her smile was both sweet and surprised.
‘You sigh when you’re tired.’
She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment, and instinctively pressed a hand to one, smudging it with paint. ‘I do?’
Marco gave a hearty laugh. ‘You didn’t know?’ His gaze fixed to the fresh flash of grey just under her left eye, and realising this, Stella immediately wiped the paint with her sleeve.
‘Ugh. I’m a mess.’
‘Tranquilla. Stop and take a break. Roma will still be there waiting for you.’
It was at that point that Stella noted how his right hand was still tucked from view behind his back. Her eyes narrowed playfully. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Hmm?Cosa?’
His practically translucent attempt at being nonchalant drew her to giggles. ‘There! Behind your back. What have you got there?’
‘Niente!’
Buoyed by his boyish grin, Stella lurched forward to grab him. He slipped past her grasp and held out his left hand in warning. ‘Stella, daje!Una pausa ogni tanto ci vuole, no?’
Stella’s spine straightened on cue. ‘Daje? You’re trying to distract me with a timely Roman “daje!”?’
Marco stopped dead in his tracks. ‘I thought it might work.’ His momentary lapse bought her a second to pounce on him, pulling his arm – and by rights, also his hand – into view. ‘You win,’ he said on a defeated exhale, revealing a small white paper bag, taped off at one end.
