Never again.
Bringing her A-game, Stella would make sure that Vincent was none the wiser of what would meet him upon his return.
Now, get on with it. You only have until April second.
Without dinner plans, and with Marcella at work for the night, Stella was in the mood for company. Marco had agreed to meet her in Piazza Navona for a quick bite and stroll around the Christmas market before he headed home for the evening.
Stella decided it was best to tell him what had transpired with Vincent right away; not only was he her friend and colleague, but spending so much time together without telling him was, in her opinion, tantamount to lying right to his face.
‘That can’t be your dinner, Stella?’ Marco gestured to the enormous sugar-dusted doughnut she had just purchased and was trying to manoeuvre into her mouth.
‘Please excuse me while I enjoy a private moment with thisciambella, and I would appreciate if you stayed out of the matter,’ she teased, finally finding the perfect angle to grab the first bite. With her mouth full, she uttered, ‘Oh, this . . . is . . . amazing. Try it.’ She held it up for Marco to taste.
Taking an equally large mouthful, he agreed, ‘Sì,buonissima!’ He wiped some rogue sugar from the tip of his nose. ‘That reminds me of my childhood.’
‘Want some more?’ she offered.
‘Maybe later, after I finish mycalzone.’ He had opted for a simple closed pizza, easy to eat on the run, and filled with tomato and mozzarella. ‘Allora,’ he started between bites, ‘tell me about Firenze. Did you have fun?’
‘It was . . .’ She searched for the right word. ‘A revelation.’
‘In che senso?’ He took another bite.
Dodging a group of children who were kicking a soccer ball around, they stepped off the path and took a seat on one of the benches at the end of the piazza.
‘Uhm. I don’t know where to begin.’ Subconsciously, her body language had closed and Marco sensed an uneasy tension in the way she sat. ‘So, I found out something. Something awful.’ Unable to look Marco in the face, she took a few extra bites of herciambella.
‘What is awful, Stella?’ His expression read both concern and curiosity. ‘You can tell me. It’s ok.’
‘Marco, Vincent’s been cheating on me.’ As the words left her mouth, she felt all the embarrassment she had expected to, as if it had been her fault. Why should she wear the cloak of shame? Shouldn’t it be Vincent to brandish the repercussions of his actions?
‘He didwhat?’ Marco came alive, as if someone had lit a fire under him. ‘He cheated on you?’
‘Yes, so it would seem. Many times. With many, many women.’ Hearing herself say the words aloud made her heart sink. It had felt more disembodied hearing Marcella and Carlotta talk about it, but having to find her own words to express his actions hurt more.
‘Dio Santo!’ Marco made the sign of the cross, shuffling closer to her on the bench. ‘Are you ok?’
‘I will be.’ She smiled. ‘It’s ok. I have lots of good people in my life that I can trust. I’ll get past this.’
And so, sat on the little bench in Piazza Navona, surrounded by food stalls, rides and children’s games, with the glow of Christmas flickering around them, Stella told Marco the whole story: from Marcella’s initial suspicions, to the plot with Carlotta and Giacomino, to their plan to bring him down upon his return on New Year’s Eve. Seeing how angry Marco became, she chose to withhold the accusations Vincent had forged against him. They would serve no purpose now, and would likely only make Marco uncomfortable. If she could sparesomeonesome pain, she would.
‘You are very strong, Stella. You know this,no?’ He hugged her tightly, wishing he could take away all that she was feeling that had tainted her natural glow. ‘I am here for you. Whatever you need, day or night. You just call. Ok?’ He held out his hands. ‘Guarda!’ he demanded. ‘They are trembling! You have shocked me.’
‘You can only imagine how I feel.’ Licking the last of the sugar from her fingers, she said, ‘Thankfully, carbs can’t cheat on you!’
Marco politely laughed at her joke, but deep down, somewhere between his affection for Stella and that little voice that had told him Vincent wasn’t to be trusted, he was fuming. ‘Stella, promise me something.’ He took her cold sticky hands into his own. ‘Don’t think for a second that you were the reason for his actions. He didn’t deserve you. He couldn’t appreciate how special and talented and wonderful you are. Remember all those things.Ti prego.’
Marco dropped Stella back in Trastevere before continuing home on hismotorino. His mind wasn’t at all fixed on the road or traffic around him. He was completely distracted by the news she had shared. How could anyone mistreat her in such a heinous way? Beautiful, talented, caring Stella. Did Vincent not understand how lucky he was to have had Stella? In his life? In his arms? In his bed?
Stopped at a traffic light, Marco was so lost in his thoughts that it took an orchestra of klaxons from other vehicles to register that the lights had changed.
Hoping a long shower would bring some clarity, Marco sought refuge in the bathroom when he returned home. His tightly clenched fists slowly started to release themselves as the hot water bore down on him.
Moving past the initial shock he felt for Stella, in its place appeared a sea of pity – for Vincent. He would be doomed to a lifetime of unfulfilling experiences and superficial connections. What kind of person can’t appreciate and treasure the beauty of meaningful companionship, let alone the intimacy that comes with a relationship?
In that moment, Marco realised how much he valued those things and, just for a second, allowed himself to imagine what that might feel like with Stella. Running the bar of soap over his naked body, he wondered what hers would look like and how it might feel under his fingers. Quickly burying the thought before it manifested into a series of unhelpful daydreams, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Catching his soaked reflection in the mirror, he questioned if what he felt for Stella was infatuation, or perhaps, for the first time in his life, it was love?
ventinove
