They made their way down Via del Moro and were about to turn right before Marcella let out a screech at the intersection of Via delle Belle Donne. ‘Santa Maria!’ She pointed to the street sign. ‘This street was made for us,no?’
They certainly looked the part. Dressed to the nines, the girls were ready to put the ugliness of the Vincent situation behind them and enjoy a lazy, decadent dinner.
Marcella had pulled some strings and managed to get them a reservation at I Cacciatori, a quaint restaurant not far from the Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral. It was tucked away from the tourist-tread path, which meant that the food retained its authentic Florentine flair without having to compromise on service, speed and profit.
Leonardo, an elderly gentleman with kind eyes and a wispy white beard, was their waiter. He diligently brought them plate after plate of moreish local faire. They started with a selection of local cheeses and cured meats. For the main course, they shared sautéed mixed greens cooked in peppery olive oil and garlic, as well as golden potatoes roasted to perfection with rosemary and plenty of sea salt. Leonardo presented them with an eye-wateringly largebistecca alla Fiorentina. The steak, cooked medium and still on the bone, was served on a perfectly polished slice of tree trunk, revealing a gorgeous pattern of concentric circles. The meat was charred on the outside, leaving a blackened crust which Marcella promptly started to pick at with her fingers.
‘Who’s going to do the honours?’ Carlotta held up the steak knife.
‘It should be Stella,’ Marcella said. ‘Pretend it’s Vincent’s pen—’
Carlotta jumped on Marcella with a firm palm across the mouth. ‘You’ve lost every last shred of filter, haven’t you?’ she asked.
‘This looks ridiculously big. There’s no way we’ll finish it.’ Stella began cutting slices through the steak, watching the natural juices pool on the surface of the wood.
‘Don’t worry, I’m here.’ Marcella winked.
‘It’s as soft as butter. Look.’ With each slice of the knife, Stella felt a little of the day’s tension release.
‘You’re having a little too much fun with that knife, I think.’ Carlotta sensed that Stella was losing herself in the task, as she cut more and more furiously with each slice. ‘Ok,grazie.’ She snatched the knife away, handing it to Marcella to put out of sight.
Stella’s phone started to ring. It was Vincent, and Stella was struck that he had waited this long to return her missed calls and texts from the morning.
‘Holy shit! It’s him!’ Stella cried, holding her phone at arm’s-length as if it might bite her. ‘What the hell do I do?’
‘Fuck him. Answer it and tell him to go fuck himself,’ Marcella suggested.
‘No, don’t do that!’ Carlotta begged.
‘C’mon. It’ll go to my voicemail soon.’ Stella was panicked.
‘Ok, play it cool as if nothing’s happened. Tell him you’re here with us having a great time. Buy yourself time for your revenge. Stella,daje!’
‘My God.’ Stella took a deep breath and answered. ‘Hello?’
Stella was tempted to put the call on loudspeaker, but instead turned up the receiver volume so that they could hear the echo of his voice more clearly. All three huddled over the phone.
‘Hey, sorry about this morning! Phone died. Got in late from work again, then slept most of the morning when I got back to the apartment. How are you? I miss you.’
Heart pounding in her ears, Stella’s facial expression was one of anguish and pain. Taking a moment, she cleared her throat and said, ‘All good here. We’re just at dinner. It’s been a good day.’
‘Excellent. I’m glad to hear it. And tell Carlotta she needs to come back to Rome for a visit soon so we can meet.’
Under her breath, Carlotta snarled, ‘Piuttosto la morte!Ciaone!’
‘I’ll tell her.’ Stella was grasping at straws. All she wanted to do was give him a piece of her mind and hang up.
‘Anyway, I was actually calling with some news,’ Vincent began, and Stella’s chest tightened. ‘I got a call from James McIlvey last night. He’s the Department Director of Photojournalism out of the New York office. Turns out, they’ve just lost two of their lead sports photographers and he’s asked me to fly over and manage their existing contracts in the lead-up to Christmas. It’s paying at consultancy rate, so I would be earning three to four months’ wage in as many weeks. He needs me until the thirtieth.’
Stella rolled her eyes at the girls, who both gestured for her to keep going. ‘Wow, that sounds like a great opportunity.’ She feigned excitement, shaking her head.
‘I told him I’d take it. I can’t pass on that opportunity. Or the money.’
‘When do you leave?’ Stella asked.
‘Monday night.’
‘As in, the day after tomorrow Monday?’
