‘From the factory this morning. I collected an order for the bar, and a special pot just for us to share.’ Behind a plaintiff grin, he added, ‘One of theprivilegiof being a morning person.’
She stifled a giggle with another mouthful. ‘Thismight convert me,’ she said, gesturing to her breakfast.
A few early tourists joined them near the bench, obviously sharing the same idea to catch the sunrise.
A flash of red light appeared on the horizon behind a series of iconic domes. It quickly morphed into gold and orange, illuminating the grey and terracotta rooftops and terraces of Rome. Under the new low light, Rome seemed to come to life, gently awakened from its temporary winter hibernation, Mother Nature working her sparkling magic over the sleepy city.
A swell of tourists in the piazza below appeared as if from nowhere, adding a soundtrack to this particularly glorious sight.
Completely engrossed, basking in the sun’s glow, Stella sat still, in awe. ‘That was spectacular.’
‘Yes, it’sfenomenale.’ Marco’s eyes flicked from the skyline to Stella, then back again. ‘I come here to watch the sunrise most mornings before I go to the bar. It’s the best way to start the day.’
‘I can see why.’ Stella took another bite, catching a morsel of ricotta before it met the cobblestones at her feet.
‘It reminds me that there’s a force and a power bigger than me, and that I should be grateful for another day of life and opportunities.’
Moved by his sentiment, Stella gently stroked Marco’s arm. ‘That’s a wonderful and very humble outlook.’ Sensing Marco tense a little by her side, she reassured him, ‘Thank you for being genuinely vulnerable with me. It’s so . . . beautiful.’ She sighed. ‘I appreciate your trust, Marco.’
With warming cheeks, he said, ‘It’s just easy to talk to you.’
She scanned his eyes and found only serenity. Stillness. ‘Thank you for having me this morning.’ Stella planted a little kiss on his cheek before offering him another bite to eat.
‘Thankyoufor havingme.’
Despite the nipping cold, Rome always knew how to turn on the charm.
Stella and Marco spent the better part of the next two hours people watching from the bench. The view straight down Via dei Condotti was festive, and this season’s theme was snow. The twinkling lights embellishing thecentro storicoremained illuminated both day and night, bringing an accent of Christmas magic where even a darkened corner might dare to flourish.
The seasonal transformation of Rome was a marker of passing time, and with Christmas just over a week away, Stella’s mind wandered to the plane ticket affixed to the back of her bedroom door.
Tick-tock. Still nothing, Stella. So distracted . . .
She drew in a deep breath, perhaps a little louder than she had meant to let escape.
Marco, as if reading her mind, put his hand over hers in her lap. ‘You still have time,’ he reassured her. ‘Tranquilla. Something will happen.’
She nodded her head, but wasn’t all too sure about the truth in his kind sentiment. ‘I hope.’
‘Andiamo,’ he said, hoping to distract her. ‘Parte due.’
Collecting a small brown paper bag from the storage compartment of hismotorino, Marco gestured to the path into the Villa Borghese gardens for the second stop on his morning tour of Rome.
They walked for fifteen minutes, enjoying the peace and tranquillity that the seclusion of the gardens provided. Meeting only a handful of joggers, the paths were relatively clear, and the surrounding grassy flats were flecked with morning dew and frost.
‘Have you ever noticed how the Villa Borghese gardens are shaped like a heart?’ Stella pointed out as they passed one of the tourist plaques just off the path.
Marco nodded. ‘It’s easy to see why people love the gardens so much.’
‘How so?’
‘It’s subliminal,no?’ They laughed at his joke, stepping aside for a group of runners to pass. ‘Just through here.’ Marco guided Stella off the path.
Further up and to the left lay the Galleria Borghese. They wouldn’t be visiting the gallery; Marco had something much more low-key in mind.
He ushered Stella down a little inlet that trailed off the main walkway until they came to a well-manicured clearing. At the centre sat a simple fountain encircled by a series of joined benches. It was quaint and picturesque, with lovely views that stretched across the open garden plains to the left, with the white façade of the gallery visible further afield.
‘Now, this little nook is perfectly lovely.’ Stella made herself comfortable on one of the stone benches. Its curved shape encouraged company. ‘Come sit down.’ She patted the stone beside her.
