Taking another look, he was utterly mesmerised by the perfectly framed view – a manicured tunnel-like garden of tended green foliage and, in the centre, the iconic dome of St Peter’s, all the way across the city and over the Tiber.
‘Take your time. Enjoy it. We’re the last two here,’ she said, giving his back a gentle caress.
‘I’m going to try to take a photo of that view. Stella, can you please hold these?’
‘Sure!’ Marco’s leather gloves were buttery soft. ‘These are gorgeous!’ she commented, studying the quality of the leather. ‘Handmade?’
‘Sì,’ he replied, assessing the shots he managed to capture with his phone. ‘I have a friend in Florence who works leather. They have a design studio and make everything using artisan techniques. You know, the old-fashioned way.’
‘They are amazing.’ She slipped them on her own hands, but her thin fingers simply swam in the warm lining.
‘Maybe one day, we can go to Firenze and I will take you there.’
‘I would love that.’ She smiled, then peered over his shoulder. ‘The pics?’
‘Terrible.Peccato. The phone isn’t good for pictures with that kind of . . . How do you sayprospettiva?’
‘I’d say depth of field.’
‘Grazie.’
‘Well, that wasn’t our last stop for the day. Our destination is just a little further along. Leave themotorinohere if you like. We can walk the rest of the way.’
Arm in arm Italian-style, Stella led Marco down Via di Santa Sabina. With headlights flashing in their eyes, they picked up the pace, as the sun was near to setting. Darting through Piazza Pietro D’Illiria, they raced under the arched gateway to the Giardino degli Aranci.
‘Quick, quick! I don’t want us to miss the sunset!’ she said, noting how the darkness of the Roman night was inching its way across the sky.
Despite the cold and forecast of an evening shower, there were plenty of people around as Stella guided Marco down the nave of the garden to the balcony with arguably the greatest view of Rome, lit up to greet the forthcoming night.
Marco was speechless, clearly overcome with emotion at the sight. Stella loved how animated his reactions were; so genuine, so sincere. She relished watching how his expression changed as the sun dipped behind the Vatican, bidding thembuonanotte.
She knew she could trust Marco without a flicker of doubt, reinforcing the importance of their friendship and closeness. He wore his heart on his sleeve and she adored the transparency of his character. No show. No drama. Just . . . Marco.
On a dreamy exhale, Marco breathed, ‘What a view.’
Stood side by side, Stella felt the warmth radiate from his presence beside her. It contrasted against the sharp edge of the wintry breeze, and she felt herself drawn closer to him as if by magnetic pull.
They leaned against the brick balustrade and enjoyed the colour storm. Stella’s attuned artistic eye noted all the subtle tonal changes, watching on as the sky transformed from red to pink, to pale yellow, morphing in a dazzling whirl of colour. Purples soon became blues, and the blues eventually melted into the night sky.
Slowly, the crowd began to dissipate, leaving only a few scattered couples and families in the garden. Stella took a look around, noting the passionate embraces and kisses being shared by some of those nearby.
With the sun truly gone, a deeper cold had descended upon them. She couldn’t stand any closer to Marco without being wrapped in his arms. A new and unfamiliar craving began to bubble somewhere deep inside, and the realisation that she yearned for his physical security – his arms, his chest, his touch – pulled her eyes closed. She shook her head, wanting to rid it of the unhelpful thoughts.
No good will come of that, and you know it.
Pursuing Marco beyond anything but friendship would gamble their special connection. And right now, Stella wasn’t willing to risk losing the only man in her life she could trust and whose presence brought her heart joy and happiness.
When she eventually opened her eyes, she saw that Marco had been watching her. His hands sat just centimetres from hers on the balustrade, and she could sense that he stood a little tighter beside her. She read a nervous, fidgety energy in the way his bottom lip moved, as if to say something, but then having second thoughts.
‘Stella . . .’ he began, turning to rest his back against the bricks. His eyes had lost their warm chestnut tones to the night, and she heard him swallow.
‘Yes?’ Recognising how her own voice had absorbed a shaky vibrato, she realised her resolve to keep him at arm’s-length was waning.
His gaze averted hers, instead finding the gravel-dusted pavement underfoot. ‘I . . . Uhm . . .’
Just as Stella was about to take his hand, a bolt of wind tore through the garden corridor behind her. It disturbed the peace and tormented the trees, and kicked up sand in its path. Both Marco and Stella shielded themselves until it passed and, in the process, moved closer together, now standing only inches apart.
‘Must be that cheekyLibeccioplaying games with us,’ Marco noted somewhat awkwardly, trying to gather his faculties.
