Stella, looking to the sky and noting the subtle shift from blue to a faint yellow, said, ‘Let me show you one last thing here before we make our way to the final stop.’
She guided Marco to the centre of the square and they both looked up at the obelisk, which towered above them. ‘Stolen from the Egyptians?’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘They didn’t hide it well. Should we tell them?’
She cackled. ‘Thisis what I wanted to show you.’ Taking Marco by the hand, she led him to a narrow circular path of white marble set among the slate grey cobblestones. ‘It wraps all around theobelisco. And these,’ her foot stopped to tap an inlaid plate of marble, ‘indicate theRosa dei Venti. The compass of the winds.’
Together, they walked the line, announcing the names of the winds, noting how some of the plates were in better condition than others, with each featuring the face of the personified winds.
Stella stopped at the last plate and her face blossomed into a joyous smile. ‘This is my favourite.’
Marco’s eyes scoured the plate. ‘Libeccio. Sud West.’ He looked to Stella. ‘It means,Sud-ovest?’
She nodded and squatted down on the red marble cobblestones which formed the border. ‘Come here. Give me your hand and close your eyes.’
Marco obeyed. With a cheeky smile, he peeked at her through a squint before closing them tightly shut. ‘Pronto.’
Stella guided his hand to one cobblestone in particular. She splayed open his fingers, and with his thumb, she traced the distinct outline of something that had been carved into the red marble. ‘Do you feel that?’
Stella could sense Marco’s heartbeat through his hands, and it seemed to quicken under her control.
He shook his head, and his gathered brow expressed his confusion. ‘Riprova.’
Starting over, Stella marked where the carving began and ended.
Marco’s face seemed to brighten and his eyes flicked open. ‘A heart?’
‘Exactly. TheCuore di Nerone. Or, as the Romans say,Er Core de Nerone. Nero’s Heart.’
Marco’s fingers traced the beautifully carved heart once more. ‘Stella, how many thousands of people would walk on this every day.’
‘So many. It’s a sweet little surprise. People say it was left by Bernini, who never knew love. And there are other theories, much darker. But I like to think that here, in crazy, loud, chaotic Rome, love can live and thrive in plain sight.’
She looked down at their hands on the heart and noted how their combined touch had warmed the once cold stone.
‘Why do you think Bernini, or whoever it was, chosethisplate?’ He pointed to theLibeccioinscription.
‘I don’t know.Libecciois a Mediterranean wind. It blows hard and fast. It causes great shifts and changes in atmospheric pressure along the Italian peninsular. Really shakes things up.’ She stood and coaxed Marco from the cobblestones, and they dusted themselves off.
Now standing by the plate, Marco’s feet met the word and he looked to the sky as that fervent wind pushed past them again. ‘Where exactly doesLibecciocome from?’
‘The word, or the direction of the wind?’
‘The direction.’
Stella, with theCuore di Neroneat her feet, felt tingles trickle down her spine. Marco, framed by Bernini’s columns over his shoulder, came into the most glorious and unexpected view. She saw him clearly, sharply. And the realisation of it all coming together suddenly softened some of the resistance of her own heart.
‘From Corsica. Libya. But also from Sicily.’
They parked in Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta. To Stella’s relief, there were very few tourists around. In the throes of dusk, and with sunset looming, she understood why there were better places to be at this time.
‘Now, surely you know where you are,’ she said.
Marco’s puzzled expression indicated otherwise. ‘No,mi dispiace.’
Encircled by high ornate walls, this piazza was different from the majority of those in Rome. Wrapping her scarf a little more tightly around her shoulders, Stella led Marco to the large green doors at the head of thesquare. She ran her hand over the decorative keyhole plate. Worn from centuries of visits from prying eyes and curious fingers, its surface was smooth.
‘See this little keyhole here?’ She popped her finger in the space. ‘Take a look inside and tell me what you see.’
Marco leaned forward, his eyes narrowing to discerning slits. ‘È San Pietro!’ He retreated from the keyhole momentarily to share his reaction with Stella. ‘That is amazing!’
